Love Me Love Me Knot Page 7

  Ryan’s eyes hung on to Sophie’s a little too long for comfort. “I’m afraid I’m not following.”

  There were over eight hundred people on the cruise. She was supposed to be a needle in the haystack. Yet, here she was, and here Ryan was.

  “Sophie’s little crusade is in trouble,” Asher clarified.

  “It’s nothing.” Sophie wiped her chin again with the sleeve of her track jacket. Bright yellow with reflective red sleeves. No wonder everyone seemed to know where she was. She stood out like a scream in a silent movie. Speaking of screaming . . .

  “Crusade?” Ryan lifted his brow.

  “Our magazine’s little do-gooder project Sophie’s been playing with. It got slapped with a rent hike.”

  The heat in Sophie’s cheeks sweltered, but she breathed in as much salty air as she could before answering. “It’s nothing we can’t handle. Just a little internal misunderstanding.”

  Asher’s beady rat eyes stared. “A little misunderstanding?” He forced a cough. “Yeah, little like the state of Texas, or your hips,” he muttered.

  Sophie’s mouth dropped, instinctively dropping her arms in front of her hips.

  Ryan glared at Asher like someone had smacked his mother. “Cool it, man.”

  “I’m kidding. Sophie knows I’m playing. But seriously, I’m just suggesting better use of company funding.” Asher killed his drink as a beautiful woman walked passed. “And that’s my cue. I’ll see you guys around.”

  Sophie growled. “Prick.”

  A beat passed before Ryan’s deep blue eyes settled on her. He was not just looking at her, but through her. Those eyes. The pit of her stomach tingled. He stood so close the smell of his aftershave made her knees wobble. She stumbled back and a flare of anger ripped through her. How dare he come back and do things to her without her logical half’s consent.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about the café?” A passenger bumped Ryan into her and the contact sent a thrill through her.

  She closed her eyes. “Why are you here?”

  “Company training, I told you.”

  No, why are you here, right this moment, eliciting unwanted feelings? She opened her eyes and searched his face, hoping to read what he wasn’t saying. She had no reason to doubt he was here for training, but her intuition screamed there was more to it than that and making her feel like a love-sick college student again. And her intuition usually excelled around a ninety-seven percent accuracy rating. “There’s a whole team of outsourced associates that do our training on a regular basis. Last time I checked, you weren’t on that list.”

  “You check on me?” He smiled.

  She felt her cheeks flush. I used to. “No, I checked the list.”

  “Well, lists change. Things change.” Was that guilt that flashed in his eyes?

  Ding, ding, ding. She was on to something. “Like what? What changes brought you here?”

  The drill had ended and people dispersed around them, however, Sophie remained trapped in a bubble with Ryan. She fidgeted with her vest, trying to untie the knotted string.

  “Do you need help with that?” His hands brushed against hers, and she instinctively flinched.

  Was he avoiding the question? “What do you mean changes?” she asked again.

  Pressing his lips in a hard line, his gaze shifted.

  “Right. Lips sealed.” She fumbled with another knot.

  “No, my lips already told you I’m here on assignment.”

  He stepped closer and she looked up, eye level with said sealed lips. All this talk about lips made her wonder if his were still as soft as she remembered.

  Ryan scrubbed a hand through his gorgeous hair. “Asher said something about the café. Is everything okay?”

  At his mention of her café, Sophie tugged the strings harder. “What is wrong with this thing? I get it. Use the vest if we hit an iceberg.”

  Ryan tried to help again and she jerked away.

  He raised his hands. “Sorry.”

  Sophie took a moment to fill her lungs and exhale slowly. Why was she acting so crazy? He hadn’t done anything. Except show up at the worst possible time, with the stress of the café weighing her down, and then Ash-face being . . . well, Ash-face, she sighed, apologizing with her eyes. “No. Ugh, this isn’t the normal me. I’m . . . I’m not feeling myself lately.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Let me know if I can help with anything.” Ryan smiled warily.

