Dirty Grovel: Chapter 12

Swimming has quickly replaced my gym workouts.

Not because I enjoy it more.

Not because it’s more relaxing.

Not because it’s better exercise.

But because it means that I stand a greater chance of running into a certain somebody.

And the chances that she’s going to be wearing another scandalous bikini is high.

She’s usually at the pool by now, putting that gorgeous body of hers to work.

But today, it’s quarter past ten and she’s still a no-show.

Thankfully, I have enough to occupy my mind. For one, the last virtual board meeting I’d called—one that excluded Boris, of course.

I think I’ve finally managed to convince all the members that ousting him is the only viable way forward for the company. It’s an easy enough case to make, considering the money he sunk into the dead deal with the Martineks.

But there are still a few hard nuts to crack.

Boris loyalists who are terrified of incurring his wrath by siding with me. And in order to oust the head board member, the vote has to be unanimous.

So now, I find myself in the delicate position of having to present proof that Boris and the Martineks had explicitly and knowingly worked together to mount the attack on me.

I’m contemplating possibilities in my head when I come up for air after my fiftieth lap.

Instead of the breath of fresh oxygen I’m looking for, I get smacked with a wave of water right in the face.

“Fuck,” I gasp, coughing and spluttering and trying to figure out where the source of the attack came from.

Squinting through my smarting eyes, I make out a perfect silhouette doused in golden light and dressed in a tiny black bikini.

“Jesus Christ, woman,” I mutter. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“You wanna know what my problem is?” she asks, sending another wave of water at my face. “You are my damn problem.”

Annoyed and completely in the dark about whatever it is that has got her all riled up, I return fire with fire and send a tidal surge of water right at her.

She’s not even in the pool, but by the time I’m done, she’s totally drenched.

“You asshole!”

“You started it.”

She reinforces that very mature point by hitting back at me with both hands. Water washes hard against my face and I return the favor.

Within seconds, it’s devolved into a full-on water fight.

Which would be cute—if we were ten years old. And/or actually having fun.

But a single glance at Sutton’s face makes it clear that she is not having fun. Not in the least.

She is pissed off.

She is foaming at the mouth.

And she wants to make me pay.

For what, I have no fucking clue.

But I’m glad that, at the very least, her armor of choice involves as little fabric as possible.

“Goddammit, Sutton, will you stop?”

“No!” she snaps, retaliating with another splash of water. “Screw you, Oleg Pavlov. Screw! You!”

Reaching my limit, I grab her wrist and drag her right into the pool with me. I hear a half-uttered curse before she disappears under the water.

When she bobs up again a second later, I can tell that I’ve only pissed her off further.

“Will you just calm the fuck down—” I order, grabbing her hands before she can start splashing me again. “—and tell me what’s wrong?”

Her breath heaves. Her jaw is set firmly, her eyes pinched.

Somewhere in the midst of her fall, her swimsuit has shifted. I can see her nipple peeking out from above the half-cup fabric of her bikini top.

“I know what you’ve been up to.”

I raise my eyebrows, honestly stumped.

What have I been up to? My days and nights have developed a familiar rhythm—meetings, paperwork, gym, and of course, there’s the odd midnight sail to either test equipment or get a much-needed break from land.

“I’m missing something.”

“Yes, you are,” she stammers. “A fucking heart!”

I roll my eyes. “I’ve never been a fan of riddles, woman,” I growl. “If you’ve got something to say to me, just come out and say it.”

“I saw you with another woman yesterday!”

It takes me a second to put together this woman she’s talking about with Andrea Carson, the woman who runs the IT company I work with regularly.

She moved to Nassau last year with her husband. Since then, she and I always get together for a business slash social meeting to catch up.

I have no idea how Sutton had gotten wind of my completely innocuous lunch with Andrea, but I’m in no hurry to make any reassurances.

I kinda like this shade of jealousy on her.

Really brings out the ice in her blue eyes.

Which means telling her that our lunch ended in actual dessert—and not the kind that involves champagne and a room in a five-star hotel—is off the table.

At least for now.

“You are such a fucking hypocrite!” she yells, stripping some of the fun out of this little Greek drama we’re bringing to life.

“How did you get there?”

“All you care about is appearances and your family’s perfect reputation and all the while, you’re stepping out on your pregnant fiancée!”

“And who put us in this position in the first place?” I remind her coldly. “If you weren’t fucking Drew Anton⁠—”

“Are you still beating that dead horse?” she explodes. “Or is believing that really easier than admitting that you were wrong?”

“Meaning what?”

“I have nothing to do with Drew anymore. I wasn’t working with him, I wasn’t sleeping with him, and I wasn’t trying to screw you over for him!”

“I saw the damn evidence, Sutton.”

“Evidence that was given to you by whom?” she asks. “Let me guess: your uncle? Or maybe your mother? She wasn’t exactly happy about our engagement, was she?”

I refuse to let her gaslight me. “If you really had nothing to hide, then why didn’t you tell me about Anton from the beginning? That fucking photoshoot was a ruse to get my attention. You probably took those damn pictures for him.”

I’m almost certainly betraying my own jealousy here, but I can’t stop myself. “What about all those secret meetings you had with Anton while you and I were engaged? You wanna talk about hypocrisy? Let’s start there. And might I remind you that, as far as I’m concerned, you are not my fiancée. I owe you nothing, Sutton Palmer. Least of all an explanation.”

She stares at me, eyes blank, her mouth curled down at the corners. “I would have gladly given you my explanation—except you didn’t want to hear it.”

“Why would I believe a word that comes out of your mouth?”

“Because, believe it or not, it’s the truth. I never mentioned Drew because I was done with him, in every possible way. I was terrified of getting entangled in his web again. And yes, he did approach me once or twice, but it was never planned.”

“But you didn’t walk away.”

“If I had walked away from him, it would have been like walking away from my sister. He told me he’d keep an eye out for her. She wasn’t returning my texts or calls at the time. So yes, I chose to stay in contact with him as a lifeline for Sydney—which, in hindsight, I recognize was a mistake. On so many different levels. But I love my sister and I just… I wasn’t thinking straight at the time.”

I eye her warily. “And you didn’t tell me any of this because…?”

“Honestly? Because I didn’t know how you would react. Or how you’d choose to help. I wasn’t about to risk the chance of telling you, only to have you handle the situation in a way that would put my sister in danger.”

“Which means you trusted Drew above me.”

“No, but he works closely with Paul. He has access to my sister. I was worried and desperate and he offered me a solution.”

“He wanted to manipulate you.”

“I’m very aware of that.”

“And yet you let him.”

She points her chin forward stubbornly. “There is very little I wouldn’t do and a whole lot I would put up with if it means protecting my sister. And since I haven’t succeeded in protecting her, I had to try, at the very least, to save her.” She adjusts her bikini top and slides towards the handrail. “You can choose not to believe me, but that is the truth.”

Then she climbs out of the pool and snatches my towel, because it’s the only one on hand at the moment.

Feeling distinctly rattled, I climb out of the pool myself and trudge to the poolhouse, lost in thought.

Everything Sutton just told me rang true. But I’m not sure if my feelings for her are tainting my judgement.

Can I really trust the woman after everything she’s put me through?

Can I really risk my empire and my position again?

Then again, I know firsthand how powerful a sibling relationship can be. I had a sister of my own and I would have done anything for her.

Can I blame Sutton now for holding up to the same standards?

I’m still seesawing between forgiveness and skepticism when my phone pings.

It’s an alert from my security detail in Nassau.

They’ve sent me a picture.

I open the JPEG and take in the photo.

It features a clear view of Sutton, exiting a pretty well-known women’s clinic in downtown Nassau.

The name is familiar to me; I’m just not sure why.

On the heels of the picture, I get a text from Ilya.

ILYA: Did you check out the image I sent, boss? It’s from this morning.

OLEG: Why is the name of this clinic so familiar?

ILYA: It gained a lot of press attention a couple of years ago. It’s one of *those* places.

OLEG: What does that mean?

ILYA: It’s an abortion clinic.