Page 67 of Dirty Damage

“A contract has already been drawn up. She’s already signed it. I don’t waste time on lawyers or—no offense, Candace—publicity agents, unless I’m serious about something. The decision has already been made, Maman. Time to get on board.”

She could pull her support for my security system.

She could back Uncle Boris and make my fight to the top harder than it needs to be—but cold as my mother is, she admires strength.

“It seems I have no choice.” She flips open the folder, splaying Sutton’s boudoir photoshoot across the marble table. “Is this really what we’re working with, Candace? What can be done about these?”

All nervousness gone now that she’s in business mode, Candace studies the pictures with the detached eye of someone who’s seen everything the internet has to offer. “My first impression is that she’s beautiful. And obviously photogenic.”

“So is every adolescent out there with a good camera and an airbrushing app on their phone,” Oksana mutters.

“True, but not all of them become overnight internet sensations based on a few sexy pictures. The fact that she was able to pull it off is telling. People are going to be interested in her. I can work with this.”

I resist the urge to be smug and gloat in my mother’s sour face, if only because she knows how to lose gracefully when she has to.

“Very well, then.” She flicks the folder closed. “Have a few mock-up engagement announcements sent to me by the afternoon.”

“Once they’ve passed your initial inspection, send them to me, Maman. I’ll make the final decision.” I push away from the table and stand. “I’ll leave you ladies to your task.”

My mother’s eyes—the same shade as mine—fixate on me. “Don’t forget aboutyourtask, son. Otherwise, all this will be for nothing.”

I wouldn’t exactly call the sight of Sutton in tiny red panties ‘nothing,’ but I nod anyway, the memory of those photos burning behind my eyes.

“I know what I’m supposed to do.”

The problem is doing it.

19

OLEG

“For the record, I approve,” Artem says, hovering over me with that knowing smirk.

I grunt as I press another set, the three-hundred-pound barbell straining my chest.

Sweat drips down my temples. But the burn in my muscles isn’t enough to silence the thoughts of her that keep invading my mind.

It’s why I had to get out of that meeting with my mother and Candace.

Why I texted Artem to meet me at the gym.

I thought I could burn away Sutton and the way she looked in my bed, clenching around my fingers. Get her out of my head.

No such luck.

Not with Artem around, at least.

“So Faye approves. That’s what you’re really saying.”

“I have my own opinions, man,” says Artem. “She doesn’t make up my mind.”

“Right. Kind of like when you swore up and down you only wanted two kids.‘It’s man-on-man defense right now, O. That’s the dream. One more and we’re playing zone—no thanks.’And a month later, Faye was pregnant with your third.”

Artem waits a second longer than he should to grab the bar when my body starts to give out. “We’re not talking about me and my lady, asshole. We’re talking about you and yours.”

I sit up, elbows on knees, trying to steady my breathing. My heart’s pounding too hard for just a standard bench press.

Been that way since she moved in.

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