The Power Trip

On his return trip to the yacht, Flynn rehearsed exactly what he was going to say to Sierra when they finally came face-to-face.

Hey, remember me — the love of your life? Isn’t that what you assured me I was?

Or:

How could you do what you did to me? Were you even aware that you smashed my heart into a thousand splintered fragments and I never got over you?

Or:

What the fuck are you doing with an asshole like Hammond Patterson? You’re too smart to be with a man like him.

Hell, he didn’t know what he’d say, if anything.

He’d left the island without telling anyone except Guy. No one would miss him — they were all too busy, including Xuan, who seemed to have taken a real liking to Aleksandr. Too bad the Russian was under Bianca’s spell, for Aleksandr and Xuan would’ve made an interesting couple.

The tender zoomed towards the yacht while he desperately tried to clear his head. Thoughts were flying.

Was he making a big mistake?

Should he be doing this?

Why dredge up the past?

Hell, why not?

* * *

After enjoying a peaceful hour of solitude, Jeromy turned up, putting paid to Cliff’s precious time alone.

‘Ah,’ Jeromy sighed, flopping down on a nearby lounger. ‘And I thought I was the only smart one. Now I can see that great minds think alike.’

Cliche alert, Cliff thought. And who exactly is this?

‘Yeah,’ Cliff said amiably, lowering the script he was leafing through. ‘Just getting some reading done while I can.’

‘All work and no play,’ Jeromy admonished, wagging a bony forefinger.

Cliff frowned. Another cliche. What a jerk.

‘It seems that everyone else has deserted us,’ Jeromy said, delighted to spend alone time with the movie star. Maybe Cliff Baxter could be a future client — what a coup that would be.

‘True,’ Cliff said. ‘Only reading scripts isn’t really work, especially if they’re worthwhile.’

‘I must say,’ Jeromy continued, warming up, ‘I am an ardent admirer of your work. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that you are extremely popular in the old home country.’

‘Home country?’ Cliff questioned, thinking that maybe he should’ve gone on the island trip after all.

‘England,’ Jeromy said grandly. ‘Actually, I’m from London. I must assume you have graced us with your presence.’

Yes, the man had just proved it, he was a walking talking cliche.

‘London’s a great city,’ Cliff said. ‘I’ve had many a good time there. In fact, I have a cousin who lives in Sloane Square. You know it?’

‘Know it!’ Jeromy exclaimed. ‘My showroom is just around the corner.’

‘Showroom?’

‘I hate to sound immodest,’ Jeromy said, sounding immodest. ‘However, I am regarded as one of the premier interior designers in London.’

‘Is that so?’

‘Exactly.’

‘And you’re on this cruise because of Aleksandr or Bianca?’ Cliff asked, wondering how he could escape.

‘Well,’ Jeromy lied, ‘they’re both dear friends. And as I am sure you know, my significant other is Luca Perez. He and Bianca are almost like brother and sister.’

‘Got it,’ Cliff said. This was not the way he’d planned on spending the afternoon.

Fortunately Mercedes appeared, offering drinks and snacks.

Cliff took the opportunity to stand up and stretch. ‘Think I’ll take a break,’ he said, moving towards the circular staircase. ‘See you later.’

Jeromy frowned. Was it something he’d said? Had Cliff’s nobody girlfriend complained about him because he hadn’t paid her enough attention the previous evening?

Dammit! A wasted opportunity.

‘Can I get you anything?’ Mercedes asked politely.

Jeromy, in a fit of pique, ignored her. It was a big mistake.

* * *

Clarity. A sensation Sierra hadn’t felt in a long time. No more drugs. Even though they were legal, they still dulled her senses, made the world a different place.

She’d once been a strong woman, opinionated and positive. Hammond had turned her into a shell of the woman she once was. Unfortunately she’d allowed it to happen, punishing herself for the past.

Seeing Flynn had been like standing under an icy cold shower.

Wake up, little girl. Fight the fight. Get over yourself.

It was incredible to feel so free. Just like that, the shackles were loosened and she could breathe again.

After getting dressed, she headed to one of the upper decks. It was a glorious day, just the kind of day to emerge from the frightening fog that had enveloped her for too many years.

Come at me with your threats, Hammond. Finally I am able to stand up to you.

And I will. Oh yes, I certainly will.

* * *

Being treated like a non-existent piece of shit did not thrill Mercedes. Jeromy whatever his dumb name was, would pay for that. She’d already scoped out his stateroom and knew exactly what she would take when the time came. Watches, rings, gold chains, cash. Between him and the singer, there was plenty of loot. The Senator and his wife, not so much. But the footballer kept a stack of cash hidden in his sock drawer, which amused her. Oh sure, like no thief worth their business would ever think of checking out a sock drawer.

Who was he hiding it from anyway? His wife? Miss Big Tits?

Mercedes was glad the guests were off the boat, it gave her time to snoop around. She was especially pleased that Guy wasn’t present. He was such a fussy queen who always seemed to have his eye on her. Renee and Den were both okay — easily manipulated and a bit stupid, but if the circumstances were different, maybe they could’ve all been friends.

Australians. A different kind of species.

* * *

Flynn was sweating, unusual for him, but he was way out of his comfort zone.

What was he going to say to Sierra?

Small talk wouldn’t cut it.

Shit! This was an impossible situation.

He decided to throw himself in the shower, get himself together, and approach Sierra in a cool and collected fashion.

Yeah, that was the way to do it.

At the door to his stateroom he encountered one of the stewardesses emerging.

‘Everything okay?’ he asked. ‘I thought the maid was already in here.’

‘Checking out your wet bar,’ Mercedes replied, unphased at nearly being caught.

And your computer.

And your cash.

Ninety-three dollars.