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A discreet sniff confirmed what he'd suspected, though. She wasn't an immortal. She was human, and Anandur's instructions had been to avoid mentioning gods and immortals unless necessary.
"Hi," he said. "May I sit next to you?"
She pursed her lips. "I don't own this deck, so you can sit anywhere."
He chuckled. "Touché. I'm Doug." He crouched next to her and offered her his hand. "Doug Farkash." He introduced himself with the name on his fake identity, which was what he usually did with humans.
"Frankie." She looked at his hand as if it was going to bite her. "My hands are wet from the condensation on the glass, so I'll skip the handshaking."
"As you wish." He dropped his hand on his thigh.
He didn't mind that her hand was damp, but she seemed reluctant, and he wasn't going to insist. Instead, he pushed up and sat on the lounger next to her, cradling his drink and trying to come up with something clever to say.
"Is Farkash a Yugoslavian name?" she asked, saving him the trouble. "I've never heard that name before, but it sounds Eastern European."
"It's Hungarian."
"You don't sound Hungarian." She chuckled. "Not that I know what Hungarian sounds like. What I meant to say was that you sound American."
Dagor was thankful for the gods' ability to absorb languages effortlessly. Having a universal translator helped make the process even faster. Still, their innate ability allowed them to master the nuances of accents so they could sound like natives wherever they were.
"My grandparents were from Hungary." That was another lie that worked well. If she asked him about them, he would say they were dead.
As a long silence stretched between them, he tried to come up with another topic of conversation that did not involve his fake Hungarian roots.
Anandur had said something about the staff being comprised of humans, so maybe she was one of them and on a break. However, given her shoes, she probably worked in accounting or something else that did not require extensive standing or walking.
She also wasn't wearing a uniform, but since Dagor had yet to see any staff or guests, he didn't know whether the service crew even had uniforms. After all, it was a private cruise for clan members, so things might be more casual and relaxed, and no identifying attire was needed for the humans.
"Are you a staff member?" he asked.
Frankie
Doug's question cut through Frankie like a knife.
Was it that obvious that she didn't belong as a guest on this fancy cruise? Was everyone working for Perfect Match so loaded that their outfits were from Nordstrom, Saks, or some other fancy place?
That wasn't likely.
The most logical explanation was that Doug knew everyone who worked there, and since he didn't recognize her, he assumed she was a crew member.
With how gorgeous he was, his job was probably modeling for the creators of the male avatars. She wouldn't mind beta-testing an adventure with an avatar modeled on him, but in real life she would never go for a guy who was so much prettier than her.
"I don't work here." She waved a hand over the deck. "Tom promised me a job at the new Perfect Match testing lab as soon as the machines are ready, but there have been so many delays that I almost despaired of ever working there." She smiled. "I've been waiting for that position to open up for months, and I can't wait to start. It's so exciting."
Doug stared at her as if he had no clue what she was talking about.
Had she been mistaken about his part in the company? Everyone probably brought their significant others on the cruise, and Doug could be the trophy husband of one of the silent partners Tom had talked about. But hadn't he said that they were a married couple?
Not that it excluded him being a third partner.
Who knew?
A wealthy married couple could have a live-in lover boy to play with.
"Who is Tom?" Doug asked.
The guy must be as dumb as he was gorgeous. Even if he didn't work for Perfect Match, he should at least know who was hosting the cruise.
