She snorts. “Not really. It usually goes the other way with me. I think everyone’s great until they turn out to be dicks.” She peers at me from under her arm. “Is this about Graeme?”

“Nah. Well, maybe.” Graeme might not be a credit stealer, but he’s still made work enormously difficult. He constantly argues with me and challenges my ideas, and his one-word emails are so, so rude.

Walsh tilts her chin at me. “Come on, Henley. What’s going on?”

“It’s just… he might not be as utterly horrible as I thought.”

She nods slowly. “Does it matter?”

“Yes, it matters! He’s my coworker, and there might be a chicken-and-egg problem. In the chain of assholery, I thought he started it. But now, it looks like I may have been the inciting asshole all along.”

“And you care if he thinks you’re an asshole?”

A few days ago I would have said no way. But now… “I guess I do.” Shock flickers through my system as the words ring true.

“So, what, you like him now?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

She shrugs. “He’s still your competition though, right?”

My fingers close around the bathroom door handle. The metal is cold against my skin. “Right.”

“So really, for the purposes of this trip, it doesn’t matter how you feel about him or whether he’s the asshole or you’re the asshole. You’ll have all the time in the world after you land this promotion to make nice with him—if you want. He lives in Minnesota, right?”

“Michigan,” I correct.

“Exactly. So it’s not like you’re going to see him every day or anything. Unless he gets the promotion.”

My stomach does a little flop. “You’re absolutely right. Why am I even thinking about him when I have work to worry about?” I step into the bathroom but poke my head out. “When did you get so good at giving advice anyway?”

Snuggling deeper into the pillow, Walsh picks up her phone and studies the screen. “You dummy, I’m the best at giving advice. I just don’t always follow it.”

“Truth.” Chuckling, I shut the door.

When I arrive in the mudroom several minutes later, wet suit on and snorkeling equipment slung across my back, Graeme is already there along with at least twenty other passengers waiting to disembark. His wet suit clings to him like a second skin and I swallow hard.

Walsh’s advice echoes through my brain—I can ignore him. I should ignore him, but my conscience won’t let me.

Bracing myself, I stride over to where he’s waiting at the back of the room near the staff office. He gives me a long once-over when he spots me, his gaze lingering briefly on my curves. My spine tingles.

“Hey,” I say.

He looks around pointedly. “Oh, are you talking to me?”