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 ofWhere 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.
