Diamonds in the Rough Page 6

  “Is there a problem here?” a stern voice asked from behind—Jackson. He must have looked intimidating, because Larissa let go of the phone, leaving it in Peyton’s grasp. She turned to face him. He was business as usual, although she swore she saw a flicker of amusement in his hazel eyes. “Well?” he said, looking between Peyton, Larissa and Madison like they were all little kids.

  Peyton raised her chin, refusing to be belittled. “I have reason to believe there are pictures of me on Madison’s phone that were taken against my will and need to be deleted,” she said, mustering as much snobby-hotel-heiress tone as she could manage without being over-the-top. “I was about to check, but Madison refused to give me her password.”

  Jackson took the phone from Peyton and handed it to Madison. “Enter your password, and then give the phone back to Miss Diamond. If she’s mistaken and there are no pictures of her that were taken without her permission, then there’s no harm done. If there are pictures, there will be serious legal repercussions initiated by Mr. Diamond if you don’t allow them to be deleted. And if you refuse to cooperate by not entering your password, the phone will be confiscated under the assumption that you have something to hide. Do you understand?”

  “And who exactly are you?” Larissa crossed her arms, although her nasally voice didn’t sound as confident as it had earlier.

  “I’m Miss Diamond’s bodyguard.” Jackson moved his suit jacket to the side, giving a glimpse of his gun. Larissa pressed her lips together and shrank back in her seat. “And I suggest that you cooperate. No need to make more trouble for yourselves than necessary.”

  Madison grudgingly entered her password and handed the phone to Peyton, who gladly took it from her. Peyton clicked into Madison’s photo album, and sure enough, there were two pictures of her at the bar with Hunter, the two of them having drinks and flirting.

  “And you told me to ‘calm down’—as if I’d imagined you taking the pictures?” Peyton sneered and hit the trash can button beneath each one. “Good thing I’m not naive.”

  “I told you to calm down because I wasn’t going to post them anywhere public,” Madison said. “You and I might not be friends, but I don’t want to get Hunter fired.”

  “So why take the pictures?” Peyton handed the phone back to Madison, feeling lighter now that the pictures were gone.

  “Because you were drinking and flirting with our hot Aussie English teacher,” Larissa chimed in. “Why not take pictures?”

  Madison looked like she was going to add something, but she didn’t have a chance.

  “None of this matters, because the pictures are deleted,” Jackson said. “Now, Peyton, I believe you need to get up to your condo to get changed for dinner. You’re running late as it is.”

  “Right,” Peyton said, although she knew as well as Jackson did that there were no dinner reservations that night. She stomped away from Madison and Larissa, not bothering to say bye, the sounds of their whispers and laughter coming from behind her. She would not give them the satisfaction of turning around and glaring at them.

  As she made her way to the penthouse elevators, she reminded herself that despite what Jackson had done for her back there, nothing had changed between them. He wasn’t going to open up to her again like he had for those few days over the summer. By intervening and making sure the photos were deleted, he was doing his job. Carl and Teddy would have done the same for Savannah and Courtney. She shouldn’t get her hopes up.

  She pressed the button for the elevator, and as always, Jackson appeared beside her. This elevator ride would surely be spent the same way as the rest of them since the kiss—either silent, with vague chitchat or with one-word responses from him when she attempted to have a real conversation. Not like she’d made any recent attempts. His barriers were impossible to break through, and eventually, she’d stopped trying. Being rejected over and over again was too painful.

  The elevator was empty except for the two of them. She slid her key card into the slot, and pressed the button for the top floor.

  “I could have handled those girls myself,” she said, bracing herself for what would surely be a one-word, emotionless response.

  “Not without causing a scene that might have led to people taking more unwanted pictures of you,” he said, his jaw tense. “You need to be more careful.”

  She crossed her arms and watched the floor numbers on the display climb. That was worse than a one-word response—clearly he thought she was an impulsive kid. It was opposite from the way Hunter had treated her at the bar—as if she were an adult worthy of real conversation.

  “Who was that guy you were talking to?” Jackson’s voice broke through the silence. “The one your classmates took photos of you with?”

  Her breath hitched at the realization that Jackson had asked her a personal question. And that seeing her with Hunter might have made him jealous. Could he still care about her?

  “That was Hunter Sterling, from Australia.” She tilted her head toward Jackson, allowing her long hair to drape over her shoulder, and smiled. “Why are you asking?”

  “Because he’s too old for you,” Jackson said, concern breaking through his normally impassive expression.

  “He’s only a little older than you,” Peyton said playfully. “I would guess twenty-five or twenty-six. So he’s not too old for me. We actually had a rather fascinating conversation.”

  “You want me to believe you walked up to this guy randomly and struck up a conversation?” Jackson asked. “I’ve been guarding you for months now, so I know that’s not your typical behavior.”

  “And what’s my ‘typical behavior’?”

  “You let guys come to you,” he said, his eyes so intense that she forgot to breathe. “Not the other way around.”

  “Fine, you’re right,” she admitted. The truth was more interesting, anyway. “He’s my English teacher. I saw him at the bar, and it would have been rude of me to not say hi.”

  “That guy was your teacher?” Jackson jerked his head to look at her straight on, his arm muscles flexing.

  “Relax.” Peyton kept her tone light. Jackson was definitely jealous—maybe all wasn’t lost between them. “Like I said, it would have been rude of me not to say hi. I had a question about something we’re reading for class, and he helped me out while he waited for his date to arrive. It’s no big deal.”

  Jackson focused on the crack in the elevator doors, and Peyton chipped at her black nail polish, worried that the connection between them was gone again. “I hope so,” he finally said, stepping aside so that she could leave the elevator first.

  She walked into the hall, and he followed far behind, as if he’d never let his guard down to begin with. But that conversation was enough to give her hope. He still cared about her. They had a chance…. She just had to play her cards right.

  And she was getting a distinct vibe not to push him anymore. At least, not right now.

  Her phone buzzed with a text, and she took it from her bag, glad for a distraction. It was from someone she hadn’t spoken to in a while: Oliver Prescott. She’d thought she was interested in him during her first few days in Vegas, but once she’d realized what a jerk he was—he’d stupidly bet he could sleep with her and her sisters before the end of summer—she’d moved on. She’d been the only one to sleep with him, and while she hated that she’d been played, better her than Courtney or Savannah. She was the only one of them strong enough to handle it, mainly because she was the only one who wasn’t a virgin. To have your virginity taken by someone who was using you….eyton shuddered at how awful that would feel. Someone would have to do something terrible to deserve that. Even the guy she’d lost her virginity to—her ex-boyfriend, Vince—had thought he loved her at the time.

  She opened up the message from Oliver and read it.

  Have u thought about what u want me to do for th
at bet, or are u gonna keep stalling?

  Peyton rolled her eyes and threw her phone back into her bag. He didn’t have to clarify what bet he was referring to. Over the summer, Oliver’s parents had set him up on a date with Courtney. They thought she would be a “good influence” on him. At that point, Peyton and Oliver had already hooked up, and she’d been pissed that he’d agreed to go on the date with Courtney instead of bringing her. She’d told him Courtney would never be interested in him, but he’d claimed otherwise, going as far as turning it into a bet. Knowing that Oliver wasn’t Courtney’s type, and that Courtney would never fall for his games, Peyton had agreed. She’d won, and the terms of their bet stated that because Oliver had lost, he had to do any one thing Peyton asked.

  Luckily they hadn’t set a time limit, because she still hadn’t come up with the perfect task.

  Once she was inside her condo, she took out her phone and replied to the text.

  Not yet. But once I do, don’t worry—I’ll let you know.

  Chapter 4: Madison

  “Now that we’re reaching the end of September—along with the end of our blood type unit—it’s time for you to discover your own blood types,” Madison’s advanced genetics teacher, Mrs. Amy, said from the front of the classroom.

  “Lab partners?” Madison’s best friend, Oliver Prescott, asked from his seat next to her. He didn’t normally take advanced classes, because he liked doing the least amount of work for school as possible, but Madison had convinced him that advanced genetics would be easier than chemistry or physics. Madison, on the other hand, was doubling up on her junior year sciences by taking both advanced genetics and AP chemistry.

  “Of course,” Madison said as Mrs. Amy passed out the supplies. She did most of the work when she did labs with Oliver, but she didn’t mind. Science labs were fun, and this one would be easy. All they had to do was prick each other’s fingers, put a few drops of blood on the card provided with the kit and analyze their results.

  As they prepped for the experiment, they talked about their plans for the night. Their group was going to dinner at the Terrace restaurant at the Gates Hotel, and from there Oliver had reserved a center cabana at Luxe, the main club at the Gates, where Calvin Harris would be DJing. Cabanas at Luxe were one of the perks of Oliver’s dad owning the Gates, although Madison had been best friends with him before his dad had built the famous Vegas hotel a few years ago. They’d become close in second grade, when they’d been assigned seats next to each other, and she’d helped him learn his multiplication tables. And here she was today, still helping him in science and math.

  “Ladies first?” Oliver held up the lancet he would use to prick her finger, his eyes gleaming like he couldn’t wait.

  Madison held her hand out to him, turned her head and covered her eyes. “Warn me before you do it.”

  “You want to be a doctor and you’re afraid of blood?”

  “I don’t mind other people’s blood,” she said. “But I hate when it’s my own.”

  “I’m going to count to three,” he said, holding her index finger in place. “One, two…” Then he pricked her finger, and Madison jumped, taking an audible breath inward.

  “Way to not say three.” She glared at him. He smirked, apparently amused, and she couldn’t help but smile back.

  “You survived.” He held out his finger. “Now do me.”

  She grabbed the lancet and pricked him without counting off. “Payback,” she said gleefully.

  Oliver shook out his hand and cursed. “That hurt,” he said, quietly enough to not draw attention to himself.

