Page 165 of The Company

I bet he is. Asshole. I want to talk to him, but not yet. I need to have dinner to clear my head and think straight. I need to get a grip on what’s happening.

I swing my legs over the side of the bunk and stand up, stumbling my way to the head attached to my cabin. I’m not used to being on a ship anymore and it both frightens and thrills me that I’ve lost my sea legs. Frightens me because that was my whole life before I left. The sea. The ship. The sailing. I don’t want to lose that part of me. It’s who I am.

But I’m excited about having been away for so long. Living at the beach. Seeing the world from the opposite perspective. Living on my own.

That makes me smile. And yes, I was quite the mess for most of that. But I did it.

I’m excited that I met James and had sex. Jesus. If my dad found out about that, I’m not sure what he’d do. I don’t think James was sent to fuck me.

I really want to talk to him and it’s killing me to wait. But I need to play this right. I feel like I’m part of a game. I’m a chess piece. I’m a card that’s being held or played. I’m not quite sure.

But I do know one thing. Actions have consequences. I can’t afford to mess this up.

So dinner it is. It’s late, I know that. Because when I look out my porthole, I see nothing but black. The ship is rocking some, but it doesn’t feel like we’re moving, so we must still be in port.

OK. So I need to dress and go above deck for dinner.

I walk to my locker and open it. I recognize a few things. A bathing suit. Some flipflops. A beach bag. But other than that, the dresses are all new. I have six. One for each night of the week. This is how it’s always been. One dress for each day I’m expected for dinner. We never had dinner on Sundays so I never needed seven dresses. And that kinda set the standard for how many sets of clothing I required. I have six pairs of shorts folded neatly on a shelf. And six tank tops on the shelf above. I have two pairs of shoes besides the flip flops. One fancy, one casual.

James asked me if I was spoiled and I said yes. But that’s only because of how I was brought up. Not what I was given. I’ve never had an abundance of things. There’s just not enough room on a ship, even one this size, for collections.

We went shopping six times a year. Every two months. And on each trip a new wardrobe was purchased for me. Six of this, six of that. Six, six, six. My life has always been about sixes.

How strange.

I mean, there’s seven days in a week. Why not seven outfits?

I push the hangers aside so I can take a look at each option, and then choose a light yellow sun dress that has a beige knitted cropped sweater that barely covers my shoulders.

I slip on the fancy sandals. No heel. That’s only practical for a young lady on a boat, the nanny had explained why I couldn’t have stilettos as footwear. And then I look at myself in the mirror on the inside of the locker.

I have no idea who this girl is.

She’s not Harper Tate who left here last year. That girl never ran away and changed her name. Or had her own apartment in Huntington Beach. Or had a beautiful man face-fuck her in a hallway.

That girl was a virgin and this girl is not.

God, I miss James. An overpowering, stabbing pain weighs down on my chest. Not a physical pain. But one that twines with my mind and can only be described as… heartbreak.

Did James betray me or not?

Did he leave me here to fend for myself? Or will he come back like he promised?

That’s the only thing I can hold on to at the moment. He told me that before he left so I’d remember it.

He’s coming for me.

I just need to be patient.

But I don’t even know how long I was out. From the rumbling in my stomach and the need to pee, it must’ve been a long time.

The phone is resting on the bunk where I left it. I want to text him or call him so badly.

Just be patient, Harper. See what your father is up to. Because something is off here. Something is off and I need to know what that is before I make any decisions.

I take a deep breath and close the locker door. OK, it’s just dinner. It’s my father, for Pete’s sake. I’ve had dinner with my father for as long as I can remember.

In fact, this is all starting to feel very familiar.