Page 53 of Dirty Grovel

His nostrils flare, a tired sigh escaping his lips, but I cut him off at the pass. “Before you can lecture me about being childish, save it. I don’t care if it’s gonna sound fake as hell—I still want an apology from you. I want to hear you say it.”

He inclines his head. “Very well. I apologize. I am sorry for doubting that this baby was mine.”

“Good—”

“But—”

I grimace. “You were so close.”

“—it’s not like I didn’t have precedent,” he finishes. “It’s not as if I didn’t have probable cause to believe that I might not have been the only candidate to be this child’s father.”

“Probable cause, myass!” I cry out. “It’s calledtrust, Oleg. If you knew me at all, you would have known that I’m not capable of sleeping with one man while I’m with another. Especially not if I have?—”

I stop short, my cheeks flushing as I stop myself from finishing that sentence.

As it stands, I’m worried I’ve said too much, given too much away.

Because there’s no way my admission would be seen as a good thing. Oleg made me sign a contract to make sure I knew exactly what this was.

A job.

An unusual job, yes, but a job all the same.

“You know what?” I fume. “It doesn’t matter anymore, does it? The only thing that matters now is our baby. On that much, I assume we can agree?”

Oleg’s eyes churn, but all he says is, “Yes.”

“Great. And how do you feel about it?”

He actually has the audacity to look confused, his eyebrows pinching in the middle. “About what?”

“About the baby!” I cry. “About the fact that you’re going to be a father!”

He clears his throat, his eyes darting away from me. “There’s a lot to organize now that we know for sure this baby is coming. Firstly, I need to file away the paternity test results and?—”

I want to be the calm, assured, put-together type. The kind of woman that Oksana Pavlov seems to be.

But as much as I hate to admit it, I have my mother’s fiery temperament.

“What the hell iswrongwith you?”

He has the balls to look taken aback. “What do you want from me, Sutton?”

“How about a little bit of emotion, for starters? Would it really be so awful, so unthinkable of you to show just the tiniest bit of emotion about this future you seem so intent on controlling?”

I have no idea what he’s thinking. It’s all hiding behind stormy eyes, thick scars, behind a wardrobe and a posture and an aura that all scream in unison,Stay the fuck away from me.

“Sutton—”

I whirl around, hating myself for expecting more, guilty for demanding more, and frustrated that I can’t simply accept who he is.

“Never mind. We have nothing more to say to each other.”

I storm out of his office and stomp all the way up to my room. I’m texting immediately, my fingers shaking so badly that it takes me half a dozen attempts to get the words out right.

SUTTON:Men are IDIOTS!

SYDNEY:Preach.

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