“No excuse. It’s like working in a restaurant and never tasting the food. How are you supposed to recommend anything?” He wags his rounded chin with a tsk. “Graeme,” he barks suddenly. “You still there?”

After a brief pause, a familiar husky voice echoes from the phone on James’s desk. “I’m here.”

My heart drops to my feet. I was right. Someone was—no is—on speakerphone. Graeme. And he’s been listening to our conversation this entire goddamned time. Eavesdropping. Like a rat. That noise I heard? Now I know what it was. It was Graeme. Snickering.

I glare at the black hunk of telephone like I can see Graeme’s smug face through its tangle of fiberglass innards. I mentally rewind the conversation. Every patronizing “kid” and “sport” and “sweetheart” strikes me like an arrow through the gut.

“We have two voyages coming up in September with plenty of cabin space,” says James. He talks at the phone but tosses a glance my way as he rattles off a series of dates.

Numbly, I swipe open my cell and tap on my calendar app. Fall classes start on September 16, so the second set of dates is out. “I’m available for the first cruise,” I say. My muscles clench as I realize it departs in less than two weeks.

“So am I,” says Graeme.

Nooooo. No, no, no, no. My chest tightens and heat flushes my neck. No way am I spending a week on a ship with Graeme Crawford-Collins.

“Terrific,” says James, marking something down. “Passports current?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“Yes, sir,” says Graeme.

And heeeere we go. Sir. It’s already begun. The brownnosing. The one-upmanship. I grind my teeth so hard I could crack a walnut.

“Good,” says James firmly. “Now while you’re there, I want you both to soak up the experience from the guests’ perspective. Our Galápagos numbers are low right now, especially compared to the competition. Figure out how to use digital marketing to change that. When you get back, you’ll submit a proposal, which I’ll rely on heavily when I decide who will be the new digital marketing director. Got it?”

I nod dumbly, all out of words.

“Got it,” Graeme echoes.

“Competition breeds innovation,” says James with a sanctimonious nod like he’s the Dalai Lama dispensing a nugget of earth-shattering wisdom. “And you two,” he says, slapping his desk with a hearty guffaw. “Let’s just say I expect top innovation from you.”

“I appreciate the opportunity,” says Graeme.

“I do too, so much. Thanks for your faith in me, James,” I say, pressing my hand against my chest in a show of (in)sincere supplication, for good measure.