Chapter 2
Chapter Two
ETHAN
DAMAGE CONTROL (AND PETTY REVENGE)
I wipe champagne from my eyes and plaster on a smile as cameras flash. Thirty-four years of Cole family etiquette training kicks in: Never let them see you sweat. Even when you’re dripping wet.
“Just discussing sustainable initiatives,” I tell the woman beside me, whose face vacillates between horror and delight at witnessing a viral moment in the making. “Passionate environmentalists, you know how it is.”
The crowd returns to their drinks, though the damage is done. I can hear the social media captions being written:
“Billionaire Gets Champagne Facial from Eco-Warrior.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket. No doubt my PR team already has alerts set up for my name. I ignore it and grab a napkin from the bar, dabbing at my ruined shirt as I watch Harper Bennett storm off, auburn hair swinging with every confident step.
Well. That didn’t go according to plan.
I finish wiping my face, nodding at the bartender, who offers me another drink. “Bourbon. Neat. And keep the ice for later.”
I’d known Harper would be difficult. Her reputation in environmental circles preceded her—brilliant marine biologist with a take-no-prisoners approach to corporate accountability. What I hadn’t expected was the raw intensity of her dislike. Or how much I’d enjoy watching her lose her cool.
I check my phone and wince. Fifty-seven notifications already. A text from Marcus:
What the hell is happening out there?
I tap out a quick response:
Minor PR issue. Handling it.
The “minor PR issue” is trending on three platforms. A security officer approaches, tablet in hand. “Mr. Cole, we’ve had several complaints about the... incident.”
“From whom?” I ask, sipping my bourbon.
“The cruise director and events manager. They’re concerned about negative publicity.” He shifts uncomfortably. “They’d like you to meet them in the executive lounge.”
Of course they would. Nothing like having your family name on the side of the ship to ensure every staff member treats a PR embarrassment like a national security threat.
“Tell them I’ll be there in ten,” I say, finishing my drink. “After I change.”
In my suite, I swap my champagne-soaked shirt for a fresh one, examining my reflection in the mirror. At least she didn’t throw red wine. Small mercies.
My phone rings—Alexis, my chief of staff, calling from New York.
“Please tell me you didn’t antagonize Dr. Bennett,” she says before I can even say hello.
I press speaker and set the phone down while I button my shirt. “Good afternoon to you too, Alexis.”
“Your face is all over Twitter, Ethan. #ChampagneShower is trending.”
“Sounds festive.”
“This isn’t funny. We specifically invited her to evaluate our environmental initiatives, not to publicly humiliate you.”
“I’d hardly call it humiliation.” I adjust my cuffs. “More like an enthusiastic baptism.”
“You know her research on coral reef preservation is respected worldwide. We need her endorsement for the Green Ocean Initiative, not photos of her throwing drinks at you.”
“She was never going to endorse us. She came looking for a fight.”
“And you gave her one,” Alexis sighs. “What did you say to her?”
I pause, replaying the interaction. “Nothing that warranted a beverage to the face.”
“With you, that could be anything.” The exasperation in her voice is well-earned after five years of managing my public relations disasters. “Fix this, Ethan. Whatever it takes. We need positive press on the environmental front, especially with the Mako Tech acquisition coming up.”
“I’m aware of the stakes.”
“Are you? Because Mako’s board is already nervous about ethical issues. If they see Cole Tech at odds with leading environmental scientists?—”
“I said I’ll handle it.” I check my watch. “Look, I’m late for a meeting with the cruise director. I’ll call you back.”
I hang up before she can list more ways. I’ve screwed up today’s objectives. She’s right, of course. The Mako Tech acquisition is crucial for our ocean drone project, and Harper Bennett’s approval would silence critics. I just didn’t expect her to be so... inflammatory.
Or quite so attractive when she’s angry.
That last thought is unhelpful. I push it away as I head to the executive lounge, where two nervous-looking staff members await.
“Mr. Cole,” the cruise director begins, “we want to assure you that this type of behavior is not tolerated on The Rendezvous. We’re prepared to escort Dr. Bennett off at our next port?—”
“That won’t be necessary,” I interrupt, taking a seat. “In fact, I don’t want any action taken.”
