Chapter Fifteen CASEY
Chapter Fifteen
CASEY
“Keep your damn article.”
Phillip’s words surprise me. I didn’t realize he was awake. I’ve been lying here in his bed, tucked up against him, naked. It’s early in the morning—too early even for the sun to show its face—but I can’t seem to go back to sleep. I’ve been studying various parts of Phillip. The blanket is tucked up around his hips, but above that, I can revel in his toned chest, the dusting of hair, the muscled arm bent up beside his head, that stark profile, his angular jaw.
When he speaks, my eyes fly up to his. He looks sleepy and soft compared to his usual austere persona. He hasn’t donned his businessman mask yet.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
He sweeps my hair off my bare shoulder, and it makes me shiver. “I’ll have my team approve it. It’s done. Push it forward.”
I frown as I try to keep up. Last night he was outraged by what I’d written. He called me to his suite to admonish me about it. Now , this morning, he’s magically come to terms with it? Approves it, even?
My jaw tightens reflexively. I remember what he said last night about feeling guilty the morning after we first slept together. Is this more of the same?
“Is this because of what we did last night after our argument? It’s not why I—I slept with you.” I have a hard time pushing the words out. “It’s not why I’m still lying here. You have to separate the two.”
He swallows and shakes his head. His own expression has turned contemplative and moody, especially compared to the gentleness I saw in him a moment ago. “No, this has nothing to do with last night. I don’t want to keep dragging this out. I want peace. So have your way and be done with it.”
Belated excitement has me sitting up, clutching the sheet to my chest for some semblance of modesty.
“Are you serious?”
He smiles and reaches up to cup my jaw. He nods, studying my face reverently.
I have to fight the urge to lean into his touch. To give in to that feeling again. Last night was one time too many. A one-night stand is just that, one night. Though this was maybe necessary. One more romp in his bed to satisfy those lingering feelings. And the way I feel now, desperate for more of his touch? Well ... I haven’t had my coffee yet. Maybe I’m just a little tired.
This would be easier if I hadn’t stayed the night, and some part of me wishes I hadn’t. I didn’t stay over the first time we slept together, and it felt easier to wake up the next day with that clean break. This—us lying naked in his bed together—introduces all sorts of complications.
“Did I fall asleep on the couch?” I ask, wondering now how we actually made it to his bed.
He smiles. “Yes. After the second time.”
My cheeks flush, and I look away. “Right. Whoops .”
I’m starting to crawl out of his bed, my eyes already scanning his room for my abandoned clothes. Just my luck, I must have left everything in the living room. I’ll have to scramble out of his bedroom naked or—
“Let me have this sheet,” I say, tugging on it hard.
It doesn’t budge. His body weighs it down.
He laughs. “Stop yanking it, would you? Just give me a second, and I’ll hand it to you.”
He sits up, and I’m treated with too much man for this early in the morning. All that tanned skin ... all those muscles ...
I momentarily lose track of what I was doing beyond checking him out like it’s my life’s greatest purpose. God, look at him.
He clears his throat, mocking me.
I think I hate him now more than ever.
“Here you go,” he says, tugging the sheet free from the blanket and holding it out to me.
Of course, once he does, he turns and stands, not the least bit embarrassed by his nakedness.
I get a good look at his butt—consider it a parting gift—wrap the sheet around myself à la college toga-party attendee, and then book it out into the living room.
My panties and bra are strewn on the side of the couch like evidence of my poor decision-making. They taunt me as I approach. Oh, girl, you’re really in for it now.
I slip them on like I’m being timed and then grab my dress, wrinkles and all, and tug it on. I feel much better once I’m fully clothed.
In all that time, Phillip has only managed to find himself a pair of low-slung pajama pants. They accentuate that tantalizing V men have that leads our eyes straight down . I avert my gaze before I fall victim to that V .
“Right, well, thank you for another—uh—lovely evening.”
Phillip chuckles and shakes his head. “You’re absurd. If you weren’t racing off ... we could continue. I could call breakfast up for us.”
“Oh no. No, no, no .” I just keep repeating the word while I look for my shoes. One is underneath the coffee table, and one is near the television, which is to say it’s wedged between the television and the wall. Whoops. I have to jiggle it for a moment, and even then, the heel leaves a scuff on the paint. I rub it, as if that will magically make it disappear. Then clear my throat. “Right. Send me the bill for that.”
A quick peek at Phillip proves how much he’s enjoying this, watching me squirm, that is.
I veer around him, taking the long way to the door. Even still, he meets me there, taking the handle so he can stall for a moment before he opens it.
“So that’s it? You’re off?”
I don’t look at him. “I’m off. Yes. Work calls, after all. I’m sure my boss has sent a million emails by now. No time to delay.”
He nods, his expression tightening ever so much. “Right. Okay.”
There’s no goodbye. The moment he opens that door, I duck under his arm and flee.
What a disaster!
What a perfectly confusing situation with a man who I can’t even wrap my head around!
I have no intention of going down that road with him again. When he called me to his suite, I thought he wanted to have a discussion, sure, but sex? Never in a million years.
We just get under each other’s skin. That argument ... it felt like a boatload of foreplay, if you ask me. Like we were just wanting an excuse to pounce on each other again, and, boy, did we. I can’t even think back on what I did to him on that couch or I’ll die from embarrassment. I’m not that girl! I’ve never ... probably will never ... experience things like that again.
My next date with a man I meet back home, a man I procure through some dating app, will be such a letdown. I know it already. I’ll just have to prepare myself for the disappointment and tell myself that not every man can be like Phillip. Sure, the sex is good, but his personality ? Okay ... also good. But his manners? Dammit, they’re impeccable.
There are other issues, though, like how he ...
And when he . . .
Well, right.
