Page 47 of Ship Happens

“I was going to say to our conversation about what happens after the cruise.”

“Ah.” He looks up, his expression turning serious. “What about it?”

“We never talked about it.”

“True.” He says. “Does that bother you? The lack of clarity?”

“I’m a scientist, Ethan. I need defined parameters.”

A smile tugs at his lips. “Would you like a flowchart? Decision tree for post-cruise relationship options? A spreadsheet, or graph?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I mutter, though the idea has a certain appeal to my analytical mind.

“Harper.” He reaches across the table, his fingers brushing mine. “Not everything can be put into a spreadsheet. Relationships are messy, more like a mind map.”

“Says the CEO with five-year strategic plans.”

“Touché.” His thumb traces circles, sending inappropriate shivers up my arm. “But even the best plans have to be flexible, change is part of the plan.”

“And have things changed?” I ask, breathless.

“I think you know they have.” His voice drops lower. “For both of us.”

The intensity of his gaze makes it hard to maintain my detachment. Three days ago, I was determined to expose Cole Tech’s environmental shortcomings. Now I’m sharing breakfast with its CEO after spending the night in his bed, contemplating the possibility of continuing... whatever this situation-ship is... beyond the artificial world of the cruise.

“Let’s focus on the problem,” I say, reluctantly withdrawing my hand. “We only have today and tomorrow left before I have to hand over my conclusions to a publisher that is dying to pull you to pieces.”

A flash of disappointment crosses his face, but he nods. “Of course.”

We spend the next hour reviewing documentation, which supports the internal leak theory. The waste wasn’t being discharged into the ocean; it was contained within the ship’s secondary systems as designed. It’s still an issue—outdated equipment, delayed maintenance—but not the deliberate environmental violation I’d suspected. It is less of a me issue, and more of a financial issue for Cole Tech.

“The system worked,” Ethan points out. “The waste was contained, not discharged.”

“By backup systems, yes,” I concede. “But the primary system failure means it needed upgrades.”

“Which were already scheduled for the next dry dock.” He pulls up a schedule on his laptop. “The propulsion system upgrades I mentioned yesterday are part of a larger overhaul that includes a complete waste management modernization.”

I review the plans, impressed. “These upgrades exceed the current regulatory requirements.”

“That was the point.” He looks proud. “We’re trying to set new standards, not just meet existing ones.”

“Why haven’t you publicized this more? It would have stopped a lot of criticism Cole Tech receives. I would have taken notice, if I knew.”

“We wanted results first, announcements second.” He shrugs. “Too many companies make grand promises they never fulfill. I wanted tangible results.”

It’s exactly the approach I respect—substance over spin.

“Your write up will reference these planned upgrades?” he asks.

“Of course. Along with the current system limitations and this incident.” I meet his eyes. “Honesty, as promised.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

There’s that look again—admiration mixed with something more intimate. It makes my heart race.

“So,” he says, closing his laptop. “Reports reviewed, crisis averted, breakfast eaten. What now, Dr. Bennett?”

“Now I need to draft my preliminary findings.” I gather my notes, needing distance from his magnetic presence. “And you probably haveCEO thingsto handle.”

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