Chapter Twenty-Five #2
“A yacht. That’s very specific. Do you own the yacht?”
“No. I am not own-a-yacht rich. I am borrow-a-small yacht rich. At least, I couldn’t afford the big one that I stayed on.”
“Was it a friend’s?”
He wrinkles his nose, sliding down in his seat as if my line of questioning makes him uncomfortable. “Another ex.”
“Oh. I see,” I say, brushing it off. “Another rich girl, then.”
He sighs. “Her dad is, yes.”
“Oh.” I nod, taking a sip of my cocktail.
It’s not like it’s any of my business. I should probably have done more research on him.
I’m sure this information is available to anybody who wants to look for it.
“I think you might you have a type.” I’m sort of teasing him but I’m also sort of hoping he proves me wrong.
“Her dad owned a team.”
“A football team?”
His eyes sparkle like I’m the most amusing person he’s ever come across. “You remind me of who I used to be.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I wouldn’t have considered someone owning a team meant an entire Formula 1 team before all this either. It wasn’t even in my realm of understanding. I thought it was a treat if I was getting a takeaway on a Friday night.”
“You mean your ex’s dad owned an entire Formula 1 team?”
He nods slowly, a smile teasing his lips.
“Yeah. I couldn’t even fathom what it’s like to have that kind of wealth. Was she nice at least?”
“Rain was beautiful. She was clever, creative and insightful. But she was also manipulative, controlling and kind of scary to be honest.”
I put my drink down, my face falling. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I think part of this industry is accepting powerful people want to have access to you. And when you’re in a difficult contract like the one I was…
” He groans. “The one I can’t currently escape from.
You start thinking that maybe if one of those really powerful, rich people might just love you a little, maybe they’ll help you. Maybe they’ll see you’re struggling.”
I feel an ache run down my spine. “I had no idea.”
“I guess signing something with as little understanding as we had at sixteen was a poisoned chalice. Then again, Callum and Will have managed to scarper. Jax has disappeared. Please explain to me how I’m the only one still being held to a wall by my throat?”
I sit up, rolling my shoulders back. His usual jokey tone has vanished and instead I’m seeing genuine concern in his eyes. “Are you serious?”
He shrugs. “I’m not meant to tell you.”
“Ok...”
“I want to.”
I nod. I’m no lawyer but I sit in contractual meetings daily. What would I advise a client in this situation? What would I do? “I know you’re not really asking for advice. I don’t want to overstep but… If I was you, I’d want to know how the others managed to escape without legal repercussions.”
Gus frowns at the table. “My team keeps telling me they can’t reach them. So maybe there will be?”
“Nonsense. They’d find them, right? Track them down?”
“I guess?”
“Have you officially told them you wish to terminate the agreement?”
He cringes. “I shouldn’t be telling you this.”
I smile, trying to ease the tension. “Who am I going to tell?”
He holds my stare for a lingering moment then wilts as if he’s come to an unfortunate conclusion. I don’t know why, but it stings a little. As if he’s decided he can’t trust me just yet. “I’m sorry to say I’ve been stung too many times not to know better.”
“I understand,” I say, because I do, even if I’m now horribly embarrassed about overstepping.
“You’ve been more helpful than you know,” he says, as if he can read my mind. “I’ll take on board what you’ve said.”
“Can you reach the others? Maybe they’ll be able to tell you what they’re doing?”
“I don’t know if that’s a wise idea, right now,” is all he says and the conversation moves onto the weather as the wind picks up, a wall of clouds gathering above the sea.
I’m three espresso martinis down on our stroll back to the cruise. Thankfully, the barman brought us olives and bread so I’m not too tipsy, just a little light on my feet.
The yacht is docked until early evening so there’s no rush to get back. That said, small, warm droplets of rain keep splattering on my arm and face. Gus looks up and sticks his tongue out like a child trying to taste the rain.
I snort. “How old are you?”
“Mentally or physically?”
“Age doesn’t work like that.”
He grins. “Oh, it does. We already know you were born fifty-two.”
“I haven’t aged a day since birth.”
“Come on, let’s get back before we get soaked,” he says.
At that exact moment, I swear I hear someone shout “Gus!”
We both pause in our step, looking over our shoulders. Tension runs through his fingertips laced with mine. I don’t like it, I want to protect him from that feeling.
“IT IS HIM! IT’S GUS!” an American woman shouts again.
Gus squeezes my hand and begins walking briskly towards the narrower lanes of old buildings near the port.
“What do we do?” I whisper, just loud enough for him to hear.
“Stay calm.”
“Ok. But what do I do if they catch us up?”
“Just stay nearby. And follow my lead.”
“Should I call your team?”