Page 49 of A Perfect Disaster

The bus speeds through the port security checkpoints, and suddenly, the ship appears before us. Huge, white, imposing, silhouetted against the afternoon sky. The boarding announcement sirens are blaring over the loudspeakers.

The passengers rush down, swiping their cards through the gangway scanner, and when I finally cross the gangway and step onto the deck inside the ship, my legs are shaking so badly they feel like they’re going to give out on me. I lean against the bulkhead in the hallway, let my head fall back, and close my eyes.

“God… This has been the worst day of my entire career with this company.”

18

Helen

I’m two steps away from Maika when my whole body seems to rebel against itself. Part of me burns with the urge to pounce on her right here and unleash all the pent-up tension in a monumental scolding for the chaos she’s caused. The other part, far more treacherous, just wants to hold her tight—and kiss her until we’re both exhausted—to make sure she’s okay. That second option, of course, is completely ruled out and buried beneath my uniform.

I watch her leaning against the bulkhead of the interior corridor, her head thrown back, her uniform jacket wrinkled as if she’d slept in it, and her hair escaping from her ponytail in unruly strands. She’s exhausted, and I’m not surprised in the least. Meanwhile, the tourists make their way toward the central elevators, murmuring between exhaustion and relief.

The ship is about to cast off, and I can still feel the adrenaline pumping.

Maika opens her eyes and sees me. I want to tell her she did well, that she was brilliant. I want to ask her if she’s really okay. And at the same time, I want to demand a detailed account of what happened. I want… I don’t know exactly what I want. And I hate not being in control of my own thoughts.

I take another step toward her, clutching the folder to my chest to stop my hands from shaking.

“Maika…” I murmur.

She straightens slightly, tensing her shoulders as if bracing for the impact of my scolding.

“If you’re going to yell at me…” she replies, raising a hand to stop me, “I ask that you give me five minutes to find a more comfortable place to collapse afterward.”

I open my mouth to reply, torn between the standard reprimand and a question too gentle that would give me away. But I don’t get to make the choice.

“Excuse me,” a male voice interjects from behind us.

A man steps forward from the stream of passengers who’ve just passed through security. Until that moment, he’d seemed like just another tourist: light-colored pants, a linen shirt wrinkled from the trip, sunglasses hanging around his neck, and a backpack slung over his shoulder. The typical look of a cruise ship passenger after a stifling tour of Rome. But then he reaches into his inside pocket and shows us an ID badge.

My stomach lurches.

The card bears the corporation’s gold logo and the badge granting full access to restricted areas of the ship.

“I’m Arturo Valdés, fleet operations auditor,” he introduces himself with a calmness that strikes me as offensive given the urgency of what just happened. “And I think this conversation should continue in a private area.”

Maika blinks, completely taken aback. I’m frozen in place. I feel like if I let my muscles relax even a millimeter, I’ll collapse to the ground.

“Excuse me?” I ask, though my officer’s brain has already processed the rank on the badge.

The man turns the card so we can see the holographic seal.

“I was traveling incognito on the tour bus. As an observer. And I wasn’t the only company representative present in the group.”

His colleague appears instantly. I recognize her immediately: short hair, navy blue dress, one of the passengers who sat on the port side during the gala dinner. One of those people who observe a lot, speak little, and analyze service standards without raising suspicion. As soon as she stands in front of us, she pulls out her own corporate ID.

“Julianne Ferguson,” she adds. “Onboard Experience and Executive Evaluation.”

The boarding corridor seems to shrink around us. I feel the air conditioning start to freeze the back of my neck. Maika stands very still beside me. For the first time all day, I can’t even hear her breathing.

“Were you undercover on the cruise ship?” she manages to say.

Julianne flashes a smile and nods.

“We prefer the term ‘real-world quality audit.’”

“Sure,” Maika replies with a wry grimace. “Because saying ‘infiltrated’ sounds too much like a spy movie and clashes with the VIP passenger club brochures.”