Automatically, I gaze around my empty apartment, as if an imaginary boyfriend is going to pop out of my bedroom holding a dozen tacos and a chocolate cake. Noodles looks up at me from the floor—or rather, one eyeball fastens on the couch while the other checks out the coffee table. He’s not impressed.

I don’t need a boyfriend. I’m too busy polishing my collection of knives. Big ones. With sharp, jabby ends.

I’ll take that as a no… so you like the big ones then?

The bigger the better.

Isn’t that what she said?

Whoa, whoa, whoooa. Are we flirting? No way. My insides go all twisty and confused and heat flushes across my collarbone. I click on Graeme’s contact photo again. His full lips seem to smirk at me, and I have the sudden desire to mash my mouth against his, just to see how it feels. Either that or slap him.

Chewing my bottom lip, I click over to Instagram and type “Graeme Crawford-Collins” in the search bar. Maybe a different picture would show his bad side… his slap-worthy side…

Nothing comes up. Huh. I try Facebook—he’s not on there either. And Twitter makes strike three. A social media manager who isn’t on social media? Weird.

I shake my head hard once. “What am I doing?” Fumbling with the touch pad, I close the three incriminating tabs. Good God, I need to get out more. Actually go on a date once in a while—and not with my purple, battery-operated friend that lives in my nightstand. Because if I’m hate-attracted to Graham Cracker-Collins? My sex life is in a baaaad place.

Time to get back to the issue at hand.

You know, in the time that this delightful conversation has happened, you could have posted my content by now.

You didn’t see the volcano, did you?

… what?

Volcano. You know, those things that erupt from time to time with molten hot lava?

Yes, I know what a volcano is. Jesus!

What are you smoking? What volcano?

Huh. Looks like you didn’t read my tweets. I’m disappointed in you, HR. A volcano erupted in Galápagos this evening. Our ship was on the scene and the videographer on board captured some hot footage (pun intended).

I swallow a laugh and force my scowl back into place.

No, I hadn’t heard about the volcano. When I’d browsed the Twitter feed before, I was only looking for mentions of the airfare deal for British Columbia. I’d barely registered anything else. I click over a tab and reread the feed. Yep, there it is. Tweet after tweet about the volcanic eruption in an uninhabited corner of Isabela Island and how our cruise ship witnessed it live—from a safe distance. What a fantastic marketing opportunity. And damn it, Graeme actually boosted the publicity pretty well.

I prioritized.

I can practically see the shrug.