The Ruthless Gentleman(16)
“There weren’t many compliments either.” Neill, like most chefs, was sensitive about the dishes he prepared and as his friend I hated seeing him lack confidence because his cooking was amazing.
“Honestly, he is British and you know they can be more reserved about this stuff. And I think maybe he’s not focused on food.” Given Hayden Wolf’s insistence that he didn’t have any food preferences, I was pretty sure that Neill could serve up mac and cheese and Hayden Wolf would be happy with it. He didn’t seem like the typical spoiled millionaire who would order lobster or caviar just because they could, then inevitably waste it because they were too drunk, which led to them grabbing my ass, also just because they could.
I pushed down the plunger of the cafetière. Mr. Wolf didn’t seem as entitled as most guests. Wasn’t interested in exercising his power by telling us all how high he wanted us to jump.
“It just makes my job so much harder.”
I was going to try to coax a little more information from our mysterious guest so I could keep him and Neill happy.
“Do you want me to take that?” August asked as she came into the galley, tucking her polo shirt into her skirt.
“No, it’s fine. I’ve got it,” I replied. I was more than happy to take him coffee. Maybe he’d decided to take off his shirt. Not that I’d check him out or anything.
“He’s such an asshole. Thank God there’s only one of him and that he didn’t bring any friends,” August said.
I didn’t like the way the rest of the crew were so hard on him. I knew we always were with guests, but Hayden had done little to deserve it. He wasn’t making our lives hell in the way that some guests did.
I raised my eyebrows. “What’s got you in such a bad mood?”
“Nothing. I just heard he shouted at you yesterday,” she said.
I glanced up at Neill. Had the two of them been gossiping? The galley was the center of the boat and the chef always knew more than anyone else about what was going on.
“It was a misunderstanding,” I said. I knew Hayden’s frustration wasn’t directed at me personally. It wasn’t him being spoiled.
“If he shouts at me, I’ll shout back,” August replied in a singsong voice. “I don’t care how rich you are, you should treat people with respect.”
I tilted my head. “If you shout at a guest for any reason, I’ll fire you.” Hayden Wolf hadn’t exactly shouted and even if he had, he had a reason to be pissed.
She rolled her eyes. This was August’s second season and frankly, I wasn’t sure she had the even temper required to be interior crew on a superyacht. Hopefully, if I led by example, I’d be able to knock some of the rough edges off her.
“I’m serious, August. The guests who can afford yachts like this tend to be under a tremendous amount of pressure. If they lose their temper from time to time, it’s our job not to react.”
She shrugged but didn’t argue.
“Get started on the laundry, please” I said, picking up the tray of coffee and heading up the staircase to where Mr. Wolf sat on the main deck.
“Good morning, sir. Coffee, juice, the Financial Times, and the Wall Street Journal,” I said as the doors slid open. I bent and put the tray on the table beside his chair, glancing at him to check his reaction. With his muscular, bronzed legs and slightly curly hair that had seemed straighter yesterday, he looked like any other guest. I couldn’t imagine he took much care in shopping for clothes and, given the way he’d reacted to me offering to unpack for him yesterday, it seemed unlikely he had a stylist or someone to buy them for him. Perhaps his expensively rumpled linen shirt, which was still on unfortunately, and French blue shorts had been bought by a girlfriend.
“Because I’m British?” he asked, indicating the Financial Times.
Clearly he wasn’t a morning person. “No, sir, we have that on board for all our guests.”
He slid his laptop to the end of the lounger. “You don’t need to call me sir. Hayden is just fine.”
“I was wondering,” I said, tucking the tray under my arm. “Chef Neill would really appreciate some guidance on your food preferences. Is there anything in particular you’d like to see on the menu?”
“I was serious yesterday when I said I don’t mind.”
Neill was climbing the walls with this guy’s lack of concern about mealtimes, and I hated to see him so stressed. I glanced out over the water. The haze of the sun sitting on the horizon blurred the coastline as though some kind of force field existed between the water and the land. “It’s going to be a scorching hot day. What about I get you fruit, yogurt and toast for your breakfast? A chicken, goat cheese and pomegranate salad for lunch and then what about sirloin steak in a watercress sauce for dinner?” I was pretty much suggesting my favorite foods.
A beat of silence passed as I waited for a response. He might think I was being too pushy and get irritated. Some men—I found it was the less confident ones—would react badly to a stewardess trying to steer them in one direction or another.
“I think that sounds like you just read my mind and described my favorite foods.”
I wanted to tell him they were mine but that was probably too familiar. “Reading minds is part of the package,” I replied, trying not to show how delighted I was at his reaction.