5. Moored
Chapter 5
Moored
Captain Sam
F our hours of sleep is all I can get. Ever. This whole thing has taken a turn for Shitsville. I’ve never let an owner pressure me into doing something unsafe before. I told Rocky—Winston J. Rockwell, Rocky to everyone who knows him—I’d do my best, but if I at any point thought Rock Candy —the fucking name of the yacht—wasn’t ready for the water, I’d keep her docked.
Then she, or rather the Candy of Rock Candy , wanted to go shopping before they departed. Changing the port.
It didn’t help that the shipyard was running behind. But so far, Rock Candy has handled every test we’ve run her through. I don’t have any reason to think she’s not ready. It’s just more of a feeling. But I’ve gone over the specs and all the data that the computers send out from our little scoot over here. They’re all fine. Perfect, in fact. But I don’t like being rushed. Never have.
I’ve plotted out the first week of the trip with Anders, my first officer. Rocky likes deep-water fishing, but we’re keeping these first few weeks near a shoreline and harbor-hopping. He’s been waiting to take possession of the Rock Candy for almost three years. And the future Mrs. Rockwell has been pressuring for it to be ready faster, since his old yacht the Mermaid’s Tale was outfitted by the last Mrs. Rockwell. Last season when we were in the Mediterranean, she complained nonstop about how outdated the Mermaid’s Tale was. It drove the crew batshit. It’s the main reason my former chief stew didn’t return for this season. I don’t blame her. She’s working on a smaller ship with fewer staff under her now, but I bet she’s ten times happier there.
Last night I ended up holding the microwave up as Calvin finished installing it. I have been going ever since. It was an amazing sunrise, though.
I pick up my empty coffee cup and stare at it. I don’t remember drinking it. Right, normally I train the stews to bring me a fresh cup of coffee every couple of hours. But I’m not going to do that this season. Haley and her team are going to have enough to keep them busy. They don’t need to serve me.
No one has unpacked the coffee machine in the butler’s next to the chef’s galley, so I jog down the stairs, but the grip strip on one of the stairs catches my attention. It’s peeling back. I set my mug down and muck with the step. As captain, I have to do everything. Especially on a new boat.
“Okay, who do you think is the hottest?” Shayla’s voice carries up the stairwell.
“I’m here to work, not hook up,” Haley responds.
“Right, sure, me too. But the two are not mutually independent of each other.” Shay laughs. “Come on, Haley. Who should I keep my hands off so I don’t piss off my boss?”
“I don’t know. For me, it’s not only about looks. I have to like the guy’s personality to think he’s hot.”
Shayla drones, “Boring. Seriously, there are some hot guys on board.”
“True.” Haley hesitates.
“There you go. I knew I could drag it out of you. On a scale of one to ten?—”
“No.” Haley is keeping it professional. Charlie was right about her. I might even tell him.
I pull the strip back on the stair and reposition it. And I miss what Shayla says next.
“Fine,” Haley continues. “Ten.”
“Seriously? I’ve had that shit, and you can keep it. Four.”
I’m not a teenager, and I shouldn’t be listening to them. And I’m not , I lie to myself, I’m fixing the steps.
“Zane?”
“Ten,” Haley says.
“Really. I’d say eight, but I also wouldn’t say no.” Shayla laughs. What about Waldo?”
“Pass.”
“No fair, you can’t pass. “
“I told you I need to have a feeling about a guy first. Or at least have had a conversation with him.”
“Okay, I can accept that. I’d actually give Waldo an eight.” A spoon clicks, and Shayla continues. “What about the captain?”
“Ten,” Haley answers quickly.
“Okay, okay, I’m liking the rapid-fire answer. I’m going to go wide open ten.”
“Wide open? Shay?”
“I’d suck him off. Wide open.”
I cringe. I’ve officially lost it. The step is fixed. My coffee cup is back in my hand. What the hell am I doing hiding on the stairs? I stomp the last six steps around the corner.
“Ladies,” I say without making eye contact. I head straight to the fresh pot of coffee and pour myself a cup. I take a sip. It’s better than I’ve had on board since we launched. “This is good. Did one of you make it?”
“I did, Captain.” Haley’s face is bright red when I turn around. She’s obviously wondering if I heard their conversation. And embarrassed. It’s adorable. And while having sex with either of them won’t ever be happening—they’re a good ten years younger than me and I’m their boss—Haley is exactly the kind of woman I liked when I was her age. Until my ex-wife convinced me otherwise.
I glance at Shayla. That’s it. I hadn’t seen the similarity before, but Shayla looks a lot like Jenifer—my former wife. The girl I should have left alone.
“Well, it’s perfect. Thanks.” I lean on the counter. I should head back to the bridge, but watching them both squirm in discomfort is way too much fun. “How are the cabins coming?”
Haley looks up from her notebook, where she’s been studying something underlined in thick blue pen. “Uh, good. I think after we finish our yogurt, we’re moving on to the main salon and the back sundeck.”
“Excellent. Brianna should be here early afternoon. Around the same time as Chef.”
“Oh, that’s good. But I was really hoping to get some of the boxes of dishes out of the galley before he showed up.” Haley scribbles something else on her pad.
“We can get it done.” Shayla gives Haley a tap with her elbow and gets up, taking both their dishes to the sink. “Ready, boss?”
“Yup.”
The two of them head up the stairs I just came down.
I find some bread and plop it in the toaster. Haley’s notebook catches my eye, and I spin it around to take a look. The Snooping Union is going to track me down and send me a union dues slip anytime now. What did she underline? I skim the page to where her pen has dug a canal in the paper. It reads: Focus on safety and the guest experience—the rest is temporary.
