I debate about whether to wake West—he’d wanted to talk about something last night, but I’d been impatient to get him naked, so we’d never gotten around to it. But he looks too peaceful now, and he’s going to have an exhausting day, so instead I scribble a quick note, leave it on his desk, and head back to my room.
Camelia and her boyfriend are snuggled in her bed, so I’m quiet as I dress in workout clothes. When I get back, sweaty and pumped for the day, I grab a shower and throw on my company polo and shorts. Just as I finish brushing my hair by the light of the bathroom, Camelia’s alarm clock goes off. She and her boyfriend groan, but after ten seconds haven’t moved, so I turn the alarm off for them.
“Time to get up,” I say, flick the light switch for the main room. Camelia groans again, throwing up an arm to cover her eyes. Her shoulders are bare, and I frown at her. “You’d better not be naked under there.”
Camelia giggles behind her arm. “Avert your eyes,” she warns, and I turn away as she throws off the covers. After she bounds to the bathroom and the door closes, I dare to turn and grab my camera from my bunk bed. Noel smiles sheepishly at me, thankfully staying covered.
“I’ll meet you guys at breakfast,” I say. Scooping up my room key, I head out the door.
Over bagels, I make plans with Elise to grab drinks and sunshine at a beachside bar after Camelia and I are done with our shift. West appears briefly to grab a muffin and coffee, but can’t stay; the bridezilla is apparently kicking off her wedding prep at 8am. I walk him out of the crew mess and into the hallway so we have some privacy.
“I never got a chance to talk to you last night,” West says. “I meant to, but …”
I smile. “No, we didn’t talk much.” West looks serious, so I cock my head. “Was there something in particular?”
A group of cruise ship crew comes through the hallway towards the mess, and we have to squeeze against the wall to let them pass.
“Don’t worry about it,” West says. He glances at his watch. “Look, I gotta go. I’ll see you later.” He drops a distracted kiss on my lips, then heads off. I stare after him for a moment, wondering what he’d wanted to talk about, then shrug and head back into the mess to finish breakfast.
Craning my head to catch a last glimpse of West, I wind up running into someone.
“Oh sorry!” I say, then see who I’ve nearly knocked over and inwardly groan. “Hi, Letta.”
“Clumsy idiot,” she mutters in her crisp accent.
“Didn’t you just leave?” the girl next to her asks me. Her expression is not friendly as she eyes my form. “Why are you back? It’s not like you need more food.”
Wow, am I back in high school? And how creepy are they for keeping track of when I come and go? I nearly snap something rude, then catch myself.
“I was saying bye to West.” See? I can take the high road. But then I realize I shouldn’t have mentioned West, because Letta’s expression sharpens.
“Goodbye?” she asks, one thin brow rising.
“For now,” I clarify. “Not for ever.”
Disappointment flattens her lips, but then she tosses her hair and smirks.
“Don’t worry. He will be done with you soon.”
I roll my eyes and try to move past her. “I doubt that.”
Letta blocks my path.
“Perhaps sooner than you think,” she says, and suddenly I’m done taking her crap.
“Back off, Letta. It’s not my fault he broke up with you. Move on.”
“You suppose you are special to him?” she scoffs. “Please. Once you are gone, he will forget you like that.” She snaps her fingers.
“Good thing I’m not going anywhere,” I shoot back.
Letta’s eyes blaze, but as she opens her mouth her friend grabs her arm and gives her a warning look. Letta hesitates, then smiles at me. “Good thing,” she murmurs, and steps aside to let me pass.
I stride by them and sit down next to Camelia.
“Ugh,” I say.
“What is wrong?” she asks, brow furrowing.
“Letta,” I answer. Her last smile left me unsettled.
Camelia makes a face.
“Forget her. You know she is only jealous.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, and try to ignore Letta’s glares, which I can feel all the way across the crew mess.
After breakfast Camelia lets me talk her into wearing the sexy Señorita costume, and we have fun coaxing the passengers into posing with the ship in the background. At noon we wrap things up, change, and head to the beach bar.
