I expected her to look slightly concerned, but instead she smiled.
“My mother taught me to always pay my debts.”
She pulled up the straps on her dress, doing up the buttons far more easily than I undid them, but it wasn’t her covering up that bothered me.
It was what she said.
She always paid her debts.
Chapter Fifteen
Jameson
Ididn’t know how long I’d wait for Tommy. I’d spent the rest of the cruise in a state of agitation, wanting him to be with me and to not have to see him in equal parts. When he was near, my heart went into overdrive, and I wondered whether he was some kind of toxic drug that could ruin me forever.
Footsteps outside my room called me to the door. I opened it tentatively, having no idea who it would be, although I knew who I hoped it was.
I was disappointed. Marcus was outside, his hand about to knock. He looked tired, worried even, and he seemed to have lost weight.
He hadn’t been at the party, which I’d been glad of, unless he’d gone there after I’d left which had been as soon as the yacht had docked.
“What’s the matter?” I saw no reason to be polite with him. He’d brought his friend on Friday, the one person I never wanted to see again.
“I need a favour.”
“The answer’s no.” I went to shut the door, but he stopped it from closing with his foot.
“I’ve never asked you for anything before.”
“The answer’s still no. Go and ask your dad.”
“Jameson…”
“No, Marcus. Just go. Preferably back to England.”
“I need to borrow some money. You have your trust fund. I’ll get it back to you.” He sounded desperate. Looked desperate.
“No. Ask your dad.”
“I can’t. Look, Jay, I wouldn’t ask…”
“I wish you hadn’t.”
“If I can’t find it, they’ll – I’ll have to find another way.”
“Do that then.”
He walked away, muttering something about afucking bitch. I closed the door and locked it, any muscles that had been loosened after that orgasm earlier now tensed.
I looked over at the doors that led onto the little balcony outside my room. One was slightly open, the breeze coming through more strongly, the drapes blowing.
I hadn’t left the door open. It had definitely been shut. My heart pounding for a different reason this time, I went over there, pulling open the doors, expecting – dreading – to see Chad.
It wasn’t him.
Tommy sat on one of the wicker chairs, his feet up on the table, wearing jeans and a wifebeater, his thick biceps displayed in a way that made Marcus’ visit a vague memory.
His cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth, still unlit. I’d only seen him smoke a few times.
