Page 82 of Dirty Grovel

“How would that clause go?‘If you even try to supplant me with some idiot blonde, I’ll cut your balls off’?”

“It’s not the worst idea,” she says with a laugh. “And just for the record, you’re blonde, too.”

“Oh, hush. This is not the time for reason or logic.”

“You’re right,” agrees Jesse. “This is the time to stand your ground and demand that your requests be met. You’re carrying his baby, Sutton. That should come with a few perks at the very least—bargaining power being one.”

I nod. “You’re right.”

“I usually am.”

“Excuse me,” I growl as my tunnel vision kicks into high gear. “I have a Russian pirate to corner.”

I storm into his office, armed with a half-formed speech in my head. But the words dry on my tongue as I face the empty space.

Typical—I’m packing heat and there’s no one here to shoot.

I try his bedroom, the home gym, even the back gardens—but no matter where I go, Oleg doesn’t seem to be around.

Finally, I run into Ilya, one of his youngervors. “Where’s your boss?” I ask.

Ilya eyes me warily. “You look like you’re out for blood.”

“You’re right. And I’m more than willing to spill yours if you don’t tell me where Oleg is right now.”

Ilya gestures towards the ocean. “Pretty sure you’ll find him on one of his boats. But you better hurry—he’s due to set sail soon.”

“Goddammit!” I say, turning on my heel and rushing towards the boatyard.

No way is he going to abandon me in a house with his mother. I have a feeling one of us will end up dead and it sure as hell is not gonna be me.

I stride down the boardwalk, expletives running through my head as I make forTheWaterStar. There’s no sign of Oleg topside, so I go below deck and into the main cabin.

It would make for a more dramatic entrance if I just burst in, but in yet another move that the universe does not want me to win this fight, the door is locked.

So I stand in front of the main cabin door and start pounding hard.

I hear a loud curse, followed by Oleg’s heavy footsteps. “Whoever you are, go the fuck away. I’m all talked out for today.”

“Well, I’m not!” I exclaim. “And I’ve got a few things to say to you! Open this goddamn door right n?—”

I’m still pounding when the door flies open. I tumble forward, right into Oleg’s hard chest.

I straighten up, refusing to get phased by how damn hard his chest is. Or how good he smells. I wasn’t lying—I’ve got shit to say.

“Are you really going to hide out on your boat while your mother ruins our lives?” I ask, arms akimbo. “This is my life. Your life. Our baby’s life. She doesn’t have the right to waltz in here and insult me just because she thinks I’m beneath her.”

He just stares at me, his nostrils flaring, his eyebrows arching softly.

As usual, I have no idea what’s going on inside his head.

“I may not have had a fancy education. I may not know Dior from a dust bag. I may not have a hundred dollars to my name. But at least I’m not a snooty bitch whose reputation is built on her husband’s.”

The vein in his forehead stands out stark. I may have crossed a line, I’m not sure.

But I also realize that I no longer care.

I’m sick of being treated like a dirty little nobody. I’m sick of being talked at and down to and through, as though I’m a nasty, grubby gold digger who’s only here for an easy life.

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