One thing is certain; I know I’ll never see Phillip again after this cruise. We live completely different lives, so if I’m looking for an excuse to push him away, I have it. This is nothing more than a fleeting, lighthearted cruise romance. A fling! How tropical! How worldly of me to go to bed with Phillip. There’s no need to form attachments. I can be cool about the whole thing. Just watch.
When I arrive back at my suite, I yank off yesterday’s clothes and shower. Already, I feel more like myself as I comb my long hair and let it start to air-dry. With comfy clothes in place, I take a seat at my desk and open my laptop. I can’t wait to read Gwen’s thoughts on what I sent her. I did everything she asked and more. I endured Phillip’s wrath (er ... well ... whatever that was we did all night) to get her this story, so I’m expecting some kind of explosive email with a ton of emoji and effusive language.
It’s why I sit dumbly staring at my screen for so long when I do finally pull up her email.
Okay good. I’ve passed this on to our content editors. Now, those fact-checking assignments sent earlier in the week could wait until you get back home, but I don’t see why they should. You’ll have plenty of downtime over the coming days. Priority wise, Mark needs the Lancaster story back by tomorrow afternoon. The others can wait until next week.
Thanks.
I blink at my screen, willing the letters to rearrange themselves into different, better words. Something like
Casey, this is wonderful! Just what we were looking for. Let’s discuss a new role for you when you get back to the States. Maybe there’s another assignment on the horizon for you ... Congratulations, Gwen
Am I a complete idiot?
A total, utter fool?
I thought this story would be the jump start to my career that I’ve always been waiting for. I thought this was the start of something new for me. Instead, Gwen gave me a veritable clap on the back, and now it’s back to life as normal. Fact-checking waits for no man! I cannot believe she had the audacity to send me those assignments! Our intern just doesn’t cut it, not compared to you!
I see red.
Then I see maroon.
Then black.
I risked it all—Phillip’s wrath, my journalistic integrity, my fucking morals—for this ?
With shaking hands, I click reply to Gwen’s email.
I’m happy you are pushing forward with the story, though I think there’s been a bit of confusion on my part. I saw this assignment as a stepping stone—a transition of sorts. I’m hoping to be considered for more writing assignments in the future. I feel as though I’ve paid my dues with fact-checking over the last few years and well ... I thought maybe this would be my way of proving how serious I am about getting out in the field a little more. Could we discuss this possibility when I get back to town?
Her reply is almost instantaneous. I picture her sitting at her glass-topped desk in her posh office in New York City, sipping her latte, unbothered by the world that exists thirty floors below her.
Casey, yes, confusion most definitely. Bon Voyage doesn’t have any open writing positions at the moment.
Be sure to complete that Lancaster story for Mark, thanks.
Adrenaline courses through me; my world narrows down to that laptop screen, my body quaking as I type.
And if I pressed you to consider a promotion now, rather than at some ambiguous time in the future, would you be willing to work with me? At least to meet with me about it? I’ve been with the company since college and I’ve been loyal to a fault. This is sort of a deal breaker for me ...
I hit send and then sit there hoping her reply won’t come as quickly this time, hoping she actually takes a moment to consider what I’m asking and how important this is to me.
Then my inbox pings, and my heart sinks.
Right, Casey. I’m hearing you loud and clear and my advice is very simple: reconsider that ultimatum.
You have a good thing going in your position and you, more than anybody, should realize how difficult it is to get your name on bylines. Gabriel interned with us for three years before he was ever given an assignment! Now, I understand you’re hungry and I like to see your enthusiasm. That’s just what Bon Voyage needs! I might be able to chat with HR to see about getting you a little bump in your salary. ;) No promises, but I’ll see what I can do.
Gabriel interned for three years ...
Three years . . .
Is she serious right now?
Is she fucking serious!
I interned for four years—all through college, all unpaid. Then, then , once I graduated, I took the lowliest position they would give me, just to get my foot in the door. I was told there was a pecking order in place, that if I was willing to stick it out for a year or two, they could find a spot for me on the journalism team. Now, I realize that was never going to happen. Years have slipped by. I’ve taken on the grunt work as a fact-checker, and I’ve kept my head down. I’ve never asked for an extension on a project. I’ve never slacked off. Hell, I’ve never even asked for a raise!
I feel like I’ve been slapped across the face.
Time seems to stand still as I sit there letting tears roll down my cheeks.
I’m surprised at how many come, at the well of anger and indignation I feel over Gwen’s brush-off. It’s clear she has no intention of promoting me, ever. I feel so completely used and led on. Worse, I feel stupid, like this is somehow my fault. Maybe I should never have accepted such a lowly position in the first place, maybe I should have fought harder, forced a meeting with Gwen, really put myself out there. Maybe as my grandmother was dying of cancer I should have been caring more about my career and how to trample my way to the top. Apparently, toiling away as a quiet worker bee gets you absolutely nowhere.
I’m nothing to Gwen. I’m nothing to anybody , and that realization comes like a searing stab in the gut. I want to keel over and give in to the overwhelming anger.
It’s not fair. This life is not fair.
I want to rage.
I want to fire off another email right away. I want the satisfaction that would come from telling her off. I could put in my two weeks’ notice and revel in that power.
Instead, I sit numbly, letting my laptop fade to black as it goes to sleep. I see my reflection in the shiny screen. A lost, lonely girl, unsure of her future now more than ever.
Sometime later, there’s a knock on my door.
Sienna’s sweet voice. “Casey? You in there?”
I don’t reply.
“Casey?” she asks again, knocking a little harder.
I listen to her footsteps as she walks away down the hall. Then I shoot to my feet and run for the door, flinging it open and calling out to her.
She turns, her smile shifting into a sympathetic frown once she gets a good look at me.
“Oh no. Casey . What’s wrong?”