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I’ll have to wait like a hermit crab in a hole.
4
RHETT
Mustering proved simple. We were arranged by our assigned life boat, shown the location of the jackets, and sent on our way. Within fifteen minutes, I should have been able to head back to my cabin.
But I’m surrounded by various employees, all shaking my hand and thanking me for such an unexpectedly lush experience.
I struggle with who some of them are, and briefly wish for Bailey at my side, whispering each one’s name and department. She had the pulse of the company. She knew everyone. She was subtle, so I never stumbled, often feeding me a tidbit about a spouse or a child or a recent trip so that I appeared involved.
Damn it.
Stop thinking of Bailey Johansson.
She was the worst sort of incompetent in the end, a situation I have yet to fully investigate and explain to Uncle Sherman. In fact, the dailies I have in my cabin should sort it all. Half a million wasted on a fraudulent marketing scheme is going to hurt. He won’t fire me. He’s a big believer in both family and redemption.
But his disappointment will be about as bad.
I can’t believe this happened on my watch. I got too reliant on Bailey and her research, her opinions, and her involvement beyond the scope of her duties. She seemed so smart, so competent, so trustworthy.
And…I’m thinking about her again.
She’s not bereft. She has a live-in boyfriend named Maxwell who seems to do well. I heard her talking to Viola once about his expensive habits and laughing that it was a good thing they could afford his lavish lifestyle. Apparently he has a Persian bed? Or they do.
I definitely don’t need to be thinking about Bailey in bed with this mysterious Maxwell. She never brought him to company parties, but I can imagine him. Swarthy, built, well dressed.
And I’m still thinking about Bailey Johansson.
After this cruise, and after I settle the situation with the marketing fiasco, I’m due a visit to my brothers to cut loose. I have to get that woman out of my head.
“So, do you agree, Mr. Armstrong?” A gray-haired woman seems to expect an answer from me. Who did she say she was?
I can only give her a disarming smile, one I normally reserve for non-work situations. “I find it best if I keep my often controversial positions to myself.”
The woman giggles like a teen, her hand on my arm.
I’m stuck.
A man walks up, vaguely familiar as someone from the mailroom. “Lottie, let’s head to the hot tub.” He pulls the woman, presumably his wife, away from me. “Nice to see you, Mr. Armstrong.” He seems a little put out that she’s hanging on me like a groupie. They’re both sixty, easy.
But his leaving means I’m momentarily alone. I glance around. No one is waiting to see me. I can make my escape. Itake long, decisive strides away from the open deck and toward the main body of the ship.
I’ve almost made it when Viola turns up again, this time in a pink bikini and white mesh cover-up.
Here we go again.
“Rhett.” Her voice is low and throaty. “You’re not dressed for a pool party. I hear you’re giving the welcome speech.” She tugs on the tie to her bikini top as if flirting with the idea of pulling it loose.
This is one I need to avoid. When Bailey was around, Viola wasn’t this forward. Or maybe it’s the informality of the cruise.
“I am, and you’re right.” I quickly sidestep around her. “I should go change. Cheers!”
Cheers?Where did that come from?
The woman with Viola hangs back, half in shadow. She watches me with something approaching concern mixed with pity. I guess she’s the new workplace wingman for Viola now that Bailey’s gone.
I walk swiftly back to my deck, taking the stairs two at a time. It must have been difficult for Viola to bring the marketing issue to my attention, knowing it would look bad for Bailey. But it was Viola’s department that was the most affected. When I double checked with Marney before confronting Bailey, Marney confirmed that the budget had swelled the last quarter, all requests from my office.
