Page 61 of Caribbean Crush

What a perfectly confusing situation with a man who I can’t even wrap my head around!

I have no intention of going down that road with him again. When he called me to his suite, I thought he wanted to have a discussion, sure, but sex? Never in a million years.

We just get under each other’s skin. That argument ... it felt like a boatload of foreplay, if you ask me. Like we were just wanting an excuse to pounce on each other again, and, boy, did we. I can’t even think back on what I did to him on that couch or I’ll die from embarrassment. I’m not that girl! I’ve never ... probably will never ... experience things like that again.

My next date with a man I meet back home, a man I procure through some dating app, will be such a letdown. I know it already. I’ll just have to prepare myself for the disappointment and tell myself that not every man can be like Phillip. Sure, the sex is good, but his personality? Okay ... also good. But his manners? Dammit, they’re impeccable.

There are other issues, though, like how he ...

And when he . . .

Well, right.

One thing is certain; I know I’ll never see Phillip again after this cruise. We live completely different lives, so if I’m looking for an excuse to push him away, I have it. This is nothing more than a fleeting, lighthearted cruise romance. A fling! How tropical! How worldly of me to go to bed with Phillip. There’s no need to form attachments. I can be cool about the whole thing. Just watch.

When I arrive back at my suite, I yank off yesterday’s clothes and shower. Already, I feel more like myself as I comb my long hair and let it start to air-dry. With comfy clothes in place, I take a seat at my desk and open my laptop. I can’t wait to read Gwen’s thoughts on what I sent her. I did everything she asked and more. I endured Phillip’s wrath (er ... well ... whatever that was we did all night) to get her this story, so I’m expecting some kind of explosive email with a ton of emoji and effusive language.

It’s why I sit dumbly staring at my screen for so long when I do finally pull up her email.

Okay good. I’ve passed this on to our content editors. Now, those fact-checking assignments sent earlier in the week could wait until you get back home, but I don’t see why they should. You’ll have plenty of downtime over the coming days. Priority wise, Mark needs the Lancaster story back by tomorrow afternoon. The others can wait until next week.

Thanks.

I blink at my screen, willing the letters to rearrange themselves into different, better words. Something like

Casey, this is wonderful! Just what we were looking for. Let’s discuss a new role for you when you get back to the States. Maybe there’s another assignment on the horizon for you ... Congratulations, Gwen

Am I a complete idiot?

A total, utter fool?

I thought this story would be the jump start to my career that I’ve always been waiting for. I thought this was the start of something new for me. Instead, Gwen gave me a veritable clap on the back, and now it’s back to life as normal. Fact-checking waits for no man! I cannot believe she had the audacity to send me those assignments! Our intern just doesn’t cut it, not compared to you!

I see red.

Then I see maroon.

Then black.

I risked it all—Phillip’s wrath, my journalistic integrity, my fucking morals—for this?

With shaking hands, I click reply to Gwen’s email.

I’m happy you are pushing forward with the story, though I think there’s been a bit of confusion on my part. I saw this assignment as a stepping stone—a transition of sorts. I’m hoping to be considered for more writing assignments in the future. I feel as though I’ve paid my dues with fact-checking over the last few years and well ... I thought maybe this would be my way of proving how serious I am about getting out in the field a little more. Could we discuss this possibility when I get back to town?

Her reply is almost instantaneous. I picture her sitting at her glass-topped desk in her posh office in New York City, sipping her latte, unbothered by the world that exists thirty floors below her.

Casey, yes, confusion most definitely. Bon Voyage doesn’t have any open writing positions at the moment.

Be sure to complete that Lancaster story for Mark, thanks.

Adrenaline courses through me; my world narrows down to that laptop screen, my body quaking as I type.

And if I pressed you to consider a promotion now, rather than at some ambiguous time in the future, would you be willing to work with me? At least to meet with me about it? I’ve been with the company since college and I’ve been loyal to a fault. This is sort of a deal breaker for me ...

I hit send and then sit there hoping her reply won’t come as quickly this time, hoping she actually takes a moment to consider what I’m asking and how important this is to me.

Then my inbox pings, and my heart sinks.

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