Shipped(37)

“You’re not being nice. You’re pulling the outfield in.”

“What?” he splutters, standing with his feet planted in the surf, water dripping off every inch of his imposing body.

“Like in gym class.”

He approaches, gear tucked under an arm, until we’re face-to-face. “Explain.”

“When you were a kid, did you ever play softball in gym?”

He nods.

“I don’t know what it was like at your school, but at mine, whenever a girl stepped up to bat, one of the boys would smirk and say, ‘Okay, bring it in,’ then all the other boys in the outfield would saunter to the infield. You know why?”

“Because boys are snots?”

“Because they assumed girls can’t swing. And even if one could, they didn’t think there’d be any power behind it.” I take a step forward until mere inches separate us. “I. Can. Swing.” I punctuate each word with a sharp tap against his chest. “I don’t need your help, so stop treating me like a little girl going up to bat.”

“I’m not… I don’t…” Graeme scrubs a hand through his hair. Water droplets fling in every direction. “I didn’t mean for you to take it like that.”

Men rarely do, especially the decent ones. But still, too often their actions sting. How many times had I shown up to meetings only to be underestimated? Talked over? Snubbed by my male colleagues while they exclusively talked to one another and ignored the women in the room? Plenty. And I am so over it.

“What odds would you give yourself of getting this promotion? Ninety-ten? Eighty-twenty? Put a number on it.”

His jaw tightens but his lips remain closed.

“You can afford to be nice because you don’t see me as a threat.” If I had an ounce of Walsh’s wile, I would let him underestimate me and play that to my advantage, but I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut.

“You have no idea how I see you.” His voice is like a hammer resonating off steel and a shiver zings down my spine. “You’re so wrapped up in your own preconceived notions about my motives you’ve never stopped to consider that maybe I’m different. You can’t know what I think because you don’t know me.”

He takes a step closer. I hold my ground and raise my chin.

“You know what? I think you’re mad because, despite your best efforts, you actually like me. And that makes your ruthless approach to this promotion harder than you thought.”

“What?” I splutter. “I don’t like you.”

“You do, at least a little. Admit it.”

“That’s… that’s…”

A tiny voice inside echoes in my ear. He’s right. Letting loose a disgusted snort, I snatch up my equipment in a puff of sand and stomp down the beach.

“You can lie to yourself all you want, Henley, but you had fun hanging out with me this morning. So why try so hard to hate me?” he yells at my back.

My steps falter, but I keep walking.

I gather the rest of my things and head for one of the Zodiacs pulled up along the shore. I’ve had enough snorkeling for today. Climbing into the boat, I spot Graeme down the beach. He’s still standing where I left him, watching me.

Even at this distance, I can tell he’s shaking his head. When he sees me looking, he points directly at me, draws an enormous heart in the air with both index fingers, then thumbs his own chest.

And it’s not cute at all, damn it.

Sticking my nose up, I turn my back on Graeme. But I can feel his eyes on me until the Zodiac pushes off toward the ship and the beach becomes nothing more than a blur in the distance.





13




I almost don’t sit with Graeme at dinner. Almost.

But then I catch Nikolai staring at me from the dessert buffet, and I force myself to weave through the dining room until I spot Graeme sitting alone at a table for two along one of the front windows. Outside, the blazing orange sunset dips and crests with the movement of the ship.

I’m finally warm after a hot shower, but the air-conditioning chills my damp skin and I pull my sweater tighter around me. My phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out to see a new text from Christina.

Miriam says Graeme got a new phone last August after his first phone went kaput.



NOW SPILL WHAT IS THIS INTRIGUE





I blow out a shaky breath. He was telling the truth. He never intended to take credit for my video.

Across the dining room, Graeme scoops a bite of food into his mouth and gazes out at the shifting view of Espa?ola as the ship drifts at anchor. His jaw muscles work as he chews.

I squeeze the dinner plate I’m holding and swallow hard.

I’ve been unfair.

Graeme’s right—I don’t know him well. I’ve assumed a lot about him based on interactions in a single setting: work. And not even daily office interactions—mostly digital ones.

Maybe he’s actually a nice guy? My calves itch to run away even as I take another step. I need to start with an apology and some sincere gratitude, since there’s no getting around the fact that he did me a solid today. I’ve never liked the taste of crow, but I’ll just have to suck it up and eat it.

Catching sight of Nikolai eyeing me with obvious interest, I kick my muscles into action and cross the final distance to Graeme. When he looks up, his flinty expression stops me in my tracks. I halt a few feet short of his table.