The next day, Havana supervises the zipline excursion on shore all morning while I entertain the five guests too hungover for rainforest shenanigans. We go through a variety of hangover cures before conceding the fight at brunch. Finally, the two couples head back to their rooms and Bob heads to the pool again. I spend some time in the Ocean Breeze conference room with Havana’s files, double checking the next couple days’ schedules.

That’s where I am when the group gathers at the dock to re-board, and even though I’ll see her again in two hours, I watch for Havana’s long black ponytail and pale skin. When I spot her, she’s stuffing a clipboard into her backpack as the Smooth Sail group trudges up the ramp. Everyone looks wilted but happy, and I smile down at my cruise director. She looks annoyingly perky from up here, shepherding sunburnt and sweat-stained tourists back on board.

At dinner, I sit with Richard at the executive table. Everything is perfect again, as expected. Spotless white cloths on the table, crystal and silver sparkling in the dim light, and faultlessly polite servers. The perfectly cooked lamb and roasted summer vegetables taste better than any food has a right to taste, and I begin to wonder if sea-magic is messing with my head. Everything seems super-saturated. Colors are brighter and flavors bolder. When I swallow the last sip of the California pinot noir, all the individual flavor notes of this wine stand out, from cherry to chocolate.

I’m not the only one in a sensory haze. As people take the first bite of the black pepper crème brûlée, their glazed eyes roll heavenward. All around me, guests loll in seats, flushed with the satisfaction of finer things.

I’ve spent the evening trying not to stare at Havana across the table from me. She has her hair down tonight, and the chandelier sparkles darkly in the shiny locks. Her wide, slightly tilted eyes are smoky, and dinner barely smudged the glossy scarlet lipstick that makes me crazy. Richard looms next to me like a malevolent, cock-blocking spirit. Havana’s admission about him leaves me on edge, though I still haven’t figured out why he’s putting on the fond uncle act.

A needle of suspicion punctures my good humor, and Kevin East enters my thoughts for the first time in days. It seems improbable that he’d go after me any more than he already has, just for the infraction of knowing he’s a cheat. It’s not like I’ve tried to use that information—my policy is to steer clear of anyone so obviously crooked, because that kind of dirt tends to rub off. But what if he can’t let it go? As far as I know, Richard’s got nothing against me, so I can’t imagine how East would rope him into some weird scheme, or what Richard would get out of it. A bigger cut in an Eastward Hotels partnership?

Screw it, I think. I focus on the conversation again, listening to Richard and Evan talk markets. Every now and then I comment, but mostly I use every trick I know to surreptitiously watch Havana. Right now she’s attempting to draw Emily into conversation, but from here it looks like trying to dance with a noodle. Every start falls flat, and Emily goes back to watching Evan talk. Gabe is happy to have Havana to himself when she finally gives up on Emily.

Watching Havana has become like second nature. I’m pretty sure no one notices; they’re too busy pursuing their own pleasure.

Servers remove the dessert plates efficiently and refill our wine. Richard leans back in his chair and crosses one leg over the other.

“My people say things are going well, Jet. I know Jenny and I are enjoying ourselves.” He stretches an arm around his companion, who returns a lackluster smile. “Other than breakfast, we haven’t had any problems at all. A very smooth sail.” He laughs at his own joke, even though he has to have made the same joke a million times before.

“Thank you, Richard. I agree. I couldn’t be happier with the cruise staff and the excursion teams. Havana here has done an excellent job making sure everything has gone smoothly.” I raise a glass to her. Everyone else toasts her as well, smiling and murmuring their agreement. Emily perks up enough to murmur softly about the Cancun port call, and Jenny and Gabe name their own favorite moments so far. I feel like success is within reach.

The rich red wine rolls over my tongue with an earthy finish, and I smile broadly.

“Since everything is so satisfactory, Richard, why don’t we wrap up business early and sign the contract now?”

The conversation at our table falters and the atmosphere shifts. I feel like I’ve walked into a freaking glass wall. No one speaks. Viv and Evan stare at me like I’ve put my feet up on the dinner table.

“Jet, I’d like to speak to you alone.” He’s not asking, and the others know they’ve been dismissed. The rest of the room still hums around us as our table wordlessly fumbles with purses and napkins and drinks. They clear out, and Richard signals for another glass of wine. We wait in awkward silence for the server to fill our glasses. He’s making me wait to put me off balance, and I wonder what’s coming next. Is this the sucker punch part of me has been waiting for?

He sips the wine and makes some stupid remark about it, clearly trying to keep me off balance. Another one of his outdated business power plays. I wait it out.

“I’m not signing a goddamn thing until this trip is over.” He smacks his lips over the words. The movement makes me think he wishes he had a cigar to blow smoke in my face for effect.

“Easy, man. It was just a suggestion. You said we were doing a great job, so I pressed the advantage. Nothing wrong with that. I’m curious though, why the wait if you’re happy with what we’ve done so far?”

“Forget it. We’ve got another five days on this ship. Who do you think I am? Only fools concede the battle before it’s over.” Richard’s sagging jowls vibrate as he talks.

“Richard, this isn’t a battle.” I laugh. “We both stand to win here with this contract, I intend to make sure of that.”

He gives a wheezy laugh, his over-tanned face crinkling around his pale eyes.

“Think about it. If you can’t pull this off, your entire company looks bad. This whole experiment is going to be well documented. The Business Journal already contacted me for a story. If this thing goes south, you get a black eye with your board and the stench of failure with investors. That kind of thing inevitably trickles out to the masses and the whole brand starts to tarnish. Something like that would be a prime opportunity for another hotel chain to eat into your market share.”

And there it is. My heart thumps against my ribs. Shifty piece of shit. Eastward’s been throwing money at him like I suspected in the beginning. I keep my features blandly pleasant.

“So what are you telling me here, Richard?” I stop short of accusing him of stabbing me in the back, but the implication hangs between us. If he’s been operating in bad faith here, and I can prove it, I might not be the one who comes out of this covered in mud.

He sips his wine and glances around us. People are starting to filter out, but plenty of ears remain in the room. Then his face cracks in a malicious smile.

“All speculation, of course. You have to play the long game and watch the horizon. Business is always war. Look, my board likes this deal, so I’m here, but I’m still the man at the top.”

“And?”

I wonder how big a splash he’ll make if I toss him overboard.

“You’ve got five more days,” he reminds me. “Time will tell what you deserve. Men who resist temptation, who stay focused, they’re the ones who win. How’s your focus, Jet?”

And now I’m not so sure my attraction to Havana went unnoticed. Fuck.