Page 6 of Dirty Damage

That way lies danger.

The silence stretches between us, thick and frightening. I can feel his eyes on my bare skin.

“You have other clothes here, I hope?” His voice is darker now, rougher. Like he’s tasting each word before letting it out.

I manage a jerky nod, not trusting myself to speak. My heart is doing gymnastics in my chest, and my brain keeps getting stuck on the way his muscles ripple as he moves.

“Good. I’ll take the child back to the daycare where she belongs.” He steps back, and I can breathe again.

Almost.

Until…

“In the meantime, call my assistant for an appointment to see me tomorrow. Tell her it’s a Code Red priority.”

I clutch the ruined costume tighter, face flaming. “Code Red. Got it.”

The last thing I see before the door closes is his dark smirk.

The last thing I hear is: “No need to wear a princess dress.”

2

SUTTON

When I return to the playroom, Mara is stacking tiny chairs. The spill zone has been wiped clean, but her laughter is still going strong. My story is just more wind in her sails.

“You called him ‘Mr. Beast’? To hisface?” She doubles over, hand pressed against her stomach. “And he actually responded to it? Oh my God, I would’ve paid money to see that.”

“It wasn’t me—it was Chloe.” I sink into a miniature chair that doesn’t so much support my weight as reluctantly acknowledge it and complain about the imposition. “I’m gonna get fired, Mar. What the hell is a ‘Code Red priority’?”

Mara waves this away like I’m fretting over spilled milk instead of my entire livelihood. “Girl, please. If he wanted to fire you, he would’ve done it on the spot.”

“Then what does he want?”

Her smile shifts into something knowing. “Same thing most men want when they look at you like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re a cupcake and they haven’t eaten in days.” She perches on the edge of the craft table. “Think about it. You’re exactly his type.”

I blink. “I have a type?”

“According to the gossip blogs, Pavlov goes for curvy brunettes with perfect skin.” She ticks these points off on her fingers. “The tabloids are always catching him with some model or actress draped over his arm. Never lasts more than a month, though.”

Great. So the guy who signs my paychecks is a player with a wandering eye and commitment issues. What a dream come true.

“I don’t want to be anyone’s type, especially not his. I need this job.”

“Relax. If he tries anything sleazy, just threaten a lawsuit. He might be a billionaire, but no one’s immune to a good old-fashioned sexual harassment claim.”

“That’s your solution?” My voice rises an octave. “Threaten legal action against one of the most powerful men in Palm Beach?”

“I’m just saying it’s an option.” She shrugs, unperturbed. “But honestly, in the five years I’ve been here, he’s been pretty decent about workplace stuff. Pavlov Industries has a solid harassment policy, and from what I’ve seen, he backs it up.”

None of this comforts me.

Not even a little.

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