Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“Do you regret it?” I ask quietly, almost immediately wishing I hadn’t. What made me say it? I’m not at all prepared for the consequences if he does regret it. Oh my god, I’ll need therapy! Years of it!
“Not at all.”
His answer is swift and clear. His stern determination is extremely appreciated.
“Good. Neither do I. I enjoyed myself. There’s nothing more to it.”
“Exactly.”
“God, look at us behaving like adults.” I bump my shoulder against his—or at least I attempt to. My timing is slightly off. I lean over as he’s taking a step, so that I miss him and lose my footing. His reflexes are fast, though, and he has his hands on my shoulders, righting me before I take a tumble.
He chuckles as he asks if I’m okay.
I don’t reply.
My reaction to his touch is immediate and overpowering. I go still as his hands squeeze my biceps, and then he slowly drags his palms down my arms. It’s so gentle, and in another circumstance, it could be misconstrued as mere politeness—him just wanting to make sure I’m secure on my own two feet again—but then ever so quickly, his fingers lace with mine. He tightens his grip, holding me as our eyes lock. A fissure of want slices through me. Another kiss, another night. I’m desperate for them.
And then he drops my hands and steps back, cleaving the moment. The distance is important. Necessary. I take his lead and go so far as to hurry up and catch Sienna so that the four of us can walk together. It’s safer that way. No confusion over intentions. No need to feel embarrassed if he maybe saw one emotion too many on my face.
I almost believe I’ve gotten away with it. Succeeded in enjoying a one-night stand with a handsome man and fulfilling my work assignment, but this idea comes crashing down when I see the email from Gwen Levis waiting for me back in my suite.
This is not nearly enough. It’s stale. Where’s the commentary? The personal touch? I feel like I could find these answers with a simple Google search. Did you sit down with him? Go through your interview notes again. Delve deeper, Casey.
This won’t do.
Chapter Thirteen
CASEY
My mouse hovers over the blue send button at the bottom of my email; I’m stalling because I’m too chicken to press it. I lean back and cross my arms, staring at my computer screen, trying to figure out if I’m a bad person.
It’s Thursday, late afternoon—my fifth day on board Aurelia—and I haven’t left my suite all day. I’ve been chugging coffee on an empty stomach. I ordered up breakfast earlier, but I only managed to pick at it. I’m not hungry at all. The pancakes and eggs sit cold on their tray behind me.
Sienna came calling a little while ago, asking if I wanted to go down to the pool, but I begged off, saying I had to work. And I do. I’ve been working all morning. We’re docked in Puerto Plata, and I doubt I’ll get to venture off the boat even once today. Outside, the sky is a cheery blue, but it doesn’t seem to have any effect on me.
Gwen’s email last night did this to me. It was the catalyst for the downward spiral I’m currently enduring with clenched teeth. Her critique of my work felt especially harsh. I stayed up late last night, rereading what I sent her, disappointed to find that she was right in her assessment. What did I expect she’d say when I delivered Phillip’s canned responses to those ridiculous questions?
I went to bed and woke up this morning feeling as though I was failing at the very last important thing left in my life. What do I have outside of my work? At the moment, nothing really.
Over the last few years, my life has been chiseled down to a single goal: make it as a travel journalist, which will get me promoted and allow me to leave my small life behind. It’s why I’m on this cruise. It’s why I’ve put in the hours at Bon Voyage, working a menial job I can’t stand.
So then why am I not going for it?
Why am I not giving this assignment everything I have?
The answer is obvious. I’ve prioritized Phillip’s feelings over my own career goals. I’ve tried to have my cake and eat it too.
Ask any noteworthy journalist if they’ve ever had to slightly trample on the feelings and wishes of others for the betterment of a story, and they’ll snort in your face. Of course they have. Gwen didn’t ask me for a puff piece. She wants real and interesting. I’ve given her neither.
So . . . I spent the better part of last night and this morning rewriting my special-interest piece about Phillip. Gwen called my first draft stale; she wanted me to delve deeper, so I did. Though at first, I had to force it a bit. I’m a travel journalist at heart, but fortunately, from my first day on this cruise, I’ve found it incredibly easy to write about Phillip. It’s really no challenge at all to describe his demeanor and humanity after spending the last few days witnessing it firsthand. Most of what I wrote is rooted in facts. I included snippets of my conversation with Tyson at that breakfast, as well as my own experiences with Phillip, excluding our bedroom activities, that is. I could have stopped there. Maybe I should have. However . . . I also conjectured about his failed relationship with Vivienne and the difficulty he must face as the successor of such a large company. I delved into his personality, the tight control he seems to exact over his life—from the way he dresses to the way he carries himself. I spoke of his past, what little I know of it, and I tried to expand him from a two-dimensional businessman into the complex human he is.