  “Now for the experiment.” Madison squeezed her finger to push out the blood, ready for the fun part of this lab. A few years ago she’d been watching a television show with her parents about a group of people lost on a deserted island, and one of the characters had needed a blood transfusion, but he hadn’t known his blood type. Her dad had said the character needed a universal donor with O-negative blood, like himself, to make sure he didn’t reject the transfusion. At the time, Madison hadn’t thought to ask about her own blood type, but the current unit in class had made her curious.

  She mixed her blood into the designated spots on the card and waited a minute for the results. Once it was ready, she picked it up and studied it.

  “This can’t be right,” she said, mixing the blood some more. But the results didn’t change.

  “What do you mean?” Oliver glanced at her card. “It looks like you’re AB positive. That’s one of the rarest ones, right?”

  “Mrs. Amy?” Madison raised her hand. “I need another card. There’s something wrong with mine.”

  “Are you sure?” Mrs. Amy walked over from where she was helping another student, her eyebrows knitting in confusion. She picked up Madison’s card and examined it. “This looks fine to me.”

  “It’s not.” Madison pushed back her shoulders and looked at her straight on. “May I please have another card? Just to double-check my results.”

  Mrs. Amy bit her lip like she was about to say no, but she must have seen the determination in Madison’s eyes, because instead she said, “There are a few extras on my desk.”

  “Thank you.” Madison rushed to the desk, picked up another card, and brought it back to the lab table. She squeezed the tiny puncture on her index finger, glad when fresh blood popped up.

  “Are you sure there was something wrong with yours?” Oliver sat on the table, watching as she redid the experiment. “I’ve never seen you mess up on a lab before.”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong,” Madison explained, mixing up the blood on the new card. “My first card was just faulty.” She set it down and waited a minute for her real result.

  But it was the same as before—AB positive.

  She set her hands down on the table and glared at the card. They’d been studying blood types for a week, and she fully understood the unit. These results were impossible. She must be doing something wrong.

  Mrs. Amy walked over to Madison’s lab table. “Is everything okay?”

  “I don’t think I’m doing the lab correctly.” Madison’s cheeks flushed, and she could barely bring herself to meet her teacher’s eyes.

  “Let me take a look.” Mrs. Amy picked up both blood type cards and examined them. Madison’s heart pounded while she waited for her opinion, and she drummed her fingers on the table. “Nothing’s wrong with your results,” she said. “You did the lab perfectly, as always.”

  Madison’s lungs squeezed so tightly that she could barely get any air. Normally, she expected her teachers to praise her in science class. But those results couldn’t be accurate.

  Everyone in the class was staring at her. Not wanting to cause a scene, she swallowed and forced herself to take a few steady breaths. “Thanks,” she somehow managed to reply. Luckily, another student raised a hand and asked Mrs. Amy a question, which moved the attention away from Madison.

  “Is everything okay?” Oliver asked once Mrs. Amy had walked away.

  “I’m not sure.” Madison’s hand trembled as she picked up the card and stared at it blankly. “But I think I’m going to have to cancel on our plans tonight.”

  * * *

  Madison’s parents were working at the hospital and wouldn’t be back until later that night, so she watched movies by herself as she waited. She had what she called the Trifecta of Movies to Watch When in a Bad Mood—Pride and Prejudice, Titanic and Moulin Rouge. Whenever she watched those three movies, she forgot about her life and focused on the lives of the characters, drawn into their worlds and problems.

  Her friends had texted to ask why she wasn’t coming out, but they’d stopped bothering her once she told them she wasn’t feeling well. Which was the truth, because her head had been pounding ever since she’d done the genetics lab. And when she’d gotten back home to the
condo in the Diamond Residences—although sometimes it still felt strange to think of the three-bedroom penthouse as home, since they’d moved there a few months ago—she’d done something she’d resisted for months and ordered Dominos pizza. Sure, the condo had a room-service menu full of food from the five-star restaurants in the Diamond, but Madison loved Dominos.

  After devouring the entire large by herself, she’d crawled into a baggy sweatshirt so that she wouldn’t have to be disgusted by her bloated stomach rolling over her jeans. She would have to go on a fruit-and-veggie cleanse for the next two days to remove all that grease and fat from her body.

  She’d finished watching Pride and Prejudice and was halfway through Titanic when her parents walked through the door, still dressed in their scrubs. They worked at the same hospital—her dad as the head of neurology and her mom as an anesthesiologist—and got similar schedules when they could. They were chatting as they walked inside but quieted when they saw Madison slouched on the couch with a movie on and an empty pizza box on the coffee table. She paused the movie, the food swirling inside her stomach as she thought how to begin the conversation she had to have with them. She felt so nauseated that she worried she might throw up—which, after how much she’d eaten, wouldn’t be a bad thing.

  “Madison,” her mom said, placing her purse on the kitchen counter. “What are you doing home on a Friday night? Don’t you have plans with your friends?”

  “I canceled.” Madison kept her voice steady. “I wasn’t in the mood to go out.”

  “Are you sick?” Her dad’s forehead creased in concern, which was understandable—Madison hadn’t voluntarily stayed home on a weekend night since middle school.

  “No,” she said. “But I need to talk with both of you.”

  “Oh.” Her mom pulled her long, dark braid over her shoulder and shared a worried look with her dad. “Okay.”