Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
TORN — NATALIE IMbrUGLIA
“Where is she?”
Demi’s voice is a sharp knife to the side of my skull. I stifle a groan and rub at my eyes with one hand as I hold my stateroom door open with the other.
“Where is who?” My throat is so dry that the words come out with the gravelly timbre of a phone-sex operator. Which would probably seem hot…if I didn’t also have drool caked to the side of my cheek.
“Molly. You were the last person to see her, and she’s not back on the ship. I didn’t even know you were back until Sora told me.” Demi is standing with her arms crossed over her chest, like she always does when she’s annoyed, the walkie-talkie at her hip chirping every few seconds.
“I…uh…I don’t know. She’s not back yet?”
Molly had completely disappeared after our argument at Etna.
I had assumed she’d taken the transportation that was waiting to take us back to the ship, because I didn’t see anything resembling the type of vehicle a circus troupe might drive.
But now that I think about it, they probably don’t actually ride around in little clown cars, so maybe I missed it.
And even if it was there, unless someone was standing outside with a sign, Molly might have missed it, too.
Fuck.
Reality crashes over me like a wave as I notice how busy the hallway is behind Demi—tourists returning from excursions, bags slung over their shoulders and cheeks rosy from the heat. “Wait—what time is it?”
“It’s almost five. We’re supposed to start filming dinner in twenty minutes.”
Double fuck.
I had only planned to lie down for a few minutes when I got back to my room after the excursion. And now suddenly it’s two hours later and I’m suspect number one in a missing persons case?
I quickly cross the room to my bed, leaving the door to close behind me. Only, Demi manages to sneak through and watches me as I rip the sheets off the bed. I find my phone buried deep under the comforter and try to wake it, but it’s dead.
“Fuckity fuck!”
Demi looks at me with a raised brow and I ignore her, fumbling to plug in my phone.
There’s another knock on the door behind Demi and she turns to pull it open, revealing a version of Glen I’ve never seen before.
His hair is disheveled, as if he’s spent the past two hours running his hand through it repeatedly, and I notice he’s wearing an untucked T-shirt and sneakers—a first, for a man who is usually impeccably dressed in the same style every day: a trendy button-down, chinos, and a rotating assortment of sleek but subdued loafers.
“Anything?” he asks Demi sharply, ignoring me completely.
“No, she hasn’t seen her.”
Glen looks at me over Demi’s shoulder, and my stomach drops. It feels like cresting a roller coaster and barreling down the other side—a full-body response of pure terror mixed with adrenaline.
“What the hell happened, Chloe?” he demands, his usual silky tone now laced with acid. I’ve never been on the receiving end of Glen’s anger before, but the sensation is familiar—and suddenly I’m back in Iceland, being scolded for missing the call time.
Only this is worse.
Way, way worse.
“She ghosted me at Etna, when we got off the cable car,” I explain, leaving out the part about me basically telling her that her parents were right for not loving her.
I wince at the thought, even now.
“I told you, Glen, I shouldn’t have stayed back.” Demi throws her hands in the air, then begins to rub at her temples. “I knew she would fuck this up.”
“Well, obviously Molly wasn’t going to—”
“Not Molly, you!” she snaps.
I narrow my eyes at Demi, and she returns my glare.
“Don’t look at me like that, Chloe. You were in charge of her. Greta gave you the instructions to get her back to the ship and you agreed, did you not?”
“Yes, but—”
“But nothing! This is the job. I don’t care if she tried to hang glide off the side of the fucking volcano, you follow her.
You weren’t just supposed to babysit her and deliver her in one piece; you were supposed to film it.
Now we don’t even have any footage of her getting from Etna back to the ship, which is honestly not great.
Did you even check if she was back when you got here? ”
Demi’s right. I had been so stunned after what happened with Molly that when I got back to my room, I just crashed. I had intended to regroup and then search for her, but…I didn’t.
And that’s on me.
In any other job I could claim that this was a conflict of interest, that I shouldn’t have been put in charge of Molly, that I was set up to fail.
And maybe I was. Maybe all of that is true.
But it’s also true that I had a job to do, and I didn’t do it.
