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Her expression softens. “The jury’s still out, Cole.”
With that cryptic response, she leaves, the door clicking shut behind her. I stand in my towel, water cooling on my skin, trying to understand what’s happening between us.
Whatever it is, it’s far more than just physical attraction. And not just the PR stunt we’d planned either.
I’m still confused when my phone rings. Alex’s face appears on the screen, and I answer with some trepidation.
“Please tell me you’re not still torturing the environmental scientist,” she says.
I glance at the rumpled sheets visible through the bedroom doorway. “Define ‘torturing.’”
“Ethan.” Her tone is warning. “The social media reactions to your Truth or Confession interview have been off the charts. You two are trending as #ColevsBennett. But I need to know if this is still a PR strategy or if you’re genuinely trying to seduce the woman who could sink our sustainability credentials the moment you break her precious heart.”
I consider how to answer. The truth—that what started as strategic has become something I can’t quite define—seems too much for a morning phone call.
“The situation is developing,” I say finally.
“That’s corporate speak for ‘I’m making this up as I go along,’” Alex sighs. “Have you forgotten why we arranged this in the firstplace? The board meeting is next week. We need Bennett’s piece on us to be positive.”
“Her piece will be whatever she honestly believes, Alex. That was always the deal.”
“And how do you think this is going to end? You charm her for a week, then go back to business as usual while she writes her expose? There’s a reason they call it a ‘cruise ship romance,’ Ethan. It’s not designed to survive in the real world.”
Her words are pretty close to the concerns Harper just expressed. “I appreciate the insight, Alex, but I have this under control.”
“Do you?” She sounds concerned now. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re setting yourself up for both professional and personal scandal.”
“I have to go. Board meeting is in thirty minutes.” I deflect, unwilling to listen to her warning too closely.
“Just be careful, E. Harper Bennett isn’t your usual type. She has principles. She is smarter than your charm.”
“Maybe that’s what I like about her,” I reply.
After ending the call, I dress for the day in lightweight slacks and a button-down, my mind still torn between the pleasure of waking up with Harper and the complications awaiting us outside this temporary bubble.
The board call is tedious—quarterly projections, market analysis, and pointed questions about the upcoming sustainability reports. We need funding, the guys with the money are ‘green’ this time. I answer, but my thoughts are elsewhere.
It’s mid-afternoon by the time I finish my meetings. The ship is approaching our last port—a small, private island owned by a wildlife trust. Tonight’s stargazing activity will take place on the pristine beaches, followed by an overnight stay for passengers who choose to stay ashore.
I’m reviewing logistics for the transfer when my phone dings with a message from Harper:
Found some issues with waste processing systems that need addressing. Can we discuss before tonight’s event?
I respond:
Of course. My cabin or the environmental office?
Her reply comes quickly:
Professional meeting. Office at 4.
I smile at her deliberate emphasis on “professional.” Despite our very casual morning, she’s trying to maintain boundaries—at least during working hours.
The environmental office is on Deck 3, a utilitarian space compared to the luxury throughout the rest of the ship. Harper and Environmental Officer Chen are huddled over blueprints when I arrive.
“Mr. Cole,” Chen greets me. “Dr. Bennett has identified some concerning inconsistencies in our waste processing reports.”
Harper looks up, she’s not happy. If I didn’t know better, I’d never guess this was the same woman who was on her knees in my shower this morning.