Page 97 of Dirty Grovel

“I could do it,” I suggest before I can think better of the offer.

I can sense his rejection in the curve of his eyebrows, the curl of his lips. Why the hell did I even offer?

Oh, right—because I thrive in misery. I take comfort in pain.

It was something Sydney said to me once, right after she started dating Paul. We were fighting about him and she threw those words in my face.

I thought she was just angry.

But now, I’m starting to wonder if she was exactly correct.

“It was just a thought,” I mutter. “A silly thought. I?—”

His eyes lock onto mine. “Okay.”

“What?”

“It would actually be a great help.”

“You’d let me proofread company documents?”

“You’re smart and capable. I’m sure you can do the job just as well as I can.” He shrugs. “If you want it, that is. Fair warning: it can be dull.”

“Have you forgotten that I’ve been cooped up in that big ass bungalow for weeks with nothing to do? It’ll be nice to feel useful again. I mean, as more than just a—” I gesture to my belly. “—a baby oven.”

I’m expecting a laugh. Instead, Oleg’s eyes tighten. His lips purse up ever so slightly in the perfect imitation of his mother.

“It was a joke,” I clarify, nudging him.

He doesn't budge. “Except it isn’t a joke, is it?”

I sigh. “Okay, maybe not. But maybe we can find a way to laugh about it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Because otherwise I’d be crying.” The deep furrow between his eyebrows only gets deeper. “It’s okay, you know. I’m starting to accept it.”

“Accept what, exactly?”

Grimacing, I pull my legs up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. “The way things will be between us. The faux family we have to be.”

“You really think you can do that? Fake it?”

No.

I swallow, hoping he can’t see the fear that I can feel spreading across my face. “I can try. It won’t always be easy but like I said, if we can find a way to be friends, then maybe it can get easier.”

Oksana’s words have been tumbling around in my head all day. I wish I could unhear them, but since I can’t, I figure the best way to deal with it is to get out ahead of them.

“But I do have some… conditions.” I hate the way the word tastes. So legal, so clinical. “No, not conditions. More like… polite requests.”

He nods for me to continue.

“I can’t deal with you sleeping with other women while you’re sleeping with me. That rule from our old contract still applies.” He doesn’t respond, but I push on before I lose my nerve. “But, if you ever decide to… to move on… all you have to do is tell me.”

“What exactly does that mean?”

His face is unreadable, but I could swear there are hidden tensions rippling beneath the surface.

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