Shipped(8)

I hate how halting and unsure my voice has become.

James waves dismissively. “We’ll relocate him.”

All I can do is stare at the swirling yellow-and-gold pattern of his tie. I’ve been with the company for three years to Graeme’s one. And I’ve done more than a bang-up job in many more arenas than simply social media, digital marketing included.

And the whole “we’ll relocate him.” We will relocate him. Will. Future tense, definite. My lungs seize. He’s going to get the job. I can feel it down to my glitter-painted toes. He’s a man, he can banter with James about sports, and his reputation as a standout all started with stealing credit for my viral monkey video—of course James will pick him. All the talking points I’ve so carefully crafted about my candidacy crumble into dust on my tongue.

James rises from his seat, all five and a half feet of him. If I stood up right now, I’d have a full two inches on him in my heels. Tugging his pants up by the belt, he saunters around his desk and perches on the edge, one shiny brown loafer dangling.

“You’re a good kid, Henley,” he says, leaning forward to pat my bare knee. I shift automatically to cross my legs away from him. Lips thinning, he withdraws his hand. “You’ve been a good sport over the years and you’ve done top-notch work for us too. Everyone recognizes that. So we want to give you a swinging chance at this.”

“Well, isn’t that sporting of you,” I say through a tight smile, trying not to choke on the condescension.

A muffled noise sounds from the desk. I furrow my eyebrows. Was that… ? I stare at the telephone. No, it couldn’t be. Allowing someone to listen in on speakerphone unannounced would be low, even for James.

Sliding to his feet, he resumes his seat behind the desk. “As part of the selection process, we’re sending you and Graeme aboard Discovery next month for a cruise.” Discovery is our ship that sails the Galápagos Islands year-round. “I was surprised to learn that neither of you has been on one of our ships before.”

“I toured Golden Dawn when it was in port last spring—” I begin.

“But you’ve never actually been on one of our cruises for a full voyage, correct?”

“Well, with my workload—”

“No excuse. It’s like working in a restaurant and never tasting the food. How are you supposed to recommend anything?” He wags his rounded chin with a tsk. “Graeme,” he barks suddenly. “You still there?”

After a brief pause, a familiar husky voice echoes from the phone on James’s desk. “I’m here.”

My heart drops to my feet. I was right. Someone was—no is—on speakerphone. Graeme. And he’s been listening to our conversation this entire goddamned time. Eavesdropping. Like a rat. That noise I heard? Now I know what it was. It was Graeme. Snickering.

I glare at the black hunk of telephone like I can see Graeme’s smug face through its tangle of fiberglass innards. I mentally rewind the conversation. Every patronizing “kid” and “sport” and “sweetheart” strikes me like an arrow through the gut.

“We have two voyages coming up in September with plenty of cabin space,” says James. He talks at the phone but tosses a glance my way as he rattles off a series of dates.

Numbly, I swipe open my cell and tap on my calendar app. Fall classes start on September 16, so the second set of dates is out. “I’m available for the first cruise,” I say. My muscles clench as I realize it departs in less than two weeks.

“So am I,” says Graeme.

Nooooo. No, no, no, no. My chest tightens and heat flushes my neck. No way am I spending a week on a ship with Graeme Crawford-Collins.

“Terrific,” says James, marking something down. “Passports current?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“Yes, sir,” says Graeme.

And heeeere we go. Sir. It’s already begun. The brownnosing. The one-upmanship. I grind my teeth so hard I could crack a walnut.

“Good,” says James firmly. “Now while you’re there, I want you both to soak up the experience from the guests’ perspective. Our Galápagos numbers are low right now, especially compared to the competition. Figure out how to use digital marketing to change that. When you get back, you’ll submit a proposal, which I’ll rely on heavily when I decide who will be the new digital marketing director. Got it?”

I nod dumbly, all out of words.

“Got it,” Graeme echoes.

“Competition breeds innovation,” says James with a sanctimonious nod like he’s the Dalai Lama dispensing a nugget of earth-shattering wisdom. “And you two,” he says, slapping his desk with a hearty guffaw. “Let’s just say I expect top innovation from you.”

“I appreciate the opportunity,” says Graeme.

“I do too, so much. Thanks for your faith in me, James,” I say, pressing my hand against my chest in a show of (in)sincere supplication, for good measure.

James leans forward to talk directly into the speakerphone. “Graeme, thanks for your time. Be sure to call our reservations department to arrange your cruise, today if possible. We’ll talk soon.” Before Graeme can say goodbye, James lifts and lowers the receiver, effectively ending the call. Settling into his chair, he rests his elbows on the desk and steeples his fingers against his chin. “Now, about your British Columbia idea…”