Elise is already stretched out on a lounge chair with a mai tai in her hand. She’s chatting with Owen, who as we reach them is casually offering to rub more sunscreen onto Elise’s back. She laughs.
“I think I’m covered for now.”
“Well, you let me know. My hands are always available to you.” Owen notices me and Camelia, and grins. “Ladies! Took you long enough. Where have you been?”
“Some of us have to work,” Camelia says. She mock-pouts. “I thought there would be drinks waiting for us.”
Owen laughs and takes the hint. “I’ll be right back. Mai tais for everyone!”
“What a gentleman,” I say, grinning, and sit down on a lounger. Owen heads off, and I raise a brow at Elise.
“So what’s going on with you two?” I ask, nodding to Owen at the bar. Elise shrugs one lightly-tanned shoulder.
“Same as usual. He hits on me, I turn him down. It’s a thing we do.”
“You don’t want to take him up on it?” Owen’s pretty hot. West is hotter, of course, to my eyes at least, but Owen, with his lean surfer looks, likely doesn’t get turned down too often.
“You probably haven’t noticed since you’re blinded with love,” Elise teases, “but Owen sleeps with a different girl every week. I think he’s gone through ninety percent of the production dancers.”
“Ew,” I say, wrinkling my nose.
“He’s a good guy,” Elise says. “Just maybe not a good boyfriend.” She studies Owen, who has taken his shirt off and is wiping his face with it. He’s got a gorgeous body, I’ll give him that.
“A fling, but not forever?” I say.
“Nothing’s forever,” Elise says, making a face. “And I hate flings.”
“They’re not as good as the real thing, that’s for sure.” I’ve hooked up with enough guys I don’t care about to know the difference. What I have with West is real.
Owen returns with our drinks, and we spend the afternoon hanging out in Portales. Sun, sand, and good friends. If West had been able to join us, it’d be a perfect day. But it is pretty close. I take a couple photographs of us goofing around—they’re not at all artistic, just snapshots, but they make me smile.
As late afternoon rolls in, so does a bank of clouds. The wind starts to pick up, and as the sea turns choppy we head back to the ship. Hopefully we’ll be out of the area before the storm breaks. Thinking of West and how seasick he gets, I hope the captain can route us around the worst of it.
“Look at your nose,” Camelia says to Owen as we traipse through the big I-95 hallway. “With all your offers of sunscreen, you should have put some on your face.”
“I only look better with a sunburn,” Owen says, making us laugh. “Should we continue this party at the crew bar?” he adds.
“Not me,” Camelia says. “Noel and I are having a romantic dinner tonight. It’s our one-month anniversary!” She checks her watch, then heads off to meet him at his cabin.
“I promised I’d help wrangle the wedding reception this evening, so I’m out,” Elise says.
“Ooh, can you sneak me into the reception to say hi to West?” I ask her. She grins.
“Sure. Just let me shower and change. Meet me at my cabin?”
“If Yasmin gets to crash the wedding, I’m crashing it too,” Owen declares. Elise eyes him.
“You’d better have something better to wear than ripped shorts,” she says.
“Come on, Ya
s, let’s grab our fancy-schmancy clothes.” Owen holds an elbow out to me gallantly, and I laugh and take his arm. His cabin is near mine, and as we head down our hallway Owen tries to convince me to show up at the wedding reception in my bikini.
“I think the bride might kill me,” I say.
“Yeah, but it’d be worth it … Uh oh. Isn’t that your cabin?” Owen says.
I look ahead and see two men waiting in front of my open cabin door. One is a security guard, and the other I recognize as Randall Cunningham, the ship’s Hotel Director.
“Yasmin Alejo?” he says, seeing me.
“Yes,” I say cautiously. “Is something wrong?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I regret to inform you that you’ve been terminated. Effective immediately.”
I actually laugh, because it’s so out of the blue. “Fired?” Then I realize that Owen has stiffened beside me, and the Hotel Director is frowning. This isn’t a joke. He hands me a slip of paper, bright pink in color, which I take automatically. “You’re firing me?”
