Page 10 of Caribbean Crush

I think I used to be a half inch taller than him.

He’s more intimidating than ever at this proximity, and it’s hard to force a swallow as my hand hangs limply between us. It becomes clear to me, a moment too late, that he isn’t going to accept my hand. He never even contemplated it.

My cheeks burn with embarrassment as he looks me over slowly. His scowl gentles to something more like an amused smile. There’s a joke he’s enjoying, and his expression says it’s at my expense.

He peruses my dress, my shoes, my body with a lackadaisical indifference. When his piercing blue eyes finally deign to meet mine, my stomach squeezes tight. Dread chills me to the bone. I’m surprised I don’t shiver.

He tucks his hands into his suit-pants pockets—the final nail in the handshake coffin—and then replies with a confident air of indifference. “No introduction needed. I remember you, Ms. Hughes.”

His eyes cut past me in dismissal, and I want to shrink away and hide, but I can’t. I have to stick this out, painful as it may be.

“O-of course. Right. You do?” My voice lilts a little with surprise. “I’m flattered, actually. I remember you, but I wasn’t sure, given your success ...” I’m stammering now, making a fool of myself. “I mean to say, I’m sure you meet so many people in your line of work. So many people eager to make your acquaintance.”

Yes! Flatter him! Stroke his ego into submission!

“I do meet a lot of people.” His eyes recapture mine, and I feel like I’m staring straight into the barrel of a sniper rifle. “Fortunately, I’m good at remembering the assholes.”

Assholes!

WHAT?

He tries to take a step around me, but I’m faster. After all, I’m the one with something to lose here. My job is on the line.

My laugh is forced and fake. My hand touches his bicep, and he looks down at it as if he’d like to cut it off at the wrist.

Oh my god, this is going horribly.

“Eighth grade was a really long time ago.” When it looks like he’s about to cut me off, I rush on. “But you have every right to be angry with me after everything that happened. I’m not proud of my actions back then. But look at you! You’ve clearly won. Made a real name for yourself. I was hoping to hear more about that, actually. My editor in chief at Bon Voyage thinks our readers would love an exclusive with you, getting to know the man behind the mast, so to say.”

I hope my witty wordplay will seduce him into compliance, and to my credit, he does smile.

Then he replies simply, as if it doesn’t pain him at all to say “No.”

I’m so stunned I don’t even think to stop him again as he curves around me and starts to head toward the set of double doors leading into the hallway where the tour has begun. Ms. Patel’s out there chattering away, and I should be at the front of that group, taking dutiful notes, asking questions about every last detail. Instead, I twist around to face him, dumbstruck.

It’s not out of the question that he doesn’t have time for an interview, but any polite person would understand you can’t just blurt out no. You offer some kind of platitude like I’ll have my people contact your people or Let me check my schedule, with both parties knowing that really means I’m not interested. But the fact that he just outright turned me down is worrisome for too many reasons to count.

“Is that a ‘no, but try me again another time’?” I ask, sounding hopeful.

At this point, I’m a fighter getting up after yet another knockout. He’s got to be thinking Christ, when will this girl quit?

He shakes his head, not even bothering to turn back. “That’s a ‘no, be glad I’m letting you stay on the ship.’”

Panic seizes me.

“You’re kidding.”

“Not in the least.”

Oh god. This is worse than I could have imagined. I hurry to catch him, curving around him, cutting off his path yet again. This is going way off the rails. I should cut my losses and regroup, form a proper strategy with a step-by-step game plan to smooth things over. Instead, I ask, “Is this really about something that happened between us in middle school?”

Oops.

Now why did my tone have to sound so judgmental just then? I’m trying to smooth feathers, not ruffle them!

“Don’t make it sound so trivial. It’s not. You showing up on this ship, needing something from me is proof that karma never loses an address.”

Oh, he’s really enjoying this.

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