The Ruthless Gentleman(6)
“I just wish I were closer to you and Michael.”
“You’re a good daughter and sister, Avery. But you need to worry about yourself more. Let someone fuss over you for a change. You’ve sacrificed an awful lot for your brother and you deserve a break.”
“I’m perfectly fine. I think I’m going to take this offer, but I’m going to miss you.”
“Are you sure? You sound tired and we miss you.”
“Did I tell you that I’d get my own room?” I had to focus on the positive. My own room was a huge win. “I’ll be able to video chat with you whenever I like.”
“Just to make this old man happy, promise me that if you decide to do this, you’ll find something just for you when you’re in Europe. You spend far too much time looking after everyone else.”
Like what? A trip to Zara was never going to happen now. A date? Dating was impractical and finding someone to love was impossible. Guests were strictly off-limits and relationships with another crew member never lasted long after my feet hit dry land. I didn’t want casual.
Just like I didn’t want to be heading to France in two days. But it looked like that was how life was panning out.
“I promise I’ll find something nice to do.” I rolled my eyes. Maybe a bowl of pasta and a new bottle of fake tan would qualify.
“That’s my girl. And try not to work too hard.”
Hard work came with the job, but I still had a few days off. I’d book myself into a nice hotel. Perhaps a couple nights’ sleep and a few days of room service would make up for another five months alone at sea.
Three
Avery
Another day, another blue sky, another superyacht. As I reached the main deck of the Athena, carrying a glass of champagne and a glass of orange juice, I glanced across at the Saint Tropez marina in the distance and took a deep breath to calm myself. I was usually well rested for the first charter of the season, and May was usually a beautiful month in the Med, but I still carried the exhaustion of the previous season with me. On top of fatigue, the lack of information that we’d been given about the first eight-week charter meant I was unprepared for this guest and it made me more than nervous.
We arranged ourselves into the welcome line. Captain Moss first, me next to him, Eric the bosun, then Chef Neill and the rest of the crew, excluding the engineers who disappeared back to the engine room rather than meet our guest.
The tinny sound of the tender grew louder from behind us, and from the corner of my eye I caught my stewardess, August, craning her neck to look. “Eyes forward,” I said. I hated riding my crew’s ass. Some of the chief stewardesses I’d worked under enjoyed wielding their power, but that wasn’t me. I just wanted the job done, the guests delighted and the tips huge.
The sound of footsteps headed up the stairs toward us. I plastered on a smile, careful to keep the tray I was holding steady.
As our guest appeared, I drew in a breath. He was young—around thirty, no more than thirty-five—and handsome with dark brown hair and wide shoulders. This guy wasn’t anything like the normal charter guest. But then this was nothing like a normal charter. He was tall—well over six feet. Sharp cheekbones framed his face and led down to a perfectly smooth, square jaw. His eyes were dark and serious. If his nose hadn’t been a little crooked, as if it had been broken at some point in his past, I might have even described him as pretty, but the unevenness tipped him toward handsome. It suggested there was a little rough beneath the oh-so-smooth.
I swallowed. I’d never found a guest attractive before. Not even a little bit. But then again, we never had charter guests who looked like this guy. When I first got into yachting, I’d expected to be surrounded by rich, beautiful people all the time. And while there was plenty of wealth, the attractive guests tended to be women. Although I was pretty flexible about a lot of stuff, I was strictly dickly when it came to my fantasies.
He strode toward Captain Moss and they shook hands. “Good to meet you,” the man said in a deep, gravelly voice that seemed to make my whole body vibrate.
“Good to have you on board,” Captain Moss replied.
“I’m Hayden Wolf,” he said, turning to pin me with a stare so intense it was as if he were getting some sort of psychic reading. “Avery, right?”
How did he know my name? Maybe the background check had given him a photograph. And the way he said it—my name shouldn’t sound that different in a British accent, but the way he enunciated every syllable, coupled with the deep timbre, somehow made it sound important. “Yes, sir,” I replied.
He nodded and smiled. My nipples tightened. Fuck. Thank God I was wearing a t-shirt bra.
The first rule in yachting was never cross the line between personal and professional. Some crew found it difficult, especially when the guests were laid back and wanted the staff to join in the fun. Sometimes the lines got blurred, but never for me—it was the easiest way to get fired. I’d never seen a guest as anything other than the person responsible for my tip and the reason why I could send money home to my family.
But Hayden Wolf?
There was something about him that erased the line completely, and all of a sudden I was imagining him naked and sweaty. Shut it down, I told myself.
“May I offer you a glass of champagne or orange juice?” I asked.