I can’t help but grin as the bands around my heart loosen and a warm feeling spreads through my chest. I hate fighting with Walsh. And I hate it even more when I’m the one in the wrong.

The fact is, I acted like a lunatic today, and all because I couldn’t keep my mind on the job. Gnawing my lip, I brush the spot on my neck where Graeme’s fingers played against my skin. I can still feel his lingering touch, as hot as midday sand.

Next door, footsteps thump faintly. It sounds like Graeme is pacing in his cabin.

I stare at the wall separating us. I could walk two steps down the hall and slip into his cabin without anyone noticing. Then we could pick up where we left off…

But I’m smarter than that.

I don’t have the luxury of slacking off. I’ve already had one near miss on this cruise; I don’t need another. If I want a shot at snagging this promotion, I need to be in full-on work mode. Not cat-on-the-prowl mode. And besides, I know from experience what can happen when a work romance turns sour, and it’s not worth the risk. Better to keep Graeme squarely in the friend zone.

Marching to the closet, I fling it open and take out a fresh set of clothes. I pull on shorts and a long-sleeved shirt, comb out the lobster-sized knots in my hair, spritz it with salt spray, and scrunch until damp waves form—there’s no time to dry it. After swiping on some lip stain and a coat of mascara, I slip into the desk chair and pluck one of the postcards from the narrow shelf bolted to the wall. It features a giant tortoise on the front. Digging out a pen from the top drawer, I click it open and hold it poised over the card.

Who should I write to? Christina? She’s already been to the Galápagos. Mom and Dad?

I tap the pen against the desk and my cell phone steals my attention. I still have a few minutes…

I enter the Wi-Fi passcode and a cascade of notifications flickers across the screen. I have missed texts from Tory, Christina, and my parents. Some new Snapchat messages and Instagram likes. I ignore them all. But then I spot a new email in my personal account that I can’t ignore.

My chest tightens as I scan the official-looking notice about my student loans. My monthly payments are increasing next month.

“Fuuuuuck.”

As if I needed any more pressure to land this promotion.

My phone buzzes with a new text. It’s from Graeme.

Can we talk?

My heartbeat stutters and fuzzy warmth fills my veins. Not the reaction I need right now. I hesitate with my thumbs poised over the screen.