  Sophie’s heart jolted. It pounded so hard she wondered if she’d need the defibrillator attached to the wall. The clean smell of his aftershave enveloped her. “Okay,” she breathed.

  “Hey, Soph?” A voice came from behind. At least she thought it did. Between the thick fog in her brain and the scattered mumbling from people leaving the muster drill, she wasn’t sure she could trust her senses.

  Except, maybe for one: That pesky sixth sense that told her she wasn’t completely over a certain someone after all.

  Donovan gripped her elbow and Sophie fell out of the fog. “Sophie?”

  Ryan stepped back, his lips curing upward. “I’ll see you later at the training.”

  Sophie swallowed a lump. “See ya.” She turned to Donovan. His brows shot straight up.

  “What? It’s nothing. I . . . um . . . I’m sorry, did you need something? How’s Amy?”

  A wicked smile crossed his lips. “I’ve seen ‘nothing’ before. And that ain’t it.”

  Sophie shook her head. “Whatever.”

  “So you know, gay men invented that word. Don’t try it on me.” He grinned his big Donovan smile, and Sophie averted her eyes before her flushed cheeks gave her away. “Anyway,” Donovan said, graciously dropping the subject. “Amy’s back in her room. She said to tell you Charlie called.”

  Sophie’s eyes grew wide and she slapped her back pocket, searching for her cell phone. “Shoot, it must be in my room. “I’ll go call her now, thanks.”

  “And, Soph?”

  Sophie whipped around, finally ripping off the life vest.

  “Watch out for that hottie.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Except you do. And he’s totally into you.”

  Sophie hugged the life vest and headed back to her room, dismissing his preposterous assumption. She and Ryan were way past their college days. Him being here was solely for training, and nothing more. She would not let a ten-year-over romance get in the way of her goal. From now on, she would focus on winning the scavenger hunt and kicking Asher’s butt in the process.

  Too bad it was Ryan’s butt she was focused on.

  Chapter 8

  “Charlie, it’s me.” Sophie tossed her life vest and bag on the tiny bed and stared at the windowless wall. Why didn’t she answer? A hundred worst-case scenarios burst to life on her mind. “How are things? Sorry I missed you again. The place burn down yet?” She slumped into the Barbie-sized chair next to the Barbie-sized desk. “That was a joke . . . unless of course it did burn down, in which case, I hope you grabbed the jukebox.”

  She cradled her head in the palm of her hand and stifled a sigh. Using sarcasm to suppress the crazy. Smooth, Sophie. “Anyway, just checking in. I won’t have service once we’re out to sea, but I’ll check my messages as often as I can, and you know Tanya is there . . . sort of . . . if you need anything.”

  Tanya Nelson from the—yawn—art and literature department stayed behind due to hyperactive motion sickness. She volunteered to hang out as the “supervising adult” at the café. But she was more of a figurehead. Sophie didn’t actually expect Tanya to spend her evenings there. Plus, Charlie could run that place with two hands tied behind her back. Sure, she could have just closed it while she was on the cruise, but they needed the income.

  �
��Okay, hug the other girls for me. Don’t really burn the place down. Love ya. Bye.”

  Only four days to go. Worrying about the girls would only make time slow. They’d be fine. Charlie was probably busy working at the café, which is why she didn’t answer. Everything was fine. She checked her reflection in the mirror and tucked her hair behind her ears. “The girls are fine, I will survive this trip, and I will win this scavenger hunt.”

  Sophie scrolled to the envelope icon on her phone and opened her email. Ugh, nothing from any of the grant applications. Could they at least send an automatic reply that they’d been received and were under review? Microscopic hope was better than no hope at all. This whole process frustrated her.

  She quickly thumb-typed an email to her landlord, the despicable Mr. Tomilson, to formally request a deferred rent hike. By doing so she acknowledged the rent hike, but by not, the locks could be changed without her knowledge.

