Page 77 of Dirty Damage

I glance at the kids, but they’re absorbed in their popsicles and toys.

The weight of my loneliness, my confusion, my infuriating attraction for a man who seems to have lost interest—it all comes crashing down at once.

But I don’t even know where to begin.

“I already like you way better than Oleg.” Faye winks. “If you’re worried about me spilling your secrets, I won’t.”

That’s all it takes to open the gates.

I lean closer, voice low. “He’s the one who wanted this contract. He’s the one who seemed so eager to get started on making heirs. And now…”

“Now what?”

“Now, I’m wondering if he got a closer look at the merchandise and changed his mind.”

The bitterness in my voice surprises even me.

I’ve spent my entire life knowing I’m at least moderately attractive to men. The creeps my mom—and, eventually, my sister—dated made that clear enough more than once.

They liked what they saw, whether I wanted them looking or not.

But suddenly, I think I mightcarewhat Oleg Pavlov thinks of me.

God, it’s pathetic.

“You really see yourself as merchandise?” Faye’s voice is sharp.

I fling my hands at myself—my dress, my carefully styled hair. “He contracted me with a purpose. I’m the easily manipulated package he wants to sell to the public. Except… not really. I didn’t even get to be in my own engagement photos. They Photoshopped my face on some skinnier woman’s body.”

“It was probably a timing issue. He’s busy and didn’t want to do a photoshoot or something.”

“Or,” I bite out, “I’m nothing like the women he usually dates, and he’s figuring that out. They’re all polished and rich. I couldn’t tell Balenciaga from a paper bag.”

“Sometimes, Balenciagaisa paper bag.” She tries a tight smile before she sighs. “You really think he only chose you because he can manipulate you?”

“Why else? He saw me in that ridiculous princess costume and probably thought I’d jump at any chance to escape my sad little life.”

The memory of our first meeting still makes me cringe.

“Princess costume?” Faye perks up, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Now, this I have to hear.”

“Oh, God.” I bury my face in my hands. “Can we pretend I didn’t mention that?”

“Not a chance. Spill.”

So I tell her about that mortifying day in the gym bathroom, about the stuck zipper and Oleg’s smirk and his demand to see me in his office.

By the time I finish, Faye is doubled over laughing.

“Stop,” I groan. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s hilarious,” she wheezes. “And absolutely perfect.”

“More like a horror story,” I snap. “This is my life and it’s an absolute mess.”

“Oh, honey.” Faye wipes tears of laughter from her eyes. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

“See what?”

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