“Yes. Effective immediately,” Mr. Cunningham repeats.
I stare at the paper in my hands.
“The slip is actually pink,” I find myself saying. “I didn’t think they did that anymore.” My brain is broken. What is happening? “What did I do?”
Mr. Cunningham ignores my question, but Owen steps forward.
“I thought company policy was that firings happen in the morning,” he says.
“The 6-am knock,” I hear myself say. Elise told me it happened … but I never thought it would happen to me.
The Hotel Director gives us both a severe look.
“Consider this the 6-PM knock. Ms. Alejo, you need to leave the ship immediately. Your belongings have already been packed for you, and Security will escort you ashore.”
“Wait, what did I do?” I repeat, but Mr. Cunningham only waves me off.
“We need you to debark, Ms. Alejo.”
“But … we’re in Mexico.” I stare at him, stunned. They’re not really going to abandon me in Mexico, are they?
“Company policy is for terminated employees to be escorted off the ship within 24-hours of the decision,” the Hotel Director says.
“Where am I going to stay?” I ask. Panic starts to churn in my stomach. “How am I going to get home?”
“That is not the company’s concern. Employees who are terminated with cause are not guaranteed a flight home paid for by the company.”
“Cause? What cause?” I’m starting to tremble, because none of this makes any sense.
The security guard picks up my luggage, and Mr. Cunningham closes my cabin door. “You can read about it in your termination packet, but right now you must exit the ship. We’re about to leave port.”
This is all happening so fast.
“I’ll need your crew badge,” Mr. Cunningham says, holding out his hand. I want to protest, but he’s the guy who’s practically in charge of the whole ship, so what can I say? I still feel frozen. I fumble for my badge and hand it over. Is this really happening?
“Do you have any cash?” Owen asks, turning to me.
“Maybe a twenty,” I say dazedly. He pulls out his wallet and pushes two bills into my hands, along with a business card that bears no words, only an odd symbol embossed on glossy black cardstock.
“Take this. Go to the Sand Piper Hotel and give them this card. They’ll take care of you until you can get a flight home. Got that?”
I nod, dazed, and Owen pushes past me to jog down the hall. I stare after him.
“Bye, I guess,” I mutter. Mr. Cunningham is waiting, so I stuff the money and card in my bag and follow him and the security guard away from my cabin.
My head is whirling. Can they really just fire me like this? I’m too stunned to say anything until we near the crew debarkation ramp, but then I see who’s waiting.
“You,” I say.
Letta smiles sharply back at me.
“Letta is a ship’s purser; she has your termination documents for you,” Mr. Cunningham says.
“That’s really sweet of her,” I say sarcastically. I’m starting to get a feel for where this is coming from. I point at Letta. “Did she do this? She has no jurisdiction over me; she’s just causing trouble.”
Mr. Cunningham gestures impatiently. “Let’s get on with it,” he says, and Letta holds out a folder. On the top there’s a paper, and she points to the bottom line.
“Sign here,” she says. I scan the paper, but it’s all legalese about how I accept being fired or something. I shove it back at her.
“I won’t sign.”
“Duly noted,” she says, and grabs a pen. “Employee is … belligerent,” she murmurs in her clipped accent as she scribbles.
“I’m not being belligerent. This is bullshit!” I wave my folder in the air as I turn to Mr. Cunningham. The security guard has already transferred my suitcase and the rest of my stuff to the pier at the end of the ramp.
“Please leave the ship, Ms. Alejo,” Mr. Cunningham says, looking harried. I almost don’t, but my laptop and camera and purse are down with my luggage, and I wouldn’t put it past this guy to strand me without them. Besides, the burly security guard looks like he’s escorted many a reluctant terminated employee off the ship, and wouldn’t hesitate to physically manhandle me if asked.
I step off the linoleum of the hallway and onto the metal dock, then turn, clutching my folder.
“Does West know about this?” I ask.
Mr. Cunningham raises a brow.
“West is the one who fired you,” he says, and closes the door.
