Shipped(20)

I grind my teeth until my jaw pops. He’s even managed to make my flash of ingenuity with Walsh as objective secret shopper look like a negative.

A mic switches on, speakers crackling to life, and Gustavo strides to the central platform in the middle of the room. Voices quiet and I force my attention to the dais.

“Welcome, everyone, to Discovery! I’m Gustavo, your cruise leader, and we’re going to enjoy a fantastic Galápagos adventure together!” The guests applaud.

Gustavo’s voice embraces the audience, his warm, energetic demeanor stoking excitement and guaranteeing engagement. He’s a congenial mix of a salt-and-pepper-haired Enrique Iglesias and Richard Simmons. He takes the first few minutes of his spiel to touch on the highlights of what we’ll experience—a new island each day, snorkeling, hiking, kayaking, and abundant wildlife with no inherent fear of humans, the hallmark of the Galápagos Islands.

Then he begins introducing the other staff on board: the naturalists, who will accompany us on all shore excursions to share their knowledge about the wildlife we see, and the officers and crew, the folks responsible for operating the ship.

My gaze drifts to Graeme. I try to listen, but his presence pulls my attention like a yo-yo. Swerving his chin, he glances at me and I quickly look away. My cheeks heat under his gaze. Squaring my shoulders, I tighten my jaw.

Graeme edges closer. “It’s strange seeing you in person too,” he whispers.

I whip my head to look at him and find his face inches from my own. At this distance, I can make out the color of his eyes. They’re blue. Not cornflower blue like Walsh’s, or light watery blue like a spring sky. They’re a deep, bottomless blue. Like the sea.

I lick my lips, and his gaze flicks to my mouth. I grimace. He smirks.

Gustavo’s voice cuts through my reverie and heat creeps up my neck. “I have one more person I’d like to introduce. She’s a marketing manager from our home office…”

Noooo. Please don’t say my name… please don’t say my name…

He’s going to say my name.

“Henley Evans. Where are you, Henley?”

My stomach drops like a two-ton garbage truck. I didn’t want the other guests knowing I work for the cruise line—too many questions, too many headaches. So much for traveling incognito.

Hitching a smile on my face, I stand and offer the guests a halfhearted wave. Walsh punctuates the round of golf claps with an energetic whoo-ooo. I resume my seat.

“Now, on our ship, safety is most important…”

Wait. He’s not introducing Graeme?

“Why isn’t he introducing you?” I hiss.

“Because I asked him not to.” His smug smile makes me want to dump my beer on his head.

This must have been what he was plotting with Gustavo when they came into the lounge. He’s given himself yet another advantage—if the guests don’t know he works for the cruise line, he can fly under the radar. He won’t have to be on all the time. But I will.

Oh, hell no. If I’m out, he’s out.

I leap to my feet like a popped jack-in-the-box. “Hold on, Gustavo. You forgot one.”

Gustavo freezes midsentence, his mouth falling open.

Graeme’s eyebrows knit together in a scowl. Tugging at his bicep, I silently urge him to stand, and holy hell his arm is hard. It’s like gripping granite. With a deep sigh, he heaves to his feet.

Gustavo blinks twice. “Ah, yes. How could I forget. Henley isn’t our only corporate staff on board. Please welcome Graeme Crawford-Collins, the man in charge of all our social media.”

Graeme lifts his hand to the room. One of the elderly ladies seated nearby elbows the woman beside her, and they both swivel to stare at him. The woman on the right pretends to lick her finger, and when she touches her wide hip, makes a sound like steam escaping. Oh Lord.

“And one more thing,” I chime in, tearing my eyes away from Graeme’s new groupies. “Just a quick reminder that when you post pictures from our adventures this week—and I promise, you’re going to get some fantastic shots—be sure to tag us on social media at S-Q-Adventures, one word, and Graeme here will re—”

“Remind you to enter our wildlife photography contest,” he blurts.

Damn it, he guessed what I was going to say—that he would retweet and like their posts. Score one for Graeme for wiggling out of the extra work I tried to land on his plate.

“The winner of the contest will receive an all-expense-paid Seaquest Adventures cruise to Antarctica,” Graeme continues. “Entries will be accepted until November 1. See Henley for more details.” He flashes me a smile that, from the outside, would appear to be nothing more than professional courtesy. Except I can see through his facade like cellophane. It’s a smile full of challenge. A shark’s smile.

Applause fills the room. My nostrils flare as we sit. I realize too late that we’re closer than we were before, only inches away. Energy surges between us so fiery it could melt diamonds.

“Yes, the contest. Thank you, Graeme. We’re pleased to have both you and Henley on board,” Gustavo acknowledges. “Now, if everyone could direct their attention to the screens for a short safety video. Afterward, we will gather in our muster stations for a lifeboat drill.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I lean over until my mouth is inches from Graeme’s ear. “Smooth move, making me the point person for that photography contest. Now every other guest with a fancy camera is going to be hounding me with questions.”