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The boat smells lightly of cleaners and the sharp tang of the ocean. The walls are pale blue fading into white near the top, crystals affixed to the wallpaper in an artsy scatter, glinting in the wall lamps. It’s fancy.
The upstairs hall is mercifully empty. I find my door, scan my card, then I’m in my room.
Safe.
I let out a long sigh and look around.
The cabin is larger than I expected for a cruise. A narrow bed fills one side with a sofa on the other. A gold-framed instructional image explains how to pull out the sofa to make an extra-large bed that spans the cabin. Cool.
The bathroom is blue and silver with a shower, sink, and toilet. A sliding door on the other side leads to a balcony so tiny that only one person can fit. But it’s there.
My cabin is ocean-side, and the bright blue water fills the horizon.
I’ve done it.
A knock at the door startles me so hard that I whip around and bang my knee on the corner of the bed. Damn it! I half-hop, half-stumble to the peephole.Please don’t be Rhett Armstrong.
A young man in a blue uniform stands outside with my mismatched bags. Thank God. I twist the lock and open the door.
“So sorry for the delay, ma’am. Here are your bags.” He rolls them inside. “Sorry if I’m in a hurry. We’re a little behind.” He tips his hat and heads back out.
I press my hand to my chest to slow my slamming heart. You’re okay, Bailey. Just hole up until we’re away from the dock.
I start to close the door.
A shadow is my first hint someone is coming.
Please be another employee!
But I see a classic boat shoe, an ankle, and a well-toned leg.
It’s Rhett.
Oh, God.
I slam the door right as I spot his yellow shirt and sweeping hair.
Did he see me?
I lean against the door and close my eyes, waiting for the worst.
2
RHETT
Who did I just see?
I hesitate outside the door as it slams shut.
It couldn’t be.
I fired Bailey Johansson two weeks ago. Good timing, too, as I couldn’t have her on this cruise. She was always the forbidden fruit I found hard to resist.
I consider knocking on the door, then realize I would look really foolish if it was some brown-haired girlfriend of an employee. Or worse, a member of Dougherty Inc. I ought to have recognized.
I shake my head. Figures even the ghost of Bailey would haunt me on this trip. I’ll probably see her every time I turn a corner. I refuse to feel guilty about what happened to her job in the end. There was no recovering from what she did to the company.
Bright voices come up from behind. I glance over my shoulder and spot Viola Jennings and a young woman I’m not wholly familiar with. They’re coming down the corridor, heading right for me.
