The Ruthless Gentleman(4)

“Is he Russian?” Sounded like this guy was super paranoid. Rich Russians were all paranoid and not without cause. I had a girlfriend who worked on Boris Kasanov’s Sunset for a few months. She’d thought working on the third biggest yacht in the world would be glamorous, but apparently the place had been full of scowling ex-FSB agents looking to take someone down. She’d left after a crew member had been accidentally shot in the leg and she’d been told to turn a blind eye or quit. She’d quit.

“No, British. From what I understand, the guest’s privacy trumps any concerns over what we’re serving them for dinner. I’ve only been made aware of preferences for privacy, and it’s clear that if there are any slipups in relation to his requests, he’ll leave and sure as hell we won’t be getting a tip.”

The last thing anyone wanted was an eight-week charter guest to leave—last minute bookings were rare. Even a forty percent uplift was not going to cover the lack of tip. It was a gamble, but one where I could tip the odds in our favor with great service.

“You know what these guests are like. I’m sure he’ll have other requests when he’s on board, and I think it’s safe to assume this guy is going to be picky,” Captain Moss said. “It will be tough but the money’s good. We’ll just get to know what he likes quickly and then adjust accordingly. You’ve managed a lot worse, I’m sure.”

These details seemed odd but not so difficult. There had to be something else. I’d never had a free lunch. Never even been offered a menu.

“There’s one final thing.”

I knew there had to be something. There always was.

“We have to be in Saint Tropez in three days.”

I groaned. Freaking typical. There was no way I could do that. I shook my head. “I’m booked on a flight to Sacramento tonight.”

“You’re going to turn down a season with your own room at a forty percent pay bump just for a bit of downtime?”

It wasn’t just that I was tired. I wanted to see my family, spend some quality time with my brother and my dad. I hated that I spent most of the year away from them as it was. If I could earn what I did on yachts back in California, there was no way I’d be anywhere but home. However glamorous it sounded, yachting was hard work, and for me, all about the money.

Which was what made this offer so tempting.

“The European sun will revive you. And remember you’ve got a tip on top of your salary. And you know if a guest is going to all that trouble to background check us then the tip is likely to be good.”

I sighed. It was a promise of a lot of extra money. “I’ll need to speak to my dad.” Fact was, my father would be looking forward to a break, too. I spent my days looking after rich, entitled guests, but he spent his days looking after my twenty-five-year-old disabled brother. There was no escape for him, no days off, and he certainly didn’t get paid.

“I need an answer today. I have no doubt this will be a challenging charter, but if anyone can think on their feet and make the weirdest requests work, it’s you.” Captain Moss stood, our conversation over until I’d made my decision.

“Thank you. I’ll make the call now.”

I excused myself and headed back to the sleeping quarters. A forty percent raise and my own bedroom would have ordinarily had me busting out the champagne, but the last five months of the Caribbean season had taken its toll. I’d been so looking forward to a break, and the thought of going straight into another five-month season, the first eight weeks without a day off, sounded exhausting.

I scooped my phone from my nightstand, lay back on my bed and dialed my dad.

It stopped ringing but no one answered. “Dad, it’s Avery,” I said. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes, honey, I just dropped the phone.” He sounded breathless.

“Were you running?”

“No, I just came in from the kitchen.”

My heart squeezed. The man used to toss me in the air as if I were a football, and now he was breathless walking from the kitchen into the living room. How long was he going to continue to care for my brother?

“How are things in Sacramento?” He hated when I fussed, and he’d have a fit if he knew how hard it was to call him every day when our hours on duty were so long and the guests were so demanding. But hearing his voice

made me feel less like I was abandoning him.

“Not as sunny as Florida.”

Despite being sixty-seven, my dad still hadn’t retired—couldn’t with my brother’s medical bills—but since I’d started taking on a lot of the expenses, he’d gone part time and no longer worked Fridays. “Did I wake you?”

“No, we’re just having breakfast.”

I grinned at the thought of them at the kitchen table. Right after the accident, Michael couldn’t move his arms and had to be fed, but after some time and with physical therapy, he’d made a lot of progress above the waist, although he still couldn’t walk.

“You do anything nice yesterday?” I asked.

“We kicked back and watched the game.”

I shook my head and smiled. Watching baseball, hockey, even football—it was the only time I saw the light back in my brother’s eyes.

“Did you order pizza?” I asked.

“Of course we ordered pizza.”