The Ruthless Gentleman(12)
“We’ll figure it out.” I was totally bullshitting. Usually the preferences sheet gave a lot away about how demanding or fussy guests were going to be. Some ran to fifty pages. Others were just ten but in seven years of yachting I’d never been without one completely. “I’ll ask him again when I get him a drink later.”
“Ask him to fill in the freaking preferences sheet,” Eric chimed in. “He clearly thinks he’s too good to do paperwork and expects us to read his mind.”
Crew tempers always flared during a season—it was inevitable living and working in such close quarters and being under so much pressure to please demanding guests. Yachting could make a jerk out of Jesus. But we were usually a few charters in before signs of strain began to show. We hadn’t even started yet and I was already wondering how I could last the next five months.
“And I don’t get why we couldn’t pick him up at the marina. Why did he come in from an obscure harbor? Is he Batman or something?” Eric asked.
“The privacy thing, I guess,” I replied. They were being unfair to our new guest. I’d had people come in on tenders before.
“Yeah, but only allowing you and the captain on the bedroom floor is one thing, but did you know that we can’t have provisions delivered to the yacht? Not fresh vegetables or flowers or anything?” Neill sliced into an onion as he spoke. “We have to get someone to collect it every time.”
“Really?” I asked. That was unusual. “Even though we’re going to be moored offshore for the entire eight weeks of this charter?”
I cringed as I spoke and Neill started to laugh. I shouldn’t have brought it up because Eric had been mad as hell when he learned that we wouldn’t be going into dock for eight weeks, and I didn’t want to aggravate him. He and his team were going to have to do overnight shifts on anchor watch to ensure the anchor didn’t drag and we didn’t crash into anything.
Eric just muttered and folded his arms.
It really wasn’t a great way to start a season.
“We’ll loosen him up.” August grinned and I shot her a look. I’d gotten used to sizing new crew members up quickly. August was clearly a girl who liked to have fun. I just hoped she understood where the line was.
“I know,” she said, rolling her eyes. “No touching. No thinking about him in the wrong way. Doesn’t mean I can’t flirt a little though, right? I mean we want a good tip, don’t we?”
August and Skylar were complete opposites, but both beautiful. August had boobs I would die for, raven black hair and a very loud voice. Skylar, on the other hand, was calmer with nearly white-blonde hair, a button nose and a wide smile. I’d seen pictures of her Norwegian family taped up on the wall by her bed and they were all impossibly good looking.
“I think we just need to concentrate on service rather than flirting,” I said.
“Maybe flirting is part of the service,” August said, and she and Skylar laughed.
“Excuse me,” a male voice interrupted.
I whipped my head around to see Hayden Wolf de-suited, though I didn’t let my eyes take in whether he was every inch as hard bodied and bronzed as I’d imagined he might be. “Sorry, sir. What can I get you?” I was all business.
“Is it possible to get some water? Tap is fine.”
In my seven years in this business, no one had ever asked me for tap water. He could probably have had perfectly pure water from an arctic glacier flown in if he’d wanted. I found I kinda liked the idea of an unfussy guest. It would make a change. “Can I get you ice and lemon with that?”
“However it comes,” he said and he turned and headed back toward the dining room. There was something compelling about him clearly having so much money but not expecting his every whim catered for. What had made him that way? Did he have a family that kept his feet on the ground or was it something else that made him . . . modest?
“Wow, he’s so good looking,” August said. “And you were flirting with your ‘yes, sir’ and ‘can I get you lemon with that,’” she said in a ridiculous voice. “So why can’t I?”
“I was not flirting. I was being polite. There’s a difference.” I reached for a highball from the cupboard above the counter. Had I been flirting? Not consciously, but I’d never had to worry about my reactions to a guest before. I’d have to watch myself with this guy. My friends had always teased me for having quirky taste in men, but I’d never liked traditionally handsome guys. I truly believed that what was on the inside shone through, which was why I couldn’t figure out why I’d found myself drawn to Hayden when he arrived. Maybe there was more to him than a pretty face and there was something deeper pulling me in.
I took a step toward the sink and ran the tap, ensuring the water was cold. The boyfriends I’d had in high school had won me over with their sense of humor or passion. Hayden Wolf had me noticing him. It didn’t make any sense. I knew nothing about him and the little I had picked up left me with more questions than answers.
After adding ice and a wedge of lemon, I took Hayden’s drink up to the sundeck where he had settled on one of the loungers with his laptop and a notepad.
“Tap water, with ice and lemon,” I announced as I set his drink on the side table and then felt ridiculous. I wasn’t serving up a three-star Michelin meal.