Page 74 of Dirty Grovel

“The feeling is mutual. She seems really cool.”

“Of course she’s cool—she’s my cousin.” Jesse winks, giving me a nudge with her elbow. “You’re officially on the payroll now.”

“I can’t quite believe it.” I slap my palms together and suppress a happy little scream. “That happened so fast!”

“Guess it was meant to be.” She gestures towards the sprawling array of tents in the middle of the town square. “Mind if we stop by the farmer’s market? I can stock up on all the fancy ingredients that your baby daddy loves.”

“Of course, I’d like to look around myself.”

“Great, how about we meet right here in an hour?”

We part ways. Jesse goes to the spice section and I make my way to the fresh produce. The smell of fresh berries is calling to me.

I spend a good fifteen minutes at the fruit stand, smelling a variety of fruits, each one sweeter and more luscious than the last. Considering I’m now earning a monthly paycheck, I feel well within my rights to celebrate with a nice piece of tropical fruit.

I end up balancing a huge papaya in both hands, reveling in the fragrant aroma…

… when I happen to look up.

Right across the street is a quaint little café with outdoor seating. Seated at one table is a familiar face I didn’t expect to see today. Every seat is filled, but he’s still the most conspicuous diner by a long shot.

Even if I didn’t know Oleg, I would have noticed him immediately. The man’s looks just might qualify as one of nature’s wonders. And his scars add another dimension to his dangerous beauty.

I realize I’m practically drooling and this time, it has nothing to do with the fruit on offer.

“Ma’am?” the vendor says, trying to draw my attention back to her produce. “See anything else you like?”

“Yes, I do,” I sigh. “But I’m afraid I can’t have it.”

“What was that?”

I shake the question off with a smile. “Nothing.”

Oleg seems to be by himself, a cup of coffee perched in front of him as he scrolls through his phone.

I wonder if he’s waiting for someone, though? Perhaps yet another leggy blonde with zero percent body fat?

Not sure I’m mentally prepared for that today.

Then, just as I’ve decided that Oleg is simply enjoying a cup of coffee on his own, a woman walks up to him. Skinny, well-dressed and imperious, she stands over Oleg, her Prada bag’s buckle glinting in the sunlight.

My chest tightens as she places the bag on the table and takes the empty chair beside Oleg.

But this time, it’s not a former flame I have to worry about.

No—this woman presents a totally different set of problems.

Because this is Oksana Pavlova.

Oleg gives his mother a curt nod, his head turning in my general direction as though he knows he’s being watched.

I duck behind the fruit stall, hoping the strings of bananas will hide me.

“Are you taking that papaya, ma’am?” the vendor presses.

I look down at the papaya in my hands. I’ve gouged cuts into the fruit’s soft flesh with my nails. So, like it or not, I guess I’m taking this baby home.

Along with the new weight resting in the pit of my stomach.

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