Unmaking Marchant by Ella James

keeping something from me. I’m not sure what, but she never hangs around to talk to me when Hunter goes into the Love Inc. library to work. She grabs her laptop and says she’s going off somewhere in the building to work herself, on her master’s thesis; she’s trying to complete it at a distance, and I get that…but it’s weird that she doesn’t want to spend any time with me. We’re best friends, remember?
My breath on the window dissipates, and I see a cluster of beautiful women spill around the pool. They’re talking animatedly about something—I can hear their voices through the glass—and my heart catches when I realize the woman at the center of the group is Lizzy.
I swallow hard and tell myself to grow a thicker skin. She’s doing her ethics thesis on the escorts here, so of course she needs to talk to them. Besides, they’re her friends now—right?
She introduced me to most of them almost as soon as we arrived here. And when we came back to the room, I was withdrawn and quiet because I feel kind of uncomfortable around these confident, extroverted women who see things so differently than I do.
Lizzy knows me. She could probably tell I was uncomfortable, so she’s hanging out with them solo. What’s the point of inviting me?
I sit back on my king-sized bed and think of Cross, occupying the single room nearest to the stairs, one floor up.
I could check on Cross.
I will check on Cross. He’s probably in his room brooding. But he’s the reason I’m here, after all. And if he doesn’t answer the door, I’ll go do some yoga by the pond.
I dress in black yoga pants and a pink sleeveless shirt, plus my sneakers, and I’m out the door in just a few minutes.
I knock twice on Cross’s door before he answers. My heart jumps into my throat. He hasn’t answered my knocks since we’ve been here. All I want is for our friendship to go back to normal. The door swings open, and I find myself staring at a young, blonde girl.
I frown. “Meredith?”
She shakes her head. “Lucy. I’m cleaning up.”
“Oh, so Cross is gone?”
“I guess so. The room is empty.”
It smells like a bar. I feel sorry for the girl. “Okay…well, thanks.”
She nods and closes the door, and I’m not sure what to do with myself now. I make a slow circle on a red runner covering the hardwood. There’s another one of those big, floor-to-ceiling windows at the end of the hall. I can see Lizzy by the pool with her escort friends. I tell myself I could be out there with her, if I hadn’t acted so reserved—okay, antisocial—last night.
I can’t help remembering the conversation Lizzy and I had before she came to Vegas: me, telling her that sex should be with someone you really care about, and Lizzy insisting that it didn’t have to matter so much. Now Lizzy’s met her soul mate and I’m alone, letting drunk strangers get me off in bathrooms, no less.
How the tables have turned…
Maybe what bothers me most is that every other second I’m here, I’m thinking about Marchant Radcliffe. It’s not what he said or how he behaved that’s the problem. It’s that he caught my eye at all. Because that’s what enabled him to hurt me with that nasty comment in the hospital hall. I let him in. I, Suri Dalton, am addicted to drunken assholes.
I rub my eyes and head back downstairs, where I plan to take a side door and an indirect route to the pond. As I walk, I keep my eyes peeled for Marchant Radcliffe, while my mind regurgitates the scene from the Wynn bathroom.
The old Suri would never do something like that. She had pride. And poise.
“I had pegged you for lonely, not desperate…”
I bite my lip.
I head through the main hall, a massive, rug-covered area filled with bookshelves, couches, and cozy alcoves where the women and men who work here meet their clients, before then taking clients back to their rooms. I hurry past the open bar and past the elevator shaft, headed for a door that’s topped with a glowing, red EXIT sign on