Page 20 of Caribbean Crush

My shoes are a lace-up pair of gold heels.

I can practically hear my grandmother’s hearty round of applause.

Eat ’em up, Sunshine.

When I knock on Sienna’s door so we can walk to dinner together, she swings it open, and her jaw practically comes unhinged. Her reaction is exactly as I’d hoped.

“Well done, Casey.” She circles around me, getting a view of every angle. “Trying to steal the hearts of every man on board?”

Just one.

But no. That’s not right. I don’t want Phillip’s heart. I want his soul in glossy magazine print. My name on the byline.

Sienna’s gone all out for dinner too. She’s gorgeous in a bright-aquamarine dress with beaded embellishments that look like abstract tropical birds. Her blonde hair is slicked back and knotted at the nape of her neck.

She takes a silly video of the two of us as we head toward the elevator, instructing me to blow a kiss right at her camera.

I’m grateful for the levity she brings. I haven’t had a friend like Sienna in a long time. I had good girlfriends in college, but after we graduated, their lives continued while mine stalled so I could move back in with my grandmother. They have relationships, marriages, even children now. I don’t. We’ve kept in touch as best as possible, but it gets to a point where you start ignoring people’s calls and texts, knowing all you have to tell them is more of the same: my grandmother is still dead; yes, I’m still working for Bon Voyage, no promotion in sight; no, I haven’t gone on any dates; in fact, I haven’t even thought about going on a date in ages.

I’ve been avoiding filling my friends in on the worst of what’s transpired over the last few weeks. If they knew about my grandmother’s house getting seized, I know they’d offer to take me in, but I can’t seem to bring myself to stoop to that. It’s embarrassing that they’ve all done it—created the lives they always wanted—while I’m still at the starting line, worse off than ever before.

Sienna’s a good distraction, fun and carefree. The perfect companion on a cruise like this. With her by my side, the reality that awaits me back in White Plains feels a million miles away.

Just before we head into the dining room to join the others for a predinner cocktail, I tug on Sienna’s arm.

“Thanks for teaming up with me. It’s better with you here.”

It’s true. I can’t imagine having to walk into events solo. I’d be even more intimidated than I already am.

She assesses me thoughtfully. “Seriously, same. Fate knew what it was doing by putting our suites side by side.” As we step inside the dining room, she takes a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, hands it to me, and then takes another for herself with a thank you and a smile. “Now tell me, how’d the chat go earlier with Phillip? Have you secured your interview?”

“Not exactly.”

The declaration is followed by a heavy gulp of champagne.

She frowns, waiting for me to elaborate.

“He told me no, flat out.”

Her brows tug together in confusion. “But isn’t that the point of all of this? Why are we here if not to chat with him?”

“I suppose he wants everyone’s focus to be on Aurelia, not him. Though I think his rejection is more personal than that.”

She frowns. “How so? Did you put your foot in your mouth earlier? Bad first impressions can always be undone. I swear it.”

I take another sip of champagne, and for the first time, I let my gaze rove around the room. It’s already packed with the other invited guests. I’m among royalty. I see an older woman I recognize as an editor from Vogue. There are journalists here from Bon Appétit, Condé Nast Traveler, and Travel + Leisure amid a slew of other boutique magazines. Then there are all the freelance content creators like Sienna. The room is packed with influential people, and Phillip stands at the center of it all, holding court.

He’s changed into a sharply fitted black suit that he’s paired with a gold tie.

It gives me endless pleasure to see the tie is almost the same shade as my dress. If we were a couple, it would look like we’d planned it.

Good looking doesn’t cut it with him. A travesty, when you think about it. It’s one thing to go up against a formidable man, and another to have to endure a collection of panty-melting features that make you suck in a sharp breath every time you see them. Absolutely, cruelly unfair. He’s arrogantly old-money handsome, drowning in good genes so that even if he had a long, thick scar down his face, he’d still somehow pull it off. He could chip a tooth, grow a third ear, anything. Women would still sigh and say, God, he’s good looking.

He’s talking to the same man I saw in his company earlier—tall, Black, handsome, well dressed. They’re two peas in a pod. I recognize him now because, along with unpacking and getting ready for dinner, I combed over the Woodmont Overseas International website again. It was a failure on my part that I didn’t take the time to memorize every single member of the executive board before today. I can chalk it up to a hard few weeks, but it still makes me feel like a novice journalist.

The man beside Phillip is Tyson Ackres, Phillip’s business partner, and from what little information I could glean online, his good friend. Phillip is a supremely private person, but it doesn’t mean there’s nothing to be found about him online. I came across a few tidbits about Tyson, a few photos of Phillip alongside a pretty woman—Vivienne Chén, his longtime girlfriend. Though rumor is they recently split.

When I interview him, I’ll be sure to ask about it.

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