Shipped(19)

Graeme’s… not avoiding me?

I blink at the water, then at him. He inclines his chin as if to say, There you go.

This is so unexpected. And nice. And weird.

I hold the glass up to the light and rotate it, looking for any sign of foul play. Then I bring it to my nose and sniff.

“It’s water. Not cyanide.”

“I know.” Wetting my lips, I take a tentative sip.

“I mean, I spit in it, but…”

My first instinct is to open my mouth and spew the water back into the glass. Instead, I lift my chin, lock eyes with him, and deliberately swallow. A droplet of water clings to the corner of my lips and I brush it away with my fist.

He chortles. I glower.

Resting an elbow on his armrest, he considers me. “You know, whenever I imagined meeting you in person for the first time, I never pictured you projectile-vomiting on someone.”

Don’t acknowledge. “What did you picture?”

“Henley, warrior princess. Armed with the sharpest of knife collections to skewer the hearts of her enemies.”

“The knives are in my cabin. They were a bitch to get through customs, especially the meat cleaver, but I can go get them if you like. You never know who might need skewering.” I flash my teeth in a wide, beatific grin.

Graeme throws his head back and laughs. The sound is rich and warm like molten chocolate cake. Still chuckling, he shakes his head slowly. “You, Henley Rose, are too much.”

Shifting in my seat, I cross my legs and perch an elbow on the sofa back. “So where have you been today? I didn’t see you on the plane this morning.”

“Why, did you miss me?”

“Like herpes.”

His nostrils flare. “I flew into San Cristóbal on Wednesday to do some exploring and boarded the ship a few hours before you got here.”

The fake smile slides off my face like goop. Graeme’s been in the Galápagos for three days already? Damn it, I should have thought to fly out early too.

Yeah right. I’m too busy to take extra leave. Being away for ten days is going to be hard enough, let alone nearly two weeks; I’ll be checking in every day as it is. How nice for Graeme that his workload is manageable enough to take the extra time off.

Anger at the fact that James thinks we’re equals—even though I clearly work harder than him—boils to the surface.

Gustavo’s voice cuts through my seething thoughts. “Good afternoon, good afternoon,” his voice buzzes through the speakers. “If everyone could please take a seat, we will begin the briefing.”

The remaining guests filter through the room, talking and laughing. To my surprise, Graeme stands and shuffles over to sit next to me on the sofa. His leg is a full foot away, but still close enough that it’s weirding me out. There’s no phone screen, no incorporeal voice floating across a phone line. He’s here and he’s real.

He leans over until we’re practically shoulder to shoulder. I catch another whiff of his intoxicating scent and inhale deeply through my nose before I can give myself a mental kick.

“Look, I know we’re both here because we’re competing for the same position,” he says. “But I want you to know—”

“Hey,” says Walsh. She’s standing in front of us, holding a pair of beers. Flicking a glance between me and Graeme, she curves her lips upward, slow and calculated. I’ve seen that look before. I furrow my brows. What does she think she’s doing?

She hands me one of the beers and flounces into the chair that Graeme vacated. Setting her bottle on the table, she crosses her legs—linen espadrille bobbing—and leans forward until her cleavage peeks from the neckline of her striped boatneck shirt.

“You must be Graeme,” she croons.

Yep, she’s going for it: full-on flirt mode. Cold condensation slicks my palm. I set my beer next to hers without taking a sip.

“And you must be Henley’s sister.”

“Walsh Evans.” She sticks out her hand, palm down.

He tentatively shakes it. Even though he’s perfectly polite, I get the feeling he’s not impressed by her guns-a-blazing approach. The strange tension between my shoulder blades eases until a new thought strikes me. I frown.

“Wait, how did you know she’s my sister?”

“James told me you were bringing her along.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course he did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re all buddy-buddy with our boss. It’s the bros club, and you two are its only members.”

“It’s not the bros club.”

“Oh really, how many women do you see him making small talk with?”

“You should be friendlier.”

I bark a bitter laugh. “Right. Because James makes women feel so comfortable, as if I could just plop down and have a chat with him whenever the mood strikes. Kind of like how I can control the way he talks to me.” A crease forms between Graeme’s eyebrows and he opens his mouth to say something, but I plow on. “What else did he tell you? My initial thoughts on the Galápagos cruise market?”

“No, he just said your sister was traveling with you, and he asked if I’d like to bring someone along too. To make it fair, I guess. I turned him down. I told him I wanted to use the opportunity of a solo trip to focus.”