Chapter 21
West
Taking a break, I lean against the wall of the ship’s indoor ballroom, which is the venue for the wedding reception since it’s probably going to storm tonight. We took the formal photos earlier in the day when the light was good, so for now it’s candid shots of the cocktail hour. Half my mind is on the crowd, and in a moment I’ll take more photos, but I’m also running through my explanation to Yasmin in my head. I never got a chance to tell her last night that in a few days she’d be fired, but tonight I can’t let her distract me again.
The wedding has gone well today, all things considered. The bride is gorgeous, though incredibly picky about what photos she wants—more than once she demanded to see the files on my camera’s viewfinder and asked me to re-shoot some images. She’s been fretting about the incoming storm, and the fact that the sunset is hidden by clouds caused a mini-meltdown earlier. She almost seems like she cares more about the pictures than the wedding, but that’s none of my business. I’m actually enjoying the challenge, and we got some fantastic shots throughout the day.
I wonder a few times whether doing this for a living might actually be an option, the way Yasmin thinks. On land, of course. It could be exciting, taking photos full-time, working for myself—but then I remember my mom’s long stretches of depression because no one would buy her work, and I shudder. Photography is a hobby, not a career, as my dad has always said. I know my mother felt like she was disappointing him by not making more money. No, the promotion in Miami is what I want, so I can be near Yasmin, and climb a corporate ladder, and all that. I’m not sure I am really looking forward to wearing a suit every day, but a steady paycheck that can support college classes and an apartment and nice dinners with Yasmin? I’ll deal with a 9-to-5 job for that kind of life.
Charlie wanders over, munching a cocktail shrimp.
“You’re not supposed to eat the food,” I remind him.
“The groom offered it to me himself,” he says, and I shrug. “When are the toasts starting?”
“Should be pretty soon,” I say. If I could have had Yasmin as my secondary photographer I would have, but Charlie has more seniority, and since these types of shoots pay well, he wanted the gig.
Just then, I see Owen enter the ballroom. He’s way underdressed in beach shorts and a T-shirt, but he ignores the odd looks from the guests. He scans the crowd;
catching my eye, he beckons me over. Charlie and I meet him by the door.
“It’s Yasmin,” Owen says, and I tense.
“Is she okay?”
“Physically, yes. But she was fired.”
I almost drop my camera. “Now? Already?”
At that, Owen pauses. “You knew about this?”
“Yeah, but …” I shake my head. “Randall promised I could tell her when we were back in Miami.”
“Well, he’s a lying sack of shit.”
“Why would he tell her days beforehand? Usually they wait until right when they escort them off the ship …” I trail off, realizing what has happened. My hands clench on my camera. “Shit. They’re kicking her off the ship now?”
Owen checks his watch. “Ten minutes ago. It took me a while to get to you.”
I turn to Charlie. “You’re the lead photog for the rest of the night,” I tell him.
“West, you can’t—” he starts, but I’m already out the door.
I’ll catch hell for leaving the wedding in the hands of the assistant photographer, but I don’t care. Owen is at my heels, and we sprint down the hallway, duck into a crew-only stairwell, and pelt along the I-95 towards the hallway that leads to the crew door on the side of the ship.
Before we get there I spot Randall, nearly knocking into him as he rounds a corner. I pull up short.
“Did you fire Yasmin?” I ask, but I already know that he did. “Why? What are you doing?” I pant.
“My job, Mr. Campbell.”
“We agreed you’d wait until Miami.”
Randall raises a brow. “I said I’d take it under advisement. However, I deemed it in the company’s best interest to remove the terminated employee from the ship.”
“What? Why?”
“You admitted you two are involved. I was concerned you would tell her.”
“I promised I wouldn’t.” Though I’d basically decided to. But he doesn’t know that. Before I can say more, a slim figure comes out of the hallway behind Randall. She’s carrying documents, and I spot Yasmin’s name on one.
“Hi, West,” Letta says, smiling at me. I frown, not sure why she’s here, but then I remember that one of her purser duties is to assist with terminations. My eyes narrow.
With Every Breath (Sea Swept #2) Page 16