  Then she’d reached out to a few old contacts that’d helped her start the café, namely local sponsors who’d assisted with the initial opening. Sergio’s, for one. The YMCA another. Though one-time support did nothing more than stick duct tape over a gaping hole on a rusty pipe, treading water could buy them another month until a grant came through. So, yes, frustrated was an understatement.

  Nothing less than desperation made her go against company policy and throw all her eggs in this one tiny basket over a game that for all she knew was rigged.

  Before they sailed too far out to sea to lose reception, she Googled ‘winning scavenger hunts’ and took notes. She tapped the Colossal Cruise Liner pen against the matching signature note pad and learned everything she could. The girls needed this win.

  ~ ~ ~

  After his first official training meeting, which was more of an informal introduction, and then a quiet dinner alone, which he mostly picked at, Ryan returned to his suite. He’d had plenty of time to run numbers in his head, and something didn’t add up.

  He loosened his tie and picked up the landline. Though he’d paid for a service package for his cell phone, he wasn’t sure of the reception. Despite the time difference between the West Coast and San Antonio, he needed to clarify once and for all what was going on with the café and Up Front’s future. His gut told him that when things didn’t add up, there was usually a reason. And the “M” word came to mind. A merge could be a logistical nightmare. And as “acting editor in chief” a crap storm for him.

  He let the phone ring through until Phil’s voicemail picked up.

  Damn.

  He’d leave a message just the same. “Phil, Ryan here. Listen, give me a call on my cell in the morning. We need to discuss some things. Thanks.”

  When Ryan disconnected, he kept his hand gripped tightly around the receiver. Not good enough. He needed answers. There was only one person he could think of who knew just about everything under the sun related to office gossips and secrets. He unlocked his cell and scrolled through his contacts until he found his assistant’s home number.

  He dialed the numbers and after the third ring, a gravelly voice answered. “Someone better be dead, or someone will be very shortly.”

  He glanced at the clock and did the math. Right, 2 a.m. “Hey, Lola, it’s me.”

  “Ryan?” Shuffling ensued before a brief pause, and then Lola’s voice was chipper and sharp. “What do you need? Is everything okay?”

  “Yes,” Ryan said, dropping into the chair adjacent to the desk. He ran his hand through his hair. “Listen, something’s going on with Up Front. What do you know?”

  The dead air wasn’t a good sign. Ryan waited patiently.

  “Ryan. Dear.”

  “That bad?”

  “Not if you don’t want it to be.” Her voice was soft. Tranquil. It made him think of how his mom would tell him that his dad had hit the bottle a little hard and she had to run and pick him up.

  “Lola, just rip the Band-Aid, okay? I’m a sitting duck here. Is it a merge? Is Up Front closing?”

  “I don’t know anything officially.”

  “Bull.” It was not like him to be so crass with his assistant. After eight years she never once forgot his birthday, or neglected to send the best gifts to his sister on hers. She always sent flowers to his mother’s resting place, and she never lied to him. Not once. When she didn’t respond, he softened his tone. “Can you tell me what you do know unofficially? I’m literally out to sea with people I expect to trust me and they don’t even know I’m here as interim yet. I can’t not have all the info in front of me. Phil’s a little less than forthcoming.”

  Lola sighed into the phone.

  “Please.”

  “I only heard Phil talking to the board via Skype a few days ago. Yes, a possible merge with Jazz, which would mean a partial layoff . . . and closing the office altogether. But that’s not official.”

  Ryan pinched the bridge of his nose. What is official? “So, in summary, I’m here as a catch-all to the crap storm that may unload at any moment. If the board moves through with the merge and possible closure, that is.” Ryan recalled the conversation he had with Phil before he left. Phil had told him he’d heard of talk about a merge with Jazz but it was doubtful.

  This did not sound doubtful. “Why won’t Phil be straight with me? Why be so surreptitious?”

