I whip my head to look at him and find his face inches from my own. At this distance, I can make out the color of his eyes. They’re blue. Not cornflower blue like Walsh’s, or light watery blue like a spring sky. They’re a deep, bottomless blue. Like the sea.

I lick my lips, and his gaze flicks to my mouth. I grimace. He smirks.

Gustavo’s voice cuts through my reverie and heat creeps up my neck. “I have one more person I’d like to introduce. She’s a marketing manager from our home office…”

Noooo. Please don’t say my name… please don’t say my name…

He’s going to say my name.

“Henley Evans. Where are you, Henley?”

My stomach drops like a two-ton garbage truck. I didn’t want the other guests knowing I work for the cruise line—too many questions, too many headaches. So much for traveling incognito.

Hitching a smile on my face, I stand and offer the guests a halfhearted wave. Walsh punctuates the round of golf claps with an energetic whoo-ooo. I resume my seat.

“Now, on our ship, safety is most important…”

Wait. He’s not introducing Graeme?

“Why isn’t he introducing you?” I hiss.

“Because I asked him not to.” His smug smile makes me want to dump my beer on his head.

This must have been what he was plotting with Gustavo when they came into the lounge. He’s given himself yet another advantage—if the guests don’t know he works for the cruise line, he can fly under the radar. He won’t have to be on all the time. But I will.

Oh, hell no. If I’m out, he’s out.

I leap to my feet like a popped jack-in-the-box. “Hold on, Gustavo. You forgot one.”

Gustavo freezes midsentence, his mouth falling open.

Graeme’s eyebrows knit together in a scowl. Tugging at his bicep, I silently urge him to stand, and holy hell his arm is hard. It’s like gripping granite. With a deep sigh, he heaves to his feet.

Gustavo blinks twice. “Ah, yes. How could I forget. Henley isn’t our only corporate staff on board. Please welcome Graeme Crawford-Collins, the man in charge of all our social media.”

Graeme lifts his hand to the room. One of the elderly ladies seated nearby elbows the woman beside her, and they both swivel to stare at him. The woman on the right pretends to lick her finger, and when she touches her wide hip, makes a sound like steam escaping. Oh Lord.

“And one more thing,” I chime in, tearing my eyes away from Graeme’s new groupies. “Just a quick reminder that when you post pictures from our adventures this week—and I promise, you’re going to get some fantastic shots—be sure to tag us on social media at S-Q-Adventures, one word, and Graeme here will re—”