They exchange confused glances. “But sir, she threw a drink at you. It’s all-over social media.”
“I’m aware.” I lean forward. “Here’s what we’re going to do instead: nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Well, not quite nothing.” I smile. “I want Dr. Bennett moved to the Seabreeze Suite on Deck 10.”
The cruise director consults his tablet. “That’s... next door to your presidential suite.”
“Is it? What a coincidence.” I reach for a bottle of water. “I also want her added to every couples’ event this week.”
“Couples’ events?” The events manager looks bewildered. “But she’s here alone.”
“Not anymore. I’ll be her partner.”
Their expressions range from confusion to dawning horror as they realize what I’m suggesting.
“Mr. Cole,” the cruise director says, “are you asking us to... punish her by making her take part in couples’ activities with you?”
“I prefer to think of it as ‘enhancing her cruise experience.’” I take a sip of water. “Plus, the press will love it. Imagine the headlines: ‘Eco-Warrior and Tech CEO Bury the Hatchet.’ Much better than ‘Billionaire Kicks Scientist Off Cruise.’”
The events manager looks skeptical. “Sir, with all due respect, she threw champagne in your face. I don’t think she’ll participate in anything with you.”
“She will if it’s required to complete her environmental assessment.” I stand. “Tell her she needs to experience all aspects of the cruise to evaluate its sustainability. Including the social events.”
“And if she refuses?”
“She won’t. She’s too committed to her cause.” I head for the door, then pause. “Oh, and have the ship’s social media team ready to capture everything. I want our ‘journey to friendship’ documented.”
Their faces suggest they think I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have.
Back in my suite, I fire off a text to Alexis:
Crisis averted. Working on a PR plan that will have Dr. Bennett singing our praises by week’s end.
Her response is immediate:
Should I be worried?
Definitely.
I step onto my balcony and glance at the suite next door. The Seabreeze is smaller than mine but just as luxurious—and perfectly positioned for my plans. Through the glass door, I catch a glimpse of auburn hair. Harper is already there, unpacking her bags.
As if sensing my gaze, she looks up. Our eyes meet across the dividing wall. For a moment, I think she might throw something else at me, but instead, she marches to the glass door and yanks the curtain shut.
I can’t help but laugh. This is going to be an interesting week.
My phone pings with an alert. The social media team has already started their campaign: a photo of me, champagne-drenched but smiling, captioned ‘Sometimes sustainability discussions get heated! Looking forward to finding common ground with @DrHarperBennett this week on #TheRendezvous #LoveAndOceans.’
I pour myself another bourbon and settle into a deck chair. By tomorrow morning, Harper will discover what I’ve arranged. Her outrage will be magnificent. And public. And exactly what I need to turn this PR disaster into an opportunity.
The champagne attack may have won her the first round, but I’ve been playing this game a lot longer. And I never lose.
A knock at my door interrupts my plotting. I open it to find a crew member holding an envelope.
“From the cruise director, sir,” he says. “The updated event schedule you requested.”
I scan the list and can’t hold back a grin. “Love’s Obstacle Course” tomorrow morning. “Tantric Yoga for Two” in the afternoon. And the evening’s “Midnight Love Confessions” broadcast live from the main deck.
Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
I leave the schedule on the coffee table and return to the balcony, bourbon in hand. The sun is setting over the ocean, painting the water in golds and pinks. In the distance, a pod of dolphins breaks the surface, reminding me why I started the Green Ocean Initiative in the first place.
Harper Bennett doesn’t know it yet, but we actually want the same thing. She just assumes the worst about me because of my last name and bank balance.
Well, by the end of this cruise, Dr. Bennett will either endorse my environmental initiatives or create such a spectacular public meltdown that no one will take her criticisms seriously.
Either way, I win.
And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to watching her reaction to our new “couple status” tomorrow morning.
Sometimes business and pleasure can mix. Especially when pleasure means driving your most vocal critic completely insane.
I raise my glass in a silent toast to the closed curtains next door.
Game on, Dr. Bennett.