Page 4 of Caribbean Crush

I can’t help but smile. She might be a tiny bit full of herself, but it’s clear she’s not a total snob. “I feel bad. I’m sure you are really popular. I’m just not on social media all that much. Kind of late to the game.”

Sienna’s pretty green eyes narrow with suspicion. “What are you doing on board, then? I thought this was a brand trip for media and influencers. A huge push to get the word out on social media.”

“Well, I’m a journalist.”

My voice wavers a little as I say it, and I feel like a phony. Am I allowed to call myself a journalist if I’ve never actually been published and don’t actually get paid to write?

Don’t ask my title. Dear god, please don’t make me cop to being a fact-checker. I only just regained the ability to breathe without an ache in my stomach.

Her sleek eyebrows waggle. “A journalist? Fancy that. I bet you’ve got a lot of brains, then. Not that you need them with a face like that. Shame you aren’t on social media. You’d build quite the following in no time. You’re practically wasting away behind the screen.”

I bristle at her derogatory assessment of my chosen field.

“Working as a travel journalist has always been my dream.”

It’s only after I finish saying this that I realize she was trying to pay me a compliment of sorts.

She smiles, unperturbed by my harsh tone. “Well, good for you, then! You’re doing it. What did you say your name was? Maybe I’ve caught one of your articles online somewhere.”

I don’t have the heart to tell her she definitely has not.

She’d need to have private access to my laptop to find all the articles I’ve written over the years. The ones that have never—likely will never—see the light of day.

“Casey Hughes.”

She nods. “American?”

“From White Plains, near New York City.”

“Very cool. Right near the Statue of Liberty?”

That’s like asking if her flat abuts Buckingham Palace, but I just nod. “Sure, yeah.”

She tilts her head, giving me a quick once-over. “Well, listen, I think we’ve lucked out here. These ten days will be loads more fun if I have someone to pal around with. What do you say?”

A friend.

I would absolutely love to have someone by my side for this trip, but I feel like I won’t live up to Sienna’s expectations. She’s dressed in this fancy coordinating silk set. The cami is sexy yet demure—meant to look a little like lingerie—and the shorts take inspiration from men’s tailored trousers. It’s the kind of thing I’d pass in Zara and wonder who the hell could pull it off. Sienna, that’s who.

I’m sure her entire wardrobe has been carefully curated. Her appearance as a whole, really. You would never say her beauty is effortless, but all the effort she’s put in is definitely paying off. She’s so gorgeous I bet men fawn all over her.

I don’t want her to feel stuck with me just because I’m the first person she’s chatted with on the boat. “I’m sure there’ll be other social media influencers here. People you might know. Girls a little more glamorous—”

She won’t even let me finish. “More glamorous? Do you not own a mirror? You’re as glamorous as they come, Casey Hughes.” Her green eyes belatedly glance over my outfit replete with wrinkles and ambiguous travel stains. (Ketchup or blood? Who knows!) “Well, not exactly right this minute, per se. You aren’t planning on wearing that for the afternoon’s festivities, are you?”

“No, of course not.”

I say it like it’s laughable, but I actually had planned to wear this sundress all day. Now that’s obviously not an option. Good thing I packed heavy. I didn’t want to be without choices on this trip.

As if it’s settled, she says, “Good. Well, why don’t you unpack and get ready, and I’ll do the same.”

I find I’m all out of excuses, and more than that, I want to accept her kindness. I’ll need it. “Okay, sure. Yes. That sounds great.”

I even tack on a genuine smile. Already, I feel my worry starting to dissipate now that I’ll have someone by my side as confident and carefree as Sienna.

“We can meet out in the hallway at a quarter to one and walk to the meet and greet together. I don’t want to be late! I cannot wait to meet Phillip Woodmont.”

There he is again.

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