Page 10 of A Perfect Disaster

Maika nods. So do I, though it’s hard for me.

“I need you to reach an agreement before the full-scale drill,” he adds. “I don’t want two parallel plans. I want just one.”

“Just one. With Maika. Fantastic.”

“That’s fine with me,” she says.

I look at her. I’m not going to let her win this round.

“Me neither.”

That’s a lie. There are plenty of problems. The first one wears a light blue shirt and has the bad habit of looking at me as if she could still see right through me and read everything inside me.

The captain considers the matter settled, and we continue with the meeting. But every time Maika speaks, my body registers her without missing a single detail. There are her lips, her voice, her hands, the way she tilts her head when listening, the ease with which she transforms an objection into a practical proposal. And it bothers me. It bothers me because I don’t want to feel admiration for her. I don’t want to remember that there was a time when that ability to adapt seemed brilliant to me, that seeing her improvise with a smile while I held the structure of the plan together made me feel that together we could handle anything.

“Together.” What a dangerous word.

When the meeting ends, I gather my papers without looking at anyone.

“Helen,” Maika says from across the table.

I don’t look up right away. I need a second to process how much it turns me on to hear my name on her lips.

“Yes?”

“I’ll send you the proposal before noon.”

“Do it by eleven.”

Her mouth curves into a smile.

“Sure. Before eleven.”

“And no doodles in the margins.”

“I can’t promise that.”

Gonzalo, who appears behind me, bursts out laughing.

I look at him.

“Got something to add?”

“No. I’m just a piece of furniture,” he replies.

“Well, be quieter, then.”

Maika chuckles under her breath, and her laughter follows me out into the hallway.

I leave the room with frustration squeezing my ribs. It’s not just the argument—I know how to handle arguments. It’s her. It’s the way she appears, speaks, moves the air, the oxygen that allows me to breathe, and suddenly, everything I’ve built to keep her at a distance seems made of paper.

I reach my cabin with the folder pressed against my chest, close the door, and finally enjoy the silence. I set the documents on the table and sit down.

I should take a shower, rest, or stop thinking about Maika. Instead, I open my laptop and search for the historical reports from the past couple of years from Transmarine’s entertainment department. I don’t know why I’m doing this. Well, actually, I do know. I need to prove something to myself. I need to confirm that my distrust is based on professional grounds and not just a scar with a first and last name.

I filter by coordinator: Maika Aranda, and the records pop up immediately. Previous cruises, evening events, reported incidents. I cross-reference the data with the fleet average and freeze. “It can’t be.” The events coordinated by Maika have fewer incidents than the average.

I close my eyes.