Page 81 of Dirty Grovel

“You will take the Taupe Suite. If you would rather not, then feel free to check into whatever five-star resort or one-star shack in Nassau that you like. I’ll gladly foot the bill.”

I’m walking towards the open terrace when Oksana calls out to me. “Where are you going?”

“To the boatyard,” I call back over my shoulder. “And whatever happens, I am not to be disturbed.”

24

SUTTON

“Look at this!”

I shove the photograph in Jesse’s face, giving her absolutely no context.

Jesse cringes backwards but accepts the picture, squinting down at it. “Who is she?”

“That’s what I would like to know,” I say. “That’s only one of two other pictures I found sitting on the coffee table in the living room. These are the other two.”

I push both headshots into Jesse’s hands. She examines each one carefully.

“I think I know this woman,” she says thoughtfully, aiming her chin towards the pretty redhead with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.

Honestly, she looks like a live action Ariel. She’s even got the five-inch waist. All she’s missing is the seashell bra and a sassy lobster friend.

“You do?”

“Not personally,” Jesse explains. “But she has been at a party or two that Oksana has hosted here in the past.”

“Great. So pimping her son out isn’t new then.”

“Oh. Is that what she’s trying to do?”

“What else?” I huff as I start pacing the length of the kitchen. “She hates me, doesn’t think I’m good enough for her son or her family. Why else would she keep these pictures just lying around? She wanted me to see them.”

Jesse grabs a butter knife and makes a jabbing motion with it. “Let’s go cut the bitch.”

A snort of laughter bursts through my nose so suddenly it hurts. “Stop. This is serious. I don’t want to laugh.”

“Does it even matter, Sut? I mean, it’s not ideal that Oksana doesn’t like you—but Oleg’s opinion is the only one that matters.”

“Except that Oleg blows hot and cold. How do I know he isn’t entertaining the idea of marrying one of these three Barbie dolls?”

Jesse rolls her eyes. “Come on.”

“I’m serious. What if I’m just the white trash idiot whose womb he’s renting? How do I know that, once I push out a beautiful, bouncing baby, he won’t just kick me to the curb and replace me with one of his perfect, respectable, wealthy, anorexic bimbos?”

Jesse’s actually smiling. “That’s just your anger talking.”

“It’s a legitimate worry.”

“It’s an irrational worry,” Jesse corrects. “There’s no way Oleg would treat you that way. He may seem like a brute, but as all the kids at the pirate party can attest, he’s a big softie on the inside.”

I chew on my lip, trying to believe what Jesse’s working hard to sell. Oleg’s a good boss; I know that from working in Pavlov Industries.

But no one—not even Jesse—knows what he’s like outside that role.

Maybe not even me.

“If you’re so worried about Oksana and her scheming, then talk to Oleg about it,” Jesse suggests. “He asked for your input for the custody arrangement. You can maybe add a clause or two to protect yourself.”

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