Docked (6 page)

My fingers tap the edge of the desk and in seconds, I’m overwhelmed by the sight before me. Sticky notes are everywhere—on the lamp, on the phone, even on the penholder. Piles of paperwork are stacked on top of each other, covering the entire desktop. I’m not sure I can even see the desktop, let alone find a single pen or notepad. The phone cord is tangled with the lamp cord, and it dawns on me that not one single picture frame or anything personal sits on the desk.

I can’t stop myself.

I lean forward and begin straightening the mess, color coding the sticky notes and snatching up spare paperclips to help sort the disarray. I’ve no idea what I’m doing, and there’s a good chance I’m ruining some kind of organized chaos here, but the urge to fix it is just too great. If there’s anything I’m used to doing back at the office, it’s organizing Lana’s messes.

Five minutes pass and I’m done with the desk, and there’s still no sign of Mr. Christensen. I sigh and lean back, sinking into the chair, and cross my legs again, spinning around to face the windows. I raise my arms and cup them behind my head, jumping when the door shuts behind me. I feel my back straighten as my hands grasp the armrests. I slowly swivel around and am blasted by a very shocked, blue-eyed gaze.

I rise from the chair and clear my throat, smoothing out my skirt.

“You’re in my chair.”

“I was.”

“You…you
cleaned
.” Tanner’s gaze drops to the desk, scanning the now-neat clutter.

“More like organized.” A nervous laugh flutters out and I step around the desk to make my way to the opposite seat. His jaw is slack as he stares at where I just sat, as if I had the audacity to sit on his royal throne.

I kind of did.

“I didn’t mean to pry. I sort of…fix things. I’m a fixer. Lana plans, I strategize.” I wave my hands awkwardly from side to side, and I think Tanner is still in shock, because he hasn’t blinked.

“My notes are color coordinated.” He hones in on the sticky notes and I give a little shrug.

“They were horrid. I had to do it.”

His eyes bounce toward me, watching me warily. “My sticky notes were horrid?”

“They were giving me a headache.”

A hint of humor flickers over his face, but he remains stoic. “A bit compulsive, are we?”

“Neurotic writer.”

He grabs at the top of his tie—another baby blue one, this one with a diamond pattern—and runs his hand down it slowly. I’m mesmerized by the fluid way his fingers graze the silk. “I take it you enjoy the view?”

I press my lips together and join my hands behind my back, unsure whether to take a seat. “Um, yes. Definitely enjoy the view.” I gulp quietly as he moves to slip out of his suit jacket. His gaze doesn’t leave mine as he carefully folds it and places it on the edge of the desk. Dear God, there’s something inherently sexy about a man in a suit, especially one who knows how to own it.

“I’m glad you came. Lana approves, I presume?”

“I didn’t speak to her about it, actually.”

“Oh?” He points to the seat where I stand and I inwardly sigh in relief, planting myself in the chair. Tanner brushes by me and I catch a whiff of that mint scent of his, wishing I hadn’t touched his damn sticky notes.

“After running into you last night, I decided I have some questions for you myself.”

“Would you like something to drink?” He walks around to his throne and gestures to the small bar to the left, along the windowsill. I decline and he pours himself one, then settles into the leather chair. His broad shoulders stretch and he fixes his gaze on me. “I’ll answer your questions to the best of my ability, Miss Banks. Shoot.”

I shift a bit in my seat and exhale. I’m not sure what to make of his mood. I see we’re back to a last name basis today. “Well, for starters,” I reach for my bag and grab my notepad, “I’d really love to know why you were afraid of the ocean and what brought you here.” My arms sweep out, gesturing to his grand domain. “To this.”

A bout of silence stretches between us and he leans forward to rest his arms on the desk. “I’m sorry to say that topic isn’t up for discussion. What else would you like to know?”

I freeze. “Not up for discussion? But you brought it up earlier.”

“It’s personal. I’m sure you understand.”

“Surely you’ve been asked this before, Mr. Christensen.”

His brows rise.

“I think it’s quite relevant to your position as owner of this ship, don’t you?”

“It may be relevant, but it’s also personal and I choose not to comment. It’s as simple as that.”

My teeth dig into my bottom lip and fingers tighten around the pen. “Does that mean all of your personal details are off limits? Our personal lives intertwine with our professional lives, wouldn’t you say? I believe it’s a fair question.”

“Are you a travel writer or a reporter?”

“Just yesterday you said—”

“I invited you here to learn about my ship.”

“I’m trying to learn about your ship.”

“What would you like to know about my personal life, Miss Banks?” He holds my gaze and lifts his glass to his lips, sipping slowly. Everything in the room has gone cold, and I’m not sure why. Either I struck a serious chord by asking him a simple question, or this man is really possessive of his sticky notes.

“You seem very involved in the running of your ship. Does your frequent traveling interfere with your life on shore? Do you have a family? Are you married?” I blanch at my own questions for a moment, squeezing my eyes shut when I recall the brunette in the hallway. A quiet chuckle emanates from across the desk, and I peel my eyes open. “I’m really on a roll, aren’t I?”

“I think the fact that I’m not married has already been established.”

“And you don’t date.”

A trace of a smile lingers on his lips. “Funny, I thought your friend Lana was the forward one.”

“She must be rubbing off on me.” I wince and shut my notebook when I realize I haven’t written a single word. Hell, I’ve made no progress whatsoever, and if I keep going at this rate, I’ll either annoy or bore this man to tears.

“I’ll answer your question, Miss Banks.”

“Anya.”

“I don’t date, Anya, and marriage isn’t in my future. I play.” His arms slide off the edge of the desk and he pushes back into the chair, that ghost of a grin still playing on his lips. I stop breathing. A quiet gulp punctuates the room’s silence before I find my breath. I’m afraid to ask.

“Define
play
.”

“Do you really need a definition?”

“No.” I stand swiftly and turn to eye the wall’s shelves, scanning the rows and rows of books. “I suppose not.”

His chair squeaks and there’s a quiet rustle behind me. Every part of me is hyperaware of his movement as he approaches, that cool mint scent drifting over my shoulder. His voice is suddenly very close. Soft and patient. “What else would you like to know?”

“Do you like to read?” I glance back at him and gesture to the books in front of us. “This collection is impressive.”

“No.” His jaw flexes as he eyes the books. “They were my father’s.”

“Was this your father’s office?”

“This was his ship.”

I turn all the way around to face him, surprise compelling my movement. “No wonder.”

“No wonder?”

“You’re so…”

His head tilts slightly and he waits, watching with interest.

“Young.”

“The ship’s been revamped since I’ve taken over. This is all that remains of my father.” He nods to the shelves, breaking eye contact.

“Tanner,” I say his first name for the first time today, and it catches his attention. He returns his gaze to mine and stills. “Forgive me for being forward, but when you first introduced yourself to Lana and me, you said honesty was refreshing. If you really believe that, then maybe you can appreciate my persistence. I’d really like to know why you were afraid of the water—and why you aren’t anymore. It’s what I came here to ask you and I believe it will make a great angle for the feature.”

He squares his shoulders and steps forward, the tips of his shoes just inches from mine. Instinctually, I back up, until I’m flush with the bookshelf. “While we’re on the subject of being forward,” he dips his fingers into his suit pocket and retrieves a business card, “have dinner with me.”

My heels hit the bottom of the wall and the back of my head bumps the shelf. I raise a hand to soothe my skull. “Dinner?”

“Do you play, Anya Banks?” His lips quirk.

“Tanner,” I swallow hard, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“You’re right. I do appreciate honesty. And the truth is there’s no shame in mixing business with pleasure, as long as it’s mutual, wouldn’t you agree?”

“What about the feature?”

