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I sigh while watching the surveillance video and decide to take a break from work. When's the last time I didn't obsess over what I needed to do next, or the internal betrayal unfolding, or the work that I feel only I can accomplish? When was the last time I took a breath, forgot about work, and just had fun?
I can’t even remember.
But she’d made me forget for a little while. She’d brought me back to the real world. She’d reminded me that all the work in the world feels hollow if there’s no one to share the successes and triumphs with. If a mere stranger I’ll likely never see again inspired that in me, I can’t even imagine what might happen next.
A quick glance at the activity roster I’d saved to my phone tells me that I can go dancing today, if I’d like. I lift both shoulders before heading back into my cabin. I'm not particularly fond of dancing, but I do know how - my father made me take lessons when I was a kid. Apparently, that's part of being a gentleman and a leader; it’s a good way to charm and impress people. And my dad sure knew how to charm and impress people, right up until the very end.
I shoo away those buzzing, unpleasant thoughts.
Dancing did help me charm and impress people, but I never found any true joy in the activity. Dancing never made me happy. But maybe it will tonight.
I leave my cabin and make my way to the ship's nightclub. The place is crowded, noisy, and dark with bright flashing lights. Upbeat, loud music thrums through my veins, and I move through people standing around, drinking, talking, laughing, and partying. There’s nothing overly exciting here, and I scan the room, looking for her. Hoping to see her. Wondering if she’s here. Unsure if fate will grace us with a second chance, since we’d squandered the first.
And then I see her.
She's with a small group of friends, sitting at a table near the dance floor. Her three friends are laughing and drinking, but she seems distant from them, and I don’t just mean proximity. She's focused on her phone, typing something furiously with furrowed eyebrows and her teeth worrying her lower lip.
She doesn't look happy. She seems stressed and worried.
And I sense that something is wrong.
She hardly seems like the same person I'd met at the bar yesterday morning.
One of her friends reaches out and touches her arm, but she doesn't even look up at them. The friend says a few words and she nods before the group of three move out to the dance floor.
I work her direction, pushing through the crowd of people. She doesn't notice me at all; she's so absorbed in whatever's happening on her phone. I reach her table and walk behind her chair before leaning down to whisper in her ear.
“Excuse me, miss? Are you interested in hiring a hitman today?” I could easily look down and read over her shoulder, but I'm not about to invade her privacy. Whatever she's dealing with, she's welcome to discuss with me, but I'm not going to try to pry and find details.
She jolts and gasps, dropping her phone on the table as she spins around and looks at me with wide eyes. It's her alright. She's even more beautiful than I remember.
She presses her hand to her chest, and I can see her pulse thumping much too quickly in her throat. “You scared me,” she whispers, as if she’s so frightened even her voice ran away. “What are you doing here?” she asks.
I lean in close and lower my voice as much as I can over the music. “This may come as a surprise, but I'm here on vacation and I'm trying to enjoy myself.” With those words, I sit down in the chair beside her and she turns all her attention to me again.
She freezes for a moment, then her lips curve into a smile, and she lets out a soft laugh. “I meant here, here.” She gestures to the club around us, and I can't help but wonder if she's trying to imply that this isn't my kind of scene.
I feign offense. “Are you trying to say I’m out of place here?” I ask.
She chuckles as her phone goes off, the quick succession of sounds telling me someone is rapid-firing messages at her. Her face goes red - at least, I think it does. It's hard to tell in the light. “Sorry about that,” she says as she drops her phone into the little clutch she’s holding. I take in her cream-colored short dress, noticing how it rides up her thighs and almost flashes indecent parts of her body. “And yes, you are a little out of place wearing a suit in a nightclub.”
I chuckle. “If only someone had warned me before I made a fool of myself.”
“Oh, you didn't make a fool of yourself.” She plants her elbow on the table and cradles her chin in her hand.
“What was that about?” I ask, gesturing to her clutch where she’d shoved her phone.
This time I know for a fact that her face is red, and she glances away as if avoiding my stare. “Nothing,” she says, shaking her head.
I’m not a fool. “It didn’t seem like nothing.” I don’t want her to think I’m not paying attention, and I don’t want her to face whatever she’s going through alone.
She sighs, and her teeth tear through her lower lip. “My ex, Jake. He’s... texting me a lot.” Something about the way she says the words tells me they're not the words she wanted to use, and I sense that he's harassing her, but she’s afraid to say that. I can understand - who wants to show off their baggage day two of meeting someone?
Still, sometimes it's better to talk about these things, so I reach up and touch my shoulder with one hand. “I've been told that this shoulder is good at catching tears if you need an empathetic ear.” I've never considered myself a soft or sentimental person, but around her this just comes naturally.
Her expression softens, and the corners of her lips curve almost into a smile as her gaze searches my face. “Thank you,” she says softly.
I sense that now is a good time to change the subject, so I tilt my head toward the dance floor. “Do you want to dance?”