This whole gig has felt like a house of cards. As if one wrong move could topple everything. And for a while, I felt like it was everyone around me who kept trying to knock it down. When really, I’m the idiot who can’t keep it standing.
I didn’t give a shit about this gig—I haven’t since the moment I commented on Glen’s post begging for it.
So, while I may be great at what I do, what good is that when I’m not putting any actual effort into my work?
When I’m distracted by quite literally everything else—Nolan, a stupid old rivalry with Molly, and my own shitty attitude that I can’t seem to shake?
“You’re right.”
Demi opens her mouth again to reply, but shuts it quickly as she realizes I’m not about to argue with her.
“Yes…I am,” she says.
“I’m sorry. I messed up.”
“Fuck, Chloe—I don’t know how we’re going to fix this,” Glen huffs from behind Demi, his hands on his hips as he slowly paces back and forth.
There’s another quick rap on the door, and all three of our heads swivel to face it. Glen swings it open.
“Uh…hi,” Nolan says awkwardly, lifting a hand to give a little wave. “Bad time?”
Glen whips his head around to glare at me, already piecing things together in his mind.
“Who is that man?” he snaps, pointing at Nolan as if accusing him of a heinous crime.
“Uhh…” I stall, not wanting to reveal to Glen and Demi that not only did I lose one of their contestants, I’ve also been flirting with chefs—er, a chef—when I’m not filming.
And also when I am.
I am so going to get fired for this.
Nolan seems to catch on quickly though, and cuts in.
“I’m Chef Braddock. Ms. Hill hasn’t been receiving her meal deliveries in the morning,” he says smoothly.
I’m only slightly concerned about what a good liar he is.
A bigger part of me is impressed, though.
Take away the camera, and the man is a natural actor.
“I came to personally pick up her menu card so that this doesn’t happen again. But I can come back another time.”
“Yeah, do you mind?” Demi retorts, a note of panicked sarcasm in her tone. “Now isn’t really a good time.”
“Of course.” He flashes them one hell of a gorgeous smile, and even though my entire body feels like it’s been pumped full of electricity, my nervous system practically powers down at the sight of him.
He says a quick goodbye, not meeting my gaze, and leaves before Glen can shut the door in his face.
Well, there go any potential plans with Nolan tonight.
Not that I would even have any time for that—I now have to figure out where in the world Molly Spencer could be.
Glen has turned to face me again, only slightly calmer than before, but still looking just as annoyed.
“This is really not what I was hoping for when I hired you. Things were supposed to go better, not worse, this season. We’ve spent a lot of time developing Molly’s arc, and to have her disappear mid-season is going to really mess things up. ”
“I know, and I’m so sorry, Glen. I—”
Before I can finish my next attempt at groveling, Glen holds up a hand to silence me, and my mouth slams shut.
“Chloe, I like you. So, I need you to understand that what I’m about to say isn’t personal.”
Uh oh.
I brace for what I can only assume is coming next and mentally start preparing myself to beg on my hands and knees for a second chance. Kyla’s face flashes in my mind, and the thought of letting her down is so much worse than the idea of being fired.
“I’m going to need you to leave this ship within the next hour…” I open my mouth to argue-slash-beg, but then Glen adds, “…and find Molly fucking Spencer.”
That was…not what I was expecting.
“Or else I will fire you.”
But that definitely was.
Lying empty for the first time since I packed it in my apartment in Toronto, my gear bag yawns open on the bed as I haphazardly toss in items that I’m not entirely sure I’ll need for my own version of Where in the World Is Carmen Sandiego?
Except replace the hot brunette in a cool hat and trench coat with a bitchy blond in heels.
Glen and Demi left only a few minutes ago, and the clock is already ticking.
I have to figure out where Molly is and get her back to the ship before tomorrow night at sundown.
While the Gemstone will be docked overnight, I’ll only have just over twenty-four hours until it sets sail again—with or without us.
Of course, if we’re not back, I’ll be out of work. And Molly? She’ll be sued for breach of contract.
I pick up my phone to text Sora just as a message from her arrives, and I continue to pack as I reply.
