Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“So is the eventual goal to replace manned crews all together?” the reporter asks.
Captain Neal snorts under his breath. We all knew his question was coming. It’s what everyone wants to know. How is technology going to hurt us? Why should we be scared?
I look over my shoulder to see Tyson is taking the question like a champ. Better than I would, certainly. All the media training in the world can’t change my personality. Tyson is smooth and cheerful; he can hide his real opinions behind a shiny veneer. It’s why he’s better with the press than I am.
He flashes a practiced smile as he shakes his head. “While that could theoretically be possible, we’re choosing to look at technology as a friend, not a foe. Remote fleet command centers have been whispered about for years, but we aren’t out to take jobs. We simply want to make failures obsolete. We want to ensure that Captain Neal and his team have every resource at their disposal.”
The reporter jots something down in his notebook, apparently satisfied with Tyson’s response. Then like a homing missile, he turns his attention on me. I have no doubt he’s been hungry for my input since we began. While Tyson is the president of the cruise division for Woodmont Overseas International and, therefore, extremely important and in the know about all matters of this ship, for reporters, he’s lacking one crucial thing: the Woodmont name.
“Mr. Woodmont, you must be incredibly proud.”
“I am.”
He takes a purposeful step toward me. “Tell me about it. The trials and tribulations it took to get here.”
A proverbial microphone has just been thrust into my face.
I knock back the last of my Macallan—not wanting any of it wasted on this charade—and then I give him the robotic answer our PR team carefully reviewed and approved weeks ago.
For trials and tribulations, speak only about technological issues and theoretical red tape; make the engineers and staff at Woodmont Overseas seem like the heroes and leave real names and people out of it. It doesn’t serve us to piss off legislators, even if a few of them deserve to be thrown under the bus for their attempts to derail innovation. The few with nefarious ties to big oil and gas are on the tip of my tongue, but I refrain from deviating from the script, and Tyson winks at me over the reporter’s shoulder.
He knows how hard this is for me.
I’d rather do just about anything than talk to the press. I’m a private person by nature. I don’t enjoy the limelight, and I’ve succeeded in building a life largely outside the sphere of public opinion.
Arthur’s good at his job. His questions are succinct and to the point. He hits all the talking points I expect him to. None of the questions come out of left field, and when I think he’s about to wrap it up and move on—perfect timing, considering Ms. Patel should be finishing her tour soon—he pivots.
“Now concerning your family and friends. They must be—”
I talk over him quickly. You have to do that with reporters. Like snakes, it doesn’t work to let them wriggle about. It’s best to cut them off at the head. “No.”
Tyson laughs. “You have to give them something, Phillip.”
Whose side is he on? The prick.
My gaze cuts back to Arthur, and I make sure my words are curt and clear. “My priority is Woodmont Overseas. I have no social life to speak of. I’m dedicated to my career, and outside of that . . . there’s nothing else to say.”
“It’s rumored that you and Vivienne Chén—”
“There’s nothing else to say.”
Unbothered, Arthur slides his pen and notebook back into his leather bag. He’s a veteran reporter, and he knows not to take my no personally. With a smile, he nods first to Tyson and then to me. “It was a pleasure talking to you, gentlemen. I look forward to chatting more over the coming days.”
An attendant near the door of the bridge steps forward, seamlessly inviting Arthur to follow her so she can connect him with the tail end of Ms. Patel’s tour.
“Thank you,” he replies. “I’d appreciate that.”
The moment the door closes behind him and we’re left in peace, Captain Neal curses in his notorious Scottish brogue. “Christ, they’re like leeches. Worse. And we’ve got a whole boat of ’em.” He shivers like something’s crawling up his spine.
Tyson laughs. “You two make them out as monsters. They’re harmless if you just feed them properly.” He points an accusatory finger at me. “You don’t make it easier on yourself, Phillip, playing the cloak-and-dagger shit. You make it seem like you’re more mysterious than you are.”
“I am mysterious,” I say, barely able to get it out without a laugh.
Tyson shakes his head, and I point a finger right back at him. “Why should I care about your opinion? They don’t ask you about your personal life. Jesus, if they only knew.”