Page 2 of Ship Happens

The “Deluxe Romance” room makes me want to gag—king-sized bed covered in rose petals, champagne on ice, and a hot tub on the balcony shaped like a heart. I’m surprised they didn’t include a Barry White soundtrack.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter, brushing rose petals off the bed. They fall to the floor in a sad little pile that screams “future vacuum cleaner clog.”

I drop my bag on a chair and step onto the balcony, taking a deep breath of salty air. The Miami skyline stretches behind us, gleaming in the afternoon sun.

Maybe I can just hide in here for a week. Conduct my research at night like some kind of eco-ninja.

My phone pings with a text from my boss:

Got the inside scoop yet? The internet is buzzing about Cole Tech’s CEO being on board. Perfect timing!

I freeze. Cole Tech. As in Ethan Cole, Marcus Cole’s son and heir to the cruise empire. Also, the founder of Cole Technologies, the company currently developing ocean mining drones while pretending to care about marine conservation.

I didn’t know he was going to be on board. This just got a lot more interesting.

I quickly text back:

On it.

I grab my credentials from my bag. I might as well get this over with.

Back on the main deck, the mixer is in full swing. Beautiful people in designer swimwear lounge around the infinity pool, while bartenders serve drinks so colorful they probably need their own EPA warning. A DJ blasts music from a booth shaped like a giant seashell.

I scan the crowd, looking for the familiar face I’ve seen in countless tech magazines and environmental violation reports. If Ethan Cole is anything like his company profile, he’ll be surrounded by admirers and?—

There he is.

Standing by the bar, drink in hand, looking like he owns the place—which, technically, he does. Tall, with dark hair swept back from a face that’s annoyingly handsome. His white linenshirt costs more than my monthly student loan payment, casually unbuttoned at the collar to reveal tanned skin. A woman laughs at whatever he’s saying, touching his arm with manicured fingers.

I weave through the crowd, downing the rest of my champagne for courage. The closer I get, the more my blood boils. This man represents everything I fight against—wealth without conscience, tech without ethics, power without responsibility.

“Mr. Cole,” I say, stepping into his line of sight. “Harper Bennett, marine biologist. Care to comment on your company’s latest claims about sustainable ocean mining? Because I’m having trouble understanding how drilling into a protected seabed is considered ‘eco-friendly.’”

The woman next to him blinks in surprise. Ethan Cole’s expression barely changes except for a slight lift of one eyebrow. His eyes—an unnaturally vivid blue that makes my scientific mind wonder about genetic anomalies—flick to my credentials, then back to my face.

“Ms. Bennett,” he says, his voice smoother than I expected. “I didn’t realize we were doing interviews on vacation.” He takes a sip of his drink, never breaking eye contact. “Though I suppose some people don’t know how to relax.”

“Some people don’t have the luxury of relaxation when companies like yours are destroying the planet,” I counter. “Your ‘Green Ocean Initiative’ is greenwashing at its finest.”

That gets a reaction. His jaw tightens, just slightly.

“Let me guess,” he says, setting his glass down. “You read one article about our technology and decided you’re an expert.”

“I’ve read every article, patent application, and environmental impact study your company has published,” I fire back. “And I’ve conducted my own research on the effects of seabed disruption on marine ecosystems. I have a PhD in Marine Biology, not a subscription to Twitter.”

His eyes narrow, and I can almost see the mental recalculation happening behind them.

“I assume you’ve read the actual research papers,” he says, “not just the activist outrage? Because our technology actually reduces the environmental impact compared to traditional methods.”

“Reducing damage is still causing damage,” I retort. “Especially when traditional methods shouldn’t be happening either.”

“And your solution is... what?” He steps closer, towering over me. “Because criticism is easy. Innovation is hard.”

“My solution is leaving fragile ecosystems alone!” The conversation around us has died down, passengers watching our exchange like it’s part of the entertainment. “But I wouldn’t expect someone with dollar signs for pupils to understand that concept.”

“Ah, the preservationist approach.” His mouth curves into a half-smile. “Very noble. Not particularly practical in a world that needs resources.”

“The world needs oceans more than it needs another tech mogul’s vanity project,” I snap.

---