The Wrong Gentleman(20)

I turned and almost ran into Landon, who was coming in. “Hey, where’s the fire?” he asked.

“Up my ass. Excuse me. We have a new guest coming aboard.”

“We do? Who?”

I shifted around him. “No idea. Trying to find out.” I pushed through the swinging kitchen doors as Landon started asking Anton questions about the new guest. Why did he care? It wouldn’t change how much work he had to do. I took the stairs two at a time to the bridge just before my radio began to ring out.

“Skylar, Skylar, this is the captain—”

I knocked on the door to the bridge and went in when he answered.

“You heard about the last-minute addition to the party?” he asked.

“It’s why I’m here.” I was used to dealing with chaos and last-minute plans. The problem was guests didn’t see the effort that went in behind the scenes and had no idea the work we’d have to put in for an additional guest.

“A business associate of Walt’s is coming aboard,” the captain explained. “They’ll be joining the owner for dinner and will be staying over.”

“Just one additional guest?”

“Yes. Do you have a room ready?”

Relief and frustration mixed in my lungs. “Yes, but I want to check them all over.” I made a mental note to check them each morning so we weren’t so unprepared next time that happened.

“Do we have a preference sheet for them? Do we know what nationality they are or even if it’s a man or a woman?”

The captain shook his head. “Don’t sweat it. From what Williams said to me, as long as he’s happy, that’s what counts. He’s used to being the boss.”

“I guess that’s what’s made him successful.”

Captain Brookes shrugged. “I guess.”

“Well no complaints from me on that score. Makes things easier when we’re just trying to please one person.”

The captain smirked. “That’s for sure. Tell the rest of the crew. Perhaps you can find out a bit more when you show whoever turns up to their room.”

“I’ll let the team know. And I’ll just make sure Walt doesn’t have any expectations we don’t know about. Thank you, Captain.”

Men like Walt liked to impress business associates. I had to make sure everything was perfect. If I made him look good, hopefully it would be reflected in our tip.





Twelve





Skylar


Finally everyone had gone to bed. I just wished I could. I checked the time over the stove—two thirty. Then I surveyed the damage. There were unwashed plates and glasses piled everywhere. And that was just the kitchen. The main saloon was a mess. It was going to take me hours to clear up. August would be on shift from six thirty, and I wasn’t sure I’d be done by then.

I pulled open the door of the dishwasher and began to unload the clean dishes so I could reload it. There might only be six guests aboard, but they had kept me plenty busy tonight.

“Hey,” a male voice said from behind me.

I snapped my head around, already knowing it was Landon—he was the only other crew member on duty.

“You all finished?” I asked.

“I think so. It’s my first late shift, but I got the hot tub area all cleaned up and towels restocked and stuff.” He glanced around. “It looks like a bomb went off in the lounge. And in here.”

“Yup. When the guests are wanting every cocktail under the sun, one after another, it doesn’t leave much time to clean up after them.”

Landon reached into the dishwasher and pulled out two glasses and put them away.

“You don’t need to help me. I’ve got it.”

“I know,” he said. “But we’re a team, right?”

Exterior crew rarely offered to help out the interior crew. Perhaps Landon didn’t realize. “Yeah but interior is my job. No one expects you to start washing dishes.”

“Are you telling me I can’t help?” he said, pulling out the basket of silverware from the bottom of the machine.

“I’m saying that you don’t have to.”

He nodded and began to sort through the utensils.

“Seriously, Landon,” I said.

“I heard you. But I’m not going to bed and leaving you with this mess.” He said it with such authority that goosebumps pebbled across my skin.

“That’s the deal between interior and exterior crew,” I explained.

He rolled his eyes. “You don’t like accepting help, do you?”

I turned away and began to wipe down the juicing machine that had been put to use tonight when Walt had decided he wanted to wash down each cocktail with freshly squeezed OJ.

“Have you always been the same?” Landon asked as I rinsed out my cloth.

“I accept plenty of help. August—”

“She’s paid to help you. It doesn’t count.”

What was it with Landon? It always felt as if he was challenging me and trying to uncover parts of me that no one else had seen. “I accept plenty of help.” I couldn’t think of any more examples to give but I’m sure there were a ton. “I just don’t expect help. There’s a difference.”