Page 60 of Dirty Damage

DREW:I thought you cared enough to save her from him. Men like that don’t change, Sutton.

I drop the phone like it’s burning my hands. He’s right about one thing—men like Lipovsky don’t change.

But neither do men like Drew.

I do my best to stay busy: ordering groceries, unpacking my single duffel bag into one of the drawers in the guest room, walking laps around the living room.

But when my phone dings late afternoon, I lunge for it like a desperate, rabid animal.

OLEG:Swamped today. Won’t be home til later. Sending Artem over for dinner.

That’s it? After what happened last night—after he had me spread out and begging in his bed—that’s all he has to say?

My fingers fly across the screen, fury making them shake.

SUTTON:Is Artem filling in for all your obligations today?

My thumb hovers overSendas I debate whether I’m brave enough—or stupid enough—to poke The Beast.

Is that what I am to Oleg? An obligation? One more thing to cross off his to-do list?

I’d love to make him feel as low as I do, but I also don’t want him to know he has the power to upset me.

The elevator’s intercom saves me from myself.

“Sutton?” A deep voice echoes through the apartment. “This is Artem. Oleg should’ve told you I was coming.”

An eerie wail pierces the background before I stomp down the hall and smash the button. “He told me exactly five seconds ago. If he’d give me more notice, I would’ve said I’d rather be alone.”

“Sorry, what was that?” Artem asks as the wail subsides.

What the hell was that? Is this penthouse haunted with child ghosts? Of all the things,thatmight actually be a dealbreaker.

I sigh. “Nothing. Come on up.”

“I thought you already had access?”

“Well, I do… I just didn’t want to impose. You should have the right to turn me away if that’s what you want. Although, I warn you, you’ll probably regret it; I’m a hoot and a half.”

Dammit.Now, I’ll even feel bad trying to kick him out early.

With an eye roll, I grant him access.

But it’s only as the elevator light blinks, alerting me to his ascent, that I register what he said.

Us?

I glance down at my ratty shorts and tank top. If I’m about to be host to a lackey dinner party, maybe I should put on something nicer.

Then again, if Oleg wants me to play the part of hostess, maybe he should give me more warning. Besides, I’m not trying to impress anybody.

Then the shiny doors slide open and a six-year-old girl comes streaking into the foyer.

17

SUTTON

It’s an ambush.

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