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)
It drives me insane just thinking about it. What is she going to do when she gets home? How long does she plan to keep this up?
I’m a fixer, and I want to fix this situation for her, but I can’t. She’s not my problem. She’s . . . nothing to me.
As guilt languishes inside me, I stand and head to my computer back inside my suite. I want to right this wrong. I want to be done with Casey. I feel a quiver in my stomach. Something close to panic rises up inside me.
I never once felt this with Vivienne, and that’s how I know it’s wrong—last night was a mistake. The peace Vivienne brings to my life could never exist with Casey. That much I know.
It’s not hard to find Casey’s email. There’s a master list of everyone currently on board Aurelia, their full names, phone numbers, addresses. I realize now that Casey listed Bon Voyage’s address rather than her own, and I feel a fresh wave of anger and annoyance over the fact that I can’t solve her problems.
I want to be able to cleanly walk away from this situation with Casey. To do that, I’ll have to relent. The task at hand isn’t something I’m comfortable with, but well . . . what choice do I have?
It takes me thirty minutes to compile answers to a list of ten popular interview questions. I expand on all of them, giving her as much as I can so she has a lot to work with. I veer toward discussing my business and leave most of my personal life out of it. I know she won’t like that, but it’ll have to do. It’s far more than any other journalist has gleaned from me in years. Hopefully, it’ll suffice.
I stall when I go to attach the interview answers to the email only because I’m not sure what to add in the body of the email, how to address her, what to say after last night. I don’t want to be overly formal, and yet I don’t want to put anything in writing that could jeopardize her career.
In the end, I leave the body of the email completely blank and hit send.
Chapter Twelve
CASEY
I’m so happy; it’s like someone has filled me with stuffed animal fluff. I can’t stop smiling. I woke up thinking of last night, and I smiled and rolled over to shove my face into my pillow, which is absolutely ridiculous considering I was the only person in my bedroom. Who do I think I am hiding from? I didn’t expect to feel this way. No guilt, no shame. I might be a one-night stand kind of girl. I mean, last night was . . . something else.
Quickly, I roll back over and hold up my covers to give myself a once-over. No bruises, no teeth marks, nothing to prove I did what I did, but there is an exquisite little ache there. I laugh again, blush again.
Phillip did this to me.
I should thank him when I see him.
Though no, that’s not possible.
We’ll have to keep things professional. I don’t want word spreading on the cruise that I’ve, well . . . spread my legs for the boss on board. How cliché. How perfectly expected for the lowly reporter to go to bed with the powerful businessman who holds her future in the palm of his hand. Only Phillip made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t going to be furthering my career in any way, and I was okay with that. I am. Last night was wholly separate from my assignment with Bon Voyage. It was just a passionate night of fun. A perfect one-night stand. I highly recommend it!
Today, when I speak to Phillip, it’ll be like we’ve reverted back to before—I still need an interview; he doesn’t want to give it to me . . . and so the world turns.
I suppose it would be okay if I told Sienna about last night. I mean, I have to tell someone. I can’t just keep this fluff inside me. I’m liable to explode from happiness.
I get out of bed with plans to brew two coffees and take them over to Sienna’s suite, right after I check my email. Old habit. I know you’re supposed to start your day with meditation and lemon water and some kind of self-help tome titled Forty Easy Ways to Improve Your Life, but well, I like what I like, and lemon water ain’t it. I enjoy shoving an electronic screen in front of my still mostly closed eyeballs while huddling under the warmth of my bedding. Now that’s living.
There’s the usual junk mail, an inquiry from a leasing agent about an apartment I’m definitely not taking, and then an unexpected email from Phillip with a subject line that reads Interview Questions.