The Wrong Gentleman

“Anything you need, just ask,” I said, keeping my smile wide and professional.

“I’ll remember that,” he replied.

He made his way down the lineup, shaking hands with the crew.

“Skylar,” he called from where he stood by Landon and Marge. “Please show me aboard.”

I glanced at Captain Brookes, who gave me the nod, and I stepped out of line to join Walt.

“May I take your briefcase?” I asked, deliberately avoiding Landon’s gaze.

“You may not, but please arrange for our luggage to be collected from the end of the dock.”

“It’s already done, sir,” I said, leading the way onto the main sundeck.

“Oh yes, ‘sir.’ I do like that. What else am I going to like about you, Skylar?”

The sliding doors into the main saloon opened and we stepped through. “Everything, I hope, sir. I want your stay to be the best you’ve ever had.”

“Well, you’re setting the bar mighty high,” he replied.

Before I had the chance to respond, Walt pulled in a deep breath. “Good, the decorator has freshened things up in here,” Walt said. “How’s the rest of it looking?”

“It’s a beautiful yacht, Mr. Williams.”

“Please. I prefer Walt. Or sir. But yes, she is beautiful, isn’t she? The best you’ve worked on?”

“Absolutely,” I lied. It certainly wasn’t the worst, but some of the charter yachts I’d worked on were bigger and more glamorous.

“Good. Have you worked in yachting long?” He handed me his now-empty cocktail glass and sipped on the champagne he’d taken from August.

“About eight years, sir.”

“And before that?”

“I was back home in Ohio.”

“I took you for more of a California girl,” he said. I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but I decided to take it as a compliment.

“Thank you. And you’re a Texas man from what I understand?”

“Born and bred.”

“You get back often?” I asked. Life in Texas must be very different to life on board a luxury superyacht.

“Not as much as I’d like. But it’s where my heart is.” He rested his palm on his shirt.

I smiled, warmed by how down-to-earth he seemed and continued our tour.

We stopped by the kitchen, spoke to the chef, and Walt made a point of speaking in French, which seemed to genuinely impress Chef. And me.

“Okay, I’m going to freshen up, and then I’d like some lunch,” Walt said as we exited the kitchen.

“Of course. As you saw, Chef has all your favorite dishes on the menu.”

“Thank you, Skylar.”

“Thank you. Let me know if there’s anything you need.” My smile was genuine. Walt seemed like a great guy. Respectful of the crew, down-to-earth, and friendly. My day—my summer—was looking up.