Damn, now I’m getting hard. I pivot the notebook back in the direction I found it, grab my dry toast and coffee, and head back to the bridge to finish my own bridge checklist.
Hours go by. I hear movement in the main salon. It backs up to my cabin behind the bridge. The first officer’s cabin is next to mine, but he’s down with Calvin and the engineers running a test on the engines.
My phone dings. It’s Marjory. She’s like the headhunter for the boat, but more like a casting director, making sure that all the personalities and talents dovetail together for the ship’s crew. I get the last word, but she finds the talent. She’s also responsible for the crew until they find their way on board.
“Howdy, Captain Sam.” The line’s got a ton of static on it.
“Marjory. How are things?”
“Well, canceling half the Rock Candy crew wasn’t fun. But it’s done. I’ve got an issue. Chef missed his connection at LAX and is delayed by 24 hours.”
“Well, fuck. Sorry Marjory. I appreciate you doing the dirty work.”
She laughs and inhales, most likely through a cigarette. “You’re funny, Sam. I’ve heard a lot worse. Right now, he’s scheduled in five hours from when you gave the owner’s arrival.”
“Right. Well, thanks for letting me know.”
“Look at it this way, Sam. It can’t get worse.”
My jaw ticks. I’m not superstitious, but I don’t ask for things to get worse. “Right. Have a good one.”
“You too.”
I hang up. Damn it. The future Mrs. Rockwell is super picky about her food, which is why I have a new chef coming in. Last week, I suggested to Rocky they stay in the city and do some more shopping. But Candy wasn’t having any of it. And now the chef is going to be delayed. And the fanciest thing we’ve made since we left Singapore was a quesadilla with canned salsa.
I pick up my radio. “Haley, can you come to the bridge?”
“Copy, on my way,” squawks back over. She appears before my radio’s back on the charger. “Hey, Captain. What can I do for you?”
Not be so adorable . I make a mental note to do the sexual harassment training myself again. “Have a seat.” I incline my head to the raised bench in the back of the wheelhouse and sit in my captain’s chair. “So, you raised your hand at the crew meeting about cooking.”
“Crew food I can handle, but I’ve never cooked for guests, and certainly never for owners.” The tips of her ears are red.
“Right? Chef missed his connection at LAX. He’s going to be here tomorrow shortly before the owners come on board. I’m going to start unpacking the kitchen.” I make the decision on the spot. When I called her in here, I thought I’d have her do it. But holy hell, I’ve already swamped the girl with ten times the amount of work she can handle. Calvin and Anders can work this through. Right now, I’m watching the control panel. A trained dog could do what I’m doing. I swivel in my chair and grab the radio. “Captain for Anders.”
“Copy,” Anders replies.
“We’re going to have to do a lot more than help the chef. We’re going to have to set things up for him.”
“Copy,” my first officer says.
“Anders, send Waldo to the bridge to help out. I have to go work on the galley.”
“Copy.” He hesitates, and I don’t blame him. But they can walk Waldo through the steps.
Haley sits patiently, but I can see the clock ticking in her eyes. “What do you want me to do, Captain?”
Damn, I really need to at least read over the policy again. Because having her on her knees in front of me flashes before my eyes. “Piloting a boat, running a crew—I’ve got that down pat. But I could burn water, and I’d sooner have chicken breast and broccoli every day than French cuisine. I’m going to start unpacking the galley. And I need you to at least give me some idea of where I should put things so the chef doesn’t have to move everything.”
“Oh, yeah. I can do that. I mean?—”
“If he moves it when he gets here, that’s fine. Every chef is unique.” Which is my way of saying batshit crazy. But yeah.
Waldo and Anders arrive on the bridge a few seconds later. I nod at them and follow Haley into the galley, which is right behind my quarters. Boxes are stacked two tall on the counters and three and four tall on some of the floor.
“All right.” My jaw is locked. And I’m wishing I’d given this assignment to one of the deck crew a week ago. But we’ve been straight out with mechanicals. Haley’s staring, waiting for me. “What would your plan of attack be, Haley?”
“Oh, yeah. Well, I guess I’d take all the dishes and carry them out to the dining room. Same thing with serving pieces. Shayla and I are finding boxes of glasses in the main salon. But there’s got to be more. I’ve seen the chef set up a section for savory and for pastry.” She’s rattling off what each cabinet might be used for, and my eyes are glazing over when she stops. “You know what? Let me get my sticky notes and I’ll label things. Unless you want me to do it.” She glances back to the main salon where Shayla has just let off a string of obscenities.
“No, I’ve got this. The sticky notes are a great idea. What’s another good idea is getting Zane up here to help me move some things around.” I flash a quick smile at Haley when I push the mic on my radio. “Zane.”
“Go for Zane.”
“I need your help for a few minutes in the galley.”
“Copy,” he sings. Damn, I haven’t decided if he’s chronically happy or lacking a little between the ears.
“Captain, I can move the boxes.” Haley has pulled her head out of the cabinet.
“Oh, I know you're strong enough. But you’ve got a lot on your plate. Stop by in a little while. I’m sure I’ll have questions for you.” I wiggle my eyebrows at her. Overhearing her and Shayla last night is having a lasting effect on how she’s reacting to me. Or she’s overtired. Which we all are.
“I am. I’m super strong.” She shows me her tiny biceps, and we both laugh.
“Thanks.”
“Any time, Captain.” She sashays out of the galley. And damn, I have to rip my eyes off of her.
Box cutter in hand, I open a dozen boxes. I know what most of the things are. The new chef ordered the majority of supplies. A double-long box marked “stress reduction” is baffling, though. I slice down the tape and stare at the contents, then push the button on my radio mic. “Zane. Where the hell are you?”