I nodded. “I’m ready.”
“Make this work, Hayden,” Gordon said, rising from the table. “Because if you don’t, it’ll be the end of Wolf Enterprises.”
Two
Avery
I had a hangover the size of a whale. Being chief stewardess on a superyacht meant I was used to dealing with adversity with a smile on my face, so to anyone who was watching, I seemed just fine—my makeup perfect and my long, brown hair up in a glossy ponytail. My churning stomach and throbbing head told a different story.
“I don’t know how you stopped us from trashing this place,” Leslie, one of the crew members, said, coming up behind me as we looked over the main salon of the yacht I’d called home for the last five months. The dark circles under Leslie’s eyes, her rumpled clothes and the way she kept clutching her forehead gave away the extent of her alcohol consumption last night. Yesterday we’d seen the last guest off and started drinking as we’d cleaned the place from top to bottom. Although the bottom was bound to be a little sloppy, given all the wine.
“I didn’t want to ruin all our hard work,” I replied. When we’d come back to the boat after taking our drinking ashore, I’d encouraged the crew to stay in the mess. I knew what it was like to arrive on a new yacht with the whole place in carnage, and I didn’t want that for the next charter crew. I wanted to go home to California with a clear conscience.
I couldn’t wait, or remember the last time I’d had a whole month off. Thirty days to hang out with my brother and dad, see my old friends. How I’d gotten through the last five months of the Caribbean season, I had no idea. It had been a brutal winter, and no doubt I’d spend the first week in Sacramento sleeping.
“Avery, Avery, this is the captain,” my radio echoed out.
I rolled my eyes. “What does he want me for?” I checked my watch. “I’m off the clock.”
The Caribbean season was officially over, and I had a plane to catch. But off duty or not, I never ignored the captain radioing me. Some captains were born assholes. Captain Moss wasn’t one of them. He was a stern but fair captain who I imagined would have been very handsome thirty years ago before the weather and the job had taken their toll.
I unclipped my radio from my waist and depressed the button. “Captain, this is Avery.”
“Wheelhouse, please.”
My shoulders slumped. My whole body itched with the need to get off this boat. Five months on this thing and I was so done I was charcoal.
“Roger that, sir.”
I turned to Leslie and we hugged. “I’ll catch you in France.”
“Or Italy.”
Italy had some of my favorite ports—they were quieter than the south of France and the people more relaxed. And of course, pasta. “I hope so.” Unless I’d renewed my contract with the same vessel, I never had my next season planned out much in advance, but I could hope for a season that involved a lot of Italy. Even if it was from the water.
I released Leslie and headed up to the wheelhouse, where the captain navigated the boat, barked orders, and generally made sure none of us died while we were on board.
“Avery, come in,” he said as I knocked on the door. “Have a seat.”
I slid into one of the two chairs bolted to the floor. “You’ve had a good season,” he said, sitting opposite me.
“Thank you, sir.”
“I’m putting a crew together for the Med season, and I’d like you to be chief stew.”
“That’s very flattering. Which yacht?”
“The Athena—refurbished in dry dock two years ago. She’s a 154-footer. I’ve done a season on her and she’s a nice vessel.” As if he sensed he’d need to sweeten the deal, he added, “You’d get your own room.”
I frowned. “Really?” Private space for the crew in yachting was as rare as hens’ teeth.
He smiled. “Heaven, right? And the base salary’s good—a forty percent uplift on what you had this season.”
“Are you serious?” Salaries for chief stewardesses were well established and based largely on the size of the yacht. “How come?”
He shrugged. “The request came in from the yacht owner, actually. He’s personally requesting every single member of the crew and willing to pay to get his way.”
I wasn’t sure how the yacht owner would even have heard of me. Usually, they simply hired a captain and left them to source the rest of the crew. “Forty percent more? What’s the catch?” There must be a reason the yacht owner was paying so much.
“Well, the first charter of the season’s a long one. Eight weeks. So there’ll be little time off during those first two months. I think he’s trying to soften the blow.”