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“Open the door,” I say to the employee who brought me in.
“I don’t know if I can do that.”
I pick up the phone and quickly make a call. “Frank, I want to get into one of the staff cabins. This will influence my decision to close the deal. Will that be a problem?”
“I don’t understand, Christos . . .”
“Just ‘yes’ or ‘no’, Frank.”
“Yes, of course.”
“I’ll let you authorize it with your employee.”
Before they can even speak, however, the door opens, and the motherfucking captain comes out, tucking his shirt into his pants.
I go ballistic. Several possible scenarios run through my head.
It doesn’t matter how much money I have now. I’m still the little boy from a Greek island, raised to deal with confrontation physically and to defend beliefs with his fists.
“Where is she?” I demand, pressing him against the wall, my fingers clawing at his throat.
“Are you mad? Let me go! Who are you talking about?” The man is turning purple, and the cynical smile he had on when he opened the door disappears.
“Zoe Turner.”
The recognition on his face tells me she was telling the truth over the phone.
“Don’t let him move,” I warn my bodyguards, already walking into the bedroom.
“You can’t keep me locked up. I am the highest authority on this ship.”
“And from now on, I’m your new employer,” I say, making the decision. “But you can call me God, too.”
I enter the cabin as I watch my men position themselves to stop him from escaping.
There’s a half-naked woman there, lying on the bed, but no sign of Zoe. When the woman sees me, she tries to cover herself.
“Zoe, it’s me,” I say at the bathroom door.
“Xander?”
Maybe this is the right time to correct the misunderstanding and tell her that everyone knows me as Christos and no one calls me by my second name, but somehow, I suppress the information. Even with the madness of the present situation, I like the idea that she doesn’t know who I am yet.
“Yes, it’s me. Open the door. You are safe now.”
Seconds later, I hear the latch being released, but I don’t know what will happen next.
Zoe, face puffed from crying, throws herself into my arms as if I’m her safe haven, and some totally unknown feeling spreads through me.
Oblivious to everyone around us, I hug her, touching her soft hair. “Let’s get out of here.”
“The ship is leaving soon.”
“No, it won’t because I’ll call the police. It doesn’t matter. The journey will go on. If you want to go home, fine. But come with me first. There’s no way I’m leaving you unprotected here.”
She pulls back a little to look at me, and I wait for her decision.
Seconds later comes the answer I wanted:
