James asked the cruise leader to keep tabs on us. I have no doubt he’s looking for an excuse, any excuse, to trash my candidacy and promote golden-boy Graeme straight off. One inadvertently offended guest, one too many moments of distraction could spell the end of my professional dreams.

And what about Graeme? Gustavo just walked in on us… what? Gazing longingly into each other’s eyes? Flirting? I doubt he’ll report that to James, but if we go any further…

I’m kidding myself if I think the impact of a shipboard fling would be equally felt by both Graeme and myself if James found out. I can already picture James, watery eyes narrowing, forehead pinching, staring down his nose at me in disapproval. But Graeme? He’d probably invite him into his office for a high-five followed by a raise just for showing up.

“Are you going on the early hike tomorrow morning?” Gustavo asks.

“Yeah,” says Graeme, scratching his nose. “Are you?” he asks me.

“Uh-huh,” I mutter.

“Wonderful, wonderful! You should go with Xiavera’s group. She’s an expert biologist, and I’ve asked her to be your… what is the word… liaison while you’re on board. If you need anything at all, feel free to ask her. She’ll also be keeping me informed about whether you misbehave.” Hitching an exaggerated frown on his face, he wags his finger at me before his boyish features crack into a grin and he laughs genially. “I’m kidding!”

I force a weak chuckle.

“Or am I?” Serious again, he turns and strides for the door. His own booming laughter follows him out of the room.

My dinner sits like a boulder in my gut. Gustavo seems pleasant enough—certainly not malicious—but he’s been roped into being James’s eyes and ears on board. I can’t really blame him. When an executive of the company asks you to jump, you say “to which planet?” If I don’t watch myself on this cruise, the slightest misstep could spell my downfall. I curl my hands into fists and push my chair back from the table, away from Graeme. The air between us has thickened like sour milk.

“I need to go. I have to check on Walsh.”

Graeme leans back, white T-shirt stretching across his broad chest. Confusion clouds his features. “Okay.”

“Thanks for having dinner with me, I—” For the span of a breath, I stare into his vivid blue eyes. “Thanks.”

Graeme stands. “Henley—”

“Don’t. Just, don’t.” Turning on my heel, I quickly fill a plate for Walsh from the buffet and escape to my cabin.

I don’t look back.

Walsh is in the shower when I arrive with her dinner, so I put the plate on her nightstand. The cabin is oppressively warm and stuffy. I need fresh air. I need to think.