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The relaxed expression vanishes. “Absolutely not. I’ve humiliated myself enough for one day.”
“It’s not humiliating. Just a casual conversation about relationships broadcast to the entire ship and livestreamed on the cruise’s social media.”
Her eyes widen. “You’re joking.”
“About the livestream? No, that’s very real. But we can control the conversation.” I put down my cup. “Think of it as an opportunity to promote environmental awareness to a captive audience.”
“By pretending to be in a relationship with you?”
“By showcasing how different perspectives can find common ground.” I lean closer, lowering my voice. “Isn’t that exactly what environmental advocacy needs? To reach people who wouldn’t normally listen?”
She narrows her eyes, sensing my manipulation but also considering my point.
“Besides,” I add, “you still want that data, right?”
“You’re holding my research hostage.”
“I prefer to think of it as incentivizing cooperation.”
Harper stands, gathering up her regular clothes. “I’ll do theinterview. But I’m picking the topics.”
“Deal.” It’s a couple chat, but I will wait for her to realize that on her own.
“And I want access to that turtle nesting databeforedinner.”
I stand, amused by her negotiation tactics. “Half before dinner, half after you complete the interview.”
“Fine.” She heads toward the changing room, then pauses. “One more thing.”
“Yes?”
“If you so much as hint at anything physical between us during this interview, I will scientifically identify the most painful pressure point on the male body and demonstrate it on you in front of the livestream audience.”
I can’t help grinning. “Your terms are accepted, Dr. Bennett.”
She disappears into the changing room, but not before I catch the slight curve of her lips—not quite a smile, but definitely not her usual scowl.
Progress.
My phone buzzes with a text from Alexis:
Update on the yoga situation?
I type back:
No bloodshed. Possible breakthrough. She’s agreed to the evening interview.
Miracle worker or masochist? Hard to tell with you.
I glance toward the changing room door, thinking of Harper’s focused expression during our practice, the way she eventually surrendered to the flow of movement between us, the brief moment of connection when our foreheads touched.
Maybe both.
I reply.
The truth is, I’m enjoying this game far more than I should. Harper Bennett is brilliant, principled, and absolutely unwilling to pander to me because of my name or wealth. She’s also beautiful, especially when she’s furious or—as I just discovered—when she’s centered and calm.
None of which changes the fact that she fundamentally disapproves of my company and probably hates me as a person. Or that I need her endorsement for business reasons, not personal ones.