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“To shellfish.”
I move my plate to the opposite side of the chair to be farther from her. “There are other choices. But get the Midori floater on your margarita. It’s perfect.”
Something flickers on her face. “I’m very glad to see you having fun finally, Mr. Armstrong, but I have some distressing news.”
I wave her off. “The satellite is down, Gloria. If the company is falling apart, we won’t even know it. You said so yourself.” I lift my empty cup to Caleb. He fills it again from the pitcher, thentries to clink my cup with his, misses, and instead clinks it with the pitcher.
“To broken satellites,” he says.
“Damn straight.” My drink sloshes slightly, so I lick it off the back of my hand. It’s gritty with sand.
“Oh, dear,” Gloria says. “Maybe I should let it go for the moment.”
Sarah stands at that, holds out her arms, and in a loud, bell-like voice, sings, “Let it go!”
Caleb and I join her. “Let it go!”
Gloria takes several steps back. “Okay, Mr. Armstrong. I will.” She shakes her head. “You should have done that number at karaoke.”
“I still might!”
But as I watch her retreating figure, something nags at the back of my mind. Work. Appearances. Distance.
I’m supposed to maintain a stiff demeanor. Keep myself separate.
But then a Blue Sapphire crew member arrives with a plate of tacos and yet another pitcher of frothy margaritas, and I forget all about it.
11
BAILEY
Ididn’t expect quite this much screeching.
So many people head toward me in the little boat that it starts to tilt.
The captain scrambles to get on the microphone. “Do not cram the front of the vessel! Please spread out and exit in an orderly fashion.”
Sweat beads on his forehead. He’s really freaking out.
Nobody listens. Gina from HR pushes through the gawking crowd. “Bailey Johansson, what in the world are you doing on this boat?”
The murmuring gets louder. The captain turns to me. “Is this about you?”
I nod. “Sorry.”
He takes my arm and pulls me behind him. “Everyone, off this boat, now!”
I cower behind his broad form. Maybe hiding is a better plan. We’re really tilting. The crew on the dock motions for people to come forward, forcing smiles. A few Dougherty employees head up the steps and out of the boat.
But Gina stands in the cross section of the aisles, leaving a good chunk of the group blocked. “You can’t be here! You’re not allowed on this trip! This is a huge liability.”
The captain stays between me and Gina. “Ma’am, please exit the boat.”
Gina won’t relent. “You have to take her back! She can’t be with us!”
I peer over his shoulder. Gina’s face is bright red.
Aaron, the marketing intern, gets frustrated and tries to go around her. But he jostles Marney’s husband, who stumbles, his leg ramming the side bench.
