Shipped(85)

Christina hands me the binder. “Just remember your main points.”

“And let the numbers back you up,” adds Tory.

“And don’t forget,” says Graeme, tucking a loose strand of hair back into my bun. “You’re Henley Evans. And you’re a rock star.”

“Damn straight.” Walsh nods as she brushes lint off my suit coat and straightens my skirt.

“Is he ready for me?” I ask Rose, Marlen’s secretary, who’s watching our exchange with a curious expression.

Picking up her phone, she pushes a button. “Henley Evans is here to see you… Yes, Mr. Jones.” She hangs up the phone and peers up at me. “Go on in.”





29




When I open the door, Marlen looks up from where he’s reading a spiral-bound report from his sleek gray sofa. “Miss Evans, come in.” His jaunty voice beckons me out of the threshold and into his expansive corner office.

Marlen Jones is the last person you’d expect to be a CEO of a major corporation. He’s young as far as CEOs go—midforties—with a full head of wavy black hair, an ever-present grin, and a twinkle in his eye.

But looks are deceiving. In fact, he’s a former venture capitalist with a reputation as a shark in the finance world. He purchased Seaquest when the travel industry took a wallop during the last recession, and he’s managed to grow it from a regional operation to an international corporation. In fact, Seaquest’s growth has been the largest of any company in the cruise industry over the past ten years.

I’d be naive to buy into Marlen’s laid-back charm. Sustained success at his level requires a hefty dose of determination and hard work, with a dash of ruthlessness for flavor. He’s the man in charge, the one holding my future in his hands. I can’t forget that.

He smiles warmly at me. “You know, your ears must be ringing. Because I just received a letter about you.”

“Oh?” I say, keeping the tremble out of my voice through sheer force of will.

“Yes. Darndest thing.” Beaming at me, he strides over to his desk in his long-legged lope, pant legs just a hair too high, so I catch a peep at his lavender socks.

Lifting stacks of paper until he finds a pair of slim tortoiseshell glasses, he slides them on. “From a guest. By the name of”—he squints at the letter—“Nikolai Kozlov. Ring a bell?”

I nearly choke. “I think so.”

He motions to one of the black leather chairs in front of his desk and I take a seat.

“Well, Mr. Kozlov certainly remembers you. Apparently, you went above and beyond in making his experience with us a memorable one. He had a lot to say…” Marlen flips over not one, not two, but three stapled sheets of paper. “A lot. But what stuck out to me most is how you made him feel like more than a customer. You made him feel like a friend, and now he says he’s a Seaquest Adventurer for life.” Dropping the letter onto his desk, he flashes me a wide, approving smile. “Well done.”

If my insides weren’t frozen with sheer nerves, I might just cry. That sweet, silly Russian did me a solid.

“Thank you, sir.”

“And it looks like he’ll be traveling with us again soon for his honeymoon—to Mexico this time. Let’s arrange something special for him, yes? An upgraded cabin and first-class flights, perhaps. I’ll let you take care of the details.”

He then picks up a three-by-four photo and flashes it in my direction. It’s of Nikolai and his Emily, and they’re wearing matching goofy-in-love grins. I smile to myself. So he got the girl after all. Marlen glances at the photo, then me, then the photo again. “She kind of looks like you.” He shrugs as he settles into his low-backed office chair. “So, Miss Evans. Enough chitchat. What can I do for you today?”

I allow myself a single, calming breath before I push my shoulders back and inject every ounce of confidence I can muster into my voice. “It’s not what you can do for me, sir. Traveling to the Galápagos last month inspired me, and I have an idea for how we, as a company, can make a difference in the world by inspiring others.”

I launch into my proposal. It’s not perfect or polished, but I dig into every ounce of the expertise I’ve developed since I’ve been back from the Galápagos—my late nights researching at the office, last night’s planning meeting, and sheer instinct. When I’m done, I hand him the binder containing the hard copy of the scaled-up proposal.

“This will give you an idea of how the initiative would work company-wide.”

Marlen purses his lips as he flips open the binder. His expression is opaque as he thumbs through the pages. I swallow thickly.

“You have a daughter, right, Mr. Jones?” I blurt.

“Please, call me Marlen. And yes. One daughter, Arianna. She’s a sophomore at Wellesley.” He twists a framed photo on his desk toward me so I can see the lanky young beauty.

“Good school,” I murmur. “Can I ask you—what kind of world do you want to leave her with? Climate change. Plastics pollution. Mass extinction. All problems facing our planet today. And we’re in a position to do something about it. You and your family have a rich philanthropic history. You’re a board member of two different organizations dedicated to wildlife conservation, isn’t that right?”