SORA: OMG, I just heard what happened. Is she really gone?
CHLOE: Unfortunately.
SORA: No wayyyy… Did you get fired? Ohhhh, please don’t tell me you got fired!!!
CHLOE: Alas, I am still employed as of this moment. But not for long. I have to find her before tomorrow night, or I’ll be on the next flight home.
SORA: Crap. Are you OK?
CHLOE: Oh, yeah, totally. At least Bill will get his job back if I get fired. There’s always a bright side, Sora!
SORA: I hope you find her. Bill isn’t as enjoyable to be around.
CHLOE: Hah!
SORA: Let me know how I can help. We’re just on our way back to the ship. Keep me posted?
CHLOE: Will do. Wish me luck.
After lacing up my sneakers, I hoist my bag over my shoulder and decide to check Molly’s room before I leave the ship.
I still have no idea where she might have gone, and I’m hoping that something in her living space will give me a clue.
But as I swing my door open to leave, Nolan is standing there, his hand raised as if he were about to knock.
“What are you doing back here?” I ask, looking in both directions down the hall before pulling him into my room and shutting the door after him.
“Jeez, Chloe, if you wanted me in your room, all you had to do was ask,” he snickers, straightening his shirt after I’ve let go of him.
I look up at his warm eyes, and my pulse begins to gallop.
But I step back, remembering the expression on Glen’s face when he opened the door to see Nolan there.
Remembering how guilty I felt when Demi called me out on not doing my job.
“You can’t be here right now,” I say.
He smirks and leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, as if making himself comfortable. “Oh, yeah? Something to do with that tense little meeting I interrupted earlier?”
There’s a slight note of concern in his voice, but it feels coolly insincere—almost teasing—paired with the playful smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth. It’s as if nothing could ruffle his feathers.
Even though in my world, all of my feathers are ruffled. Every last one.
For the first time since we met, Nolan’s lightness feels in direct opposition to the hurricane of turmoil swirling in my chest.
“Yes, actually,” I insist, my tone sharp.
His face falls into what I can only guess is disappointment.
I wince inwardly but find it difficult to shift my stony expression into something kinder.
My walls are building themselves back up, brick by brick, and I don’t know how to halt the emotional construction.
“I’m sorry, Nolan, but I can’t get together tonight. ”
“Oh,” he says. “Yeah—sure. No worries.”
“Things are just really…complicated right now.”
His eyes search my face.
“Life is always complicated…but I get it. You could just pretend you need to film more footage in the kitchens, if you want?” He waggles an eyebrow suggestively, and my stomach drops. Suddenly, I feel completely and utterly foolish.
Obviously, he knew that I had ulterior motives when I asked to film in the kitchens—he’s not an idiot.
At least he had the balls to ask me out.
But spoken aloud—the fact that I had used my job as an excuse to spend time with him, that I was too chickenshit to actually tell him how I was feeling—it’s so…
juvenile. And to be honest, it also feels like he’s mocking me a little bit.
Suddenly, I feel so exposed.
How had I gotten so distracted?
I came onto this stupid ship intending to keep my head down and just do my job. Kyla was relying on me to make sure we could survive for the next few months. Instead, I got sidetracked by a workplace romance and chased away the one contestant the show needs, risking my job in the long run.
“N-no,” I sputter, “I can’t do that. I shouldn’t have even…
I didn’t…ugh!” I’m so frustrated that I turn away from him.
In an instant, his hand is on my shoulder, gentle and comforting, but something inside me snaps and I pull away, whirling to face him again.
“I can’t do this right now, Nolan. This isn’t me.
I care—about my job, about what people think of me.
I can’t just blow everything off to…to…hang out with you. ”
Nolan’s lips are etched into a frown and, for a moment, I’m not sure who I’m really upset with—Nolan, or myself.
“I didn’t mean that, Chloe—”
“I have to go,” I mumble quickly, cutting him off as my throat tightens and tears sting my eyes.
Nolan opens his mouth to say something else, but I’m already pushing past him and out into the hallway, leaving him behind in my own room, as I go off in search of something, anything, that will allow me to fix this shipwreck of a situation.