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We spring apart as the room comes rushing back.

I look up, my heart sinking when I see Greg Masters lowering his camera, a smug smile twisting his thin lips.

“Payday,”he mouths.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

After eating our pastacreations for dinner, during which Olivia polished everything on her plate, including the sauce, Lana dragged me to her stateroom as the dessert wine was brought out. She suspiciously disappeared in a huff half an hour into class, only to resurface, her face grim, five minutes ago.

She told the group we had a conference call.

“What’s so urgent?” I mutter, sprawling onto the ivory sofa.

Then alarm sweeps through me.

Is it Greg Masters? I didn’t see him after he snapped the photo of Olivia and me. But it’s only been hours, and it wasn’t like we were doing anything inappropriate.

Lana fiddles with a remote. “You’ll see.”

A screen on the wall flickers on and I groan.

Because Maxwell is on camera and is clearly displeased.

“Shit.” I sit up, watching my older brother, dressed in a three-piece suit, his hair perfectly coiffed, glare at me.

I glance at the time on the screen and do some mental calculations. “Seriously, it’s four in the morning for you. Why are you already up and dressed for work?”

“You tell me,” he says cryptically.

“Stop with this cloak and dagger shit. Clearly, I screwed up and am about to get it. Go on. Tell me what I did.”

“I’ve got some photos for you to look at. They came through during class,” Lana says, drawing my attention back to her. She sits down next to me and gives me a sympathetic smile. “And Greg Masters reached out to me.”

Shit. The damn bastard.

“Look, whatever he’s insinuating, it’s bullshit—”

She shakes her head and presses another button. Black-and-white photos pop up on the screen.

My argument stalls in my throat.

They’re pictures of me and Olivia. Me kissing her in the small courtyard during Las Fallas. A grainy one of us entering the motel together. Boarding the cruise early morning after our night together.

Fuck. We—no—Iwasn’t careful enough.

Cold sweat gathers on my forehead, and nausea makes an appearance. This was what Olivia was worried about. How many times had she tried to push me away because we were breaking the rules? And who took these photos? Greg Masters? I didn’t even see him tailing me. How could I have missed him?

“I’m going to fire her and have her escorted off the cruise.” Maxwell’s words are soft, but I hear the strain in his voice—his anger.

My eyes snap back up to him and I see a telltale tic in his jaw.

He’s pissed. Betrayed. Furious.

No.Panic rears its ugly head inside me.

He can’t take my Olive from me. I want the rest of this trip with her.

“You got it all wrong,” I begin. “It’s not what you think—”