Page 70 of Dirty Damage

Because I was weak enough to love them.

My fingers hover over the keyboard. Sutton’s message blinks up at me.

So innocent.

So dangerous.

I chose this arrangement to avoid exactly this—this suffocating pull, this temptation to want more. To be more.

I message Candace first.

OLEG:The second announcement works. Have it ready for print by tomorrow.

Then I force myself to type:

OLEG:I’m busy tonight.

I send it to Sutton, then set my phone aside and focus on work.

Numbers. Logistics. Things that can’t hurt because I never let them in.

Things that can’t die in my arms because I was foolish enough to care.

20

SUTTON

As I roll out of bed, my brain sloshing against my skull in the opposite direction, I might regret the bottle of wine last night.

I’d pulled it out to pair with the risotto for dinner. I thought a little social lubricant might get things back on track with Oleg.

Then he bailed—again.

And I drank alone—again.

I throw on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt since there’s no one around to seduce.

Not that my nothing-but-panties routine worked the first time. Oleg fled the room like it was on fire while I was naked on his bed, and I’ve hardly seen him since.

In terms of signs that he’s just not that into you, that’s a big flashing billboard.

It’s crossed my mind more than once—while I wander the halls of his penthouse like a lost puppy—that our deal might be over.

Maybe he changed his mind. This whole contract came about suddenly, and maybe he’s having second thoughts.

I imagine Uri arriving to collect me and my things, ready to deliver me to… well, nowhere.

I have nowhere else.

Nothing else.

Oleg Pavlov, irritating enigma that he is, is my only plan.

I have to make this work.

I’m in the kitchen eating breakfast when my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Sydney—an article.

The headline smacks me in the face like an open palm: “Billionaire Yachtmaker Sets A New Course with Naughty Employee.”

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