Page 47 of Temporary Vows

I guess I just didn’t want her directly involved.

I promised to call her as soon as I’m out of here.

My only solace is having the money.

True to their word, the club deposited sixty thousand dollars in my account before I woke this morning.

Seeing all that money in my account was more than a burden lifted from my shoulders.

And of course, I thought of the man who made it possible.

Dorian.

I haven’t stopped thinking about him. Not even for a moment. My mind has been riddled with thoughts of him and that damn kiss.

Thinking about either of those things won’t do me any good, but I seem to be spiraling down a path to destruction. Why put the brakes on now?

I probably won’t see Dorian again.

The plan is to give Marcus fifty thousand dollars and keep ten in reserve. That would allow me to leave the coffeehouse. The coffeehouse was the only place I’d be likely to run into Dorian since I hardly go into the city. When I do, it’s for shopping. And even that’s rare.

Maybe not seeing him won’t be a bad thing.

He helped me, and he didn’t have to. Yes, he bought me, so there’s that, but someone else could have owned me, and I’m sure they wouldn’t have asked for a kiss.

So, I’ll take this experience as my goodbye. A parting gift.

He might not have helped my family in the past, but he helped me now when I needed it most.

I reach the third floor, where Marcus’ office is based, and pray to whoever is listening that this meeting goes well.

I know Marcusishere, or the men wouldn’t have let me in.

What mood will he be in?

And why in hell didn’t he get back to me?

I understand I missed the deadline. But in my messages, I made him aware that I’d be making up for it with a lump sum payment.

I’m hoping he will be open to reducing the monthly payments to something more manageable.

I turn the corner and see that his office door is open and the scar-faced man is standing in the doorway.

I almost stop but keep going, eager to get this over with.

He smiles when he sees me. “Evening, Miss Harper.”

I say nothing. I just walk past him into the office.

Marcus is standing by the window.

He’s a burly man with a thick tattooed neck, meaty shoulders stuffed into a leather jacket, and a jaw shadowed with permanent stubble. One look at him, and you know straightaway he’s not a businessman. He’s the debt collector who learned early that fear pays better than interest ever could.

The sight of him sends a shiver through me, but I find my strength.

Never look weak in front of these people. Never.

“Good evening, Marcus.” I commend myself for the firmness in my voice.