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"Nope, no." Flexing his arms to make a bigger barrier, Heratio keeps getting in my way. It comes naturally to him, this easy speed. He must have played football or something. "Leave Marco to his thoughts. He does things his own way, don't intrude."
Gritting my teeth I finally stop trying to slip by. People are staring, but I ignore them. "I can't just wait around!"
"Sorry to say you're in the same boat as us. No pun intended." He manages a coy grin.
I'm annoyed, but the longer I brood, the more I see a new opportunity. Marco is burning himself out over this shareholder stuff. I said I'd help. In that case, shouldn't I be working as hard as him. "Fine. I'll leave him alone. In exchange, tell me about yourself."
His face goes slack; I caught him off guard. "Me? Why?"
"Marco didn't fill me in and I'm curious. Or I guess I could keep trying to sneak around you, if you prefer that."
He laughs. "I'm basically a living computer. I crunch numbers, data, statistics. Then I put all that junk in a blender, juice it out, and it makes us money."
"Interesting," I say. "So have you used your big juicer brain to figure out Marco is the logical choice for the shareholder role?"
All the airiness fades from his face. In this cautious, sharp mode, he reminds me of his oldest brother, Derek. "That has nothing to do with you."
"Marco is letting me help. And Derek seemed to think I was mixed up in it by default." I make a face at the memory. "He seems to think I'm Marco's scarlet letter."
Heratio can't meet my eyes suddenly. I'm wondering why that is, but before I can prod, he turns fully away. "I need some breakfast. I ran twenty miles on the treadmill and it's hitting me."
"Wait, I'm hungry, too. We can go together."
The muscles on the back of his neck coil tight. "Fine."
Well, I made him mad somehow. Was it talking about Derek? Or saying Marco is allowing me to help?
I trail Heratio through the busy ship. Some guests nod to him, smiling wide, offering compliments. Yup, it's like Trey was saying last night––the people here are a certain type.
As we reach the main dining area, the aroma of freshly baked pastries and sizzling bacon fills our noses. My stomach grumbles again, and I can't wait to dig in.
We grab a couple of plates and start filling them up with all sorts of breakfast treats. Heratio has a full stack of pancakes, an egg white omelet, and some oatmeal with fruit.
All the tables are full, except for one, with a view of the ocean meant for a postcard. As we sit down, I look out at the water, watching the waves crash against the side of the ship. I take a sip of my coffee and let out a deep sigh. "This is amazing," I say, feeling content.
Ignoring me, he starts digging into his pancakes. I'd loaded my plate up, but his looks fit for an eating competition.Makes sense if he did as many miles as he mentioned."So you do a lot of running?"
He swallows loudly, then gulps his glass of something too neon green for my liking. "It wakes me up, and it helps me focus. What about you?"
"You'd never catch me in the gym," I giggle. He gives me a flat stare. "I like to travel."
He squints closely, studying me with doubt. "You've done a lot of that?"
Not liking his dubious attitude, I shove a muffin in my mouth, talking as I chew. Heratio crinkles his nose but I don't care if he doesn't approve. "I've been to over thirty of the states in the US, Australia once, Germany, Prague, Spain and now Italy."
"Hm," he muses. "How did you manage that? Were you a flight attendant?"
My mouth pops open. A piece of muffin topples out; I quickly cover it with my napkin as I blush. "How did you guess?"
"I didn't," he says, looking at me perceptively. "It just seems like the kind of thing people who can't afford to travel would do."
I bristle at his assumption. "Excuse me?"
"You don't strike me as someone who's had a lot of money growing up," he says, as if it's fact. "Isn't that why you're with Marco?"
I'm taken aback by his bluntness. "I'm not with him for his money."
He nods, as if he's heard enough. "But it doesn't hurt, right? Money makes everything easier."