  “It’s a gag order. Comes from the top. And until things are official, there’s nothing to say. Otherwise you risk a leak. And if there’s a leak, there’s damage control.”

  He squeezed the receiver in frustration. “And I get to prove my value through making it look all pretty and packaged with a proper bow? What is this? A set up for failure? One where I get to hear news on TV and then pour myself a drink and justify that it’s just the way it is?”

  “You’re not your father, Ryan.”

  Ryan cringed. No kidding. He’d never be his father. He had too much self-respect to treat people like dirt and run out on them. He would see through whatever was going on here. He clenched his teeth. He’d never raised his voice to his assistant, and he wouldn’t start today, no matter what she insinuated. “That isn’t relevant, Lola. I’m talking about people here.”

  “You’re very good at your job and an even better man. You know how to talk to people. You have a knack for the game. Whether it’s a ball game or the game of life. Just listen to your team, and set them up for success. No matter where the wind blows.”

  Lola was right. Nothing had been decided, at least not that he knew of. And until he did know, he would move forward with the information he had and trust the system. He was here as editor in chief, though unofficial until Red announced his retirement. He wasn’t making decisions or passing judgment. He’d just do his job and help whoever he could in the meantime.

  A pulsing nerve in the back of his mind, however, told him what that meant for Sophie’s outreach.

  “And Ryan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Call your dad.”

  “Bye, Lola,” Ryan said on a much-needed laugh.

  Chapter 9

  Ryan wanted to talk to Sophie. She needed to see where he was coming from. He couldn’t very well apologize on behalf of the magazine for what might happen, especially since he couldn’t disclose any information. But if he could spend some time with her, gain her trust and help her understand the nature of internal reorganization, maybe she could come to terms with letting go of the café if it came to that. She’s been in the industry for years. She knew these things happened. The Bay Area must have dozens of similar outreach programs to offer those kids.

  It was well past midnight. According to the itinerary, they’d be docking in Ensenada early in the morning. He’d talk to her then.

  Needing to clear his mind, Ryan slipped out of his room and headed to the all-night dessert buffet cruise ships were famous for.


  When he stepped onto the Lido Deck he came to a grinding halt. To say it was enormous would be like comparing a football field with a runway at San Antonio International. He’d bet each of the two pools with water slides could fit their own fighter jets. No wonder this ship made Cruiser’s Digest’s June cover, ranking number one in the Must-Travel category. Ryan subconsciously cataloged the information, though this sort of knowledge savagely killed off useful brain cells. How many times had he murdered conversations during a blind date by uttering the phrase “consumer report rating” or “Monday morning quarterback?”

  Honestly, not many. He didn’t date much.

  A lone shadow dressed in dark clothing slowly crept behind one of the hot tubs. The hair on the back of Ryan’s neck stood on edge. He watched the shadow slip a piece of paper into his pocket before he disappeared behind a staircase. Earlier he’d seen posted signs with pictures of cameras strewn about. The cruise-wide scavenger hunt had people stalking around looking for something. Apparently that something was happening tonight, as he counted no less than four more nomads roaming the deck like cat burglars.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and made his way to the dessert bar, drooling over an array of everything from six-ways-to-die-by-chocolate to a selection of exotic fruit. With two plate sizes to choose from, he couldn’t deny his salivating mouth, and didn’t hesitate to grab the larger one. A morning run would be in order.

  Someone’s shoulder rammed into him as he blew by, knocking Ryan’s plate out of his hand.

  “Watch it, man,” Ryan called out.

  “Sorry, dude.” The guy was covered head to toe in black. Even his face was concealed with a ski mask. If he was a part of the game, his clothing screamed, “I’m forty years old and live in my mother’s basement.” This stupid game ran the risk of getting someone thrown overboard. Whose idiotic idea was it to plan a scavenger hunt in the middle of a cruise? He’d probably read about it later when it ended in a lawsuit. Good thing his team was forbidden from participating. They didn’t have the insurance to cover such distractions.