“What about it? I have no doubt you’ll report honestly to Lana and that she’ll write a truthful, quality piece on my ship. You having dinner with me won’t affect the job you came here to do, Anya.”

“How can you be so sure of that?” I scan his face—his confident, self-assured face. He’s a rock, and I’m scrambling to hang on. This man ensnares me.

“Because anyone can see you’re a strong, smart woman with integrity.” He extends the card, holding it in front of my face. “You won’t ever compromise that.”

I glance at it, hesitantly lifting my hand to accept, and he watches the card pass between us. I wait for him to back up, to let me reclaim my space, but he doesn’t move.

“I’ll tell you over dinner why I was afraid of the ocean.”

“I haven’t agreed to dinner yet.”

His eyes flick to the card resting between my fingers and he grins smugly.

“I thought that topic wasn’t open for discussion.”

“It will be if you eat with me.”

“Tanner—”

He steps forward, leaning over to bring his lips to my ear. “Say yes,” he whispers, finding my hand and brushing his thumb over my knuckles. My skin ignites from head to toe and my breath turns shallow. All reminders of his brunette plaything vanish as he swallows up the space, covering me in his web. And it hits me—he plays. And that’s exactly what I’m on this cruise ship to do.

To play.

“Yes,” I say, curling the business card under my fist. “When?”

He pulls back to respond but a beeping interrupts him, followed by a buzz from the phone’s intercom.

“Mr. Christensen,” Heidi’s voice floats from the line, “Miss Jade Simmons for you, on line three. She’s being rather persistent.”

The spell is broken. Tanner’s charming smile turns to stone and his jaw hardens as he moves to walk to his desk. Without a word, he snatches up the phone and stabs a button, his voice low and stern. “Jade, I don’t have time for this.” I stand there awkwardly, looking everywhere but at him, but I sense his eyes on me. I chance a peek and he raises a finger, signaling me to wait. “Yes, I know. I’ve heard all of this before. We’ll talk after the sailing.” There’s a pause and a muscle in his jaw pops, his gaze jumping away from mine. “No. I’ll call you back in five minutes, then.” He hangs up and inhales sharply, remaining stationed behind his desk. “I’m sorry to cut our interview short, Anya. But I have an urgent call to take care of. How about tomorrow night? Seven p.m. at Felina’s Bistro on Deck 8 Aft?”

“Okay, that sounds great.” I start forward to grab my bag and quickly turn for the door.

“Anya,” he calls after me. I spin around. “I’m looking forward to it.” His expression softens a bit, but the tension still holds his beautiful features ransom.

“Me, too.” I nod and quickly dash from the office, flustered by what just transpired. It looks like Lana might get her wish, and I’m certain when I deliver the news to her, she’ll explode with excitement. Maybe I’ll keep it under wraps for a bit so she doesn’t drive me crazy.

Hurrying back to the room, I wrestle to avoid thinking about the light sway of the ship. I can feel it rocking, but it’s nowhere near as noticeable as it was the night before.

“Hey!” Lana’s head appears around the corner when I step into the cabin. “How’d it go?”

“Good, I think.”

“Good, you think?”

I give a brisk nod and open my suitcase, suddenly fixated on what to wear tomorrow night.

“Where did you go?”

“Just had to interview a staff member for the piece. I think I’m going to have some great material for you to work with.”

“Oh? Who on the staff?”

I fluff a sundress and shake out a scarf, picking pieces of lint from the material. “Does this look faded to you? I think it’s faded.”

“Anya…”

I hold the scarf higher, examining it under the light. I should’ve thought my response through, should’ve prepared for Lana’s inquisition. Lana pinches my shoulder. “Ow! Do you mind?”

“Who did you interview?”

I drop the scarf back onto the pile of clothing in the suitcase and glance at her. She’s standing there, tapping her foot.

“Tanner Christensen,” I huff, spinning to dart for the bathroom. “Go ahead, enjoy your victory dance.”