9. Manifest
Chapter 9
Manifest
Easton
T he hangover throbs behind my eyes. Why in the hell did I think drinking with Yichen Zhao, the former swim champion from China, wouldn’t completely suck today? Last night I had more fun than I’ve had in years, but then I had to wake up and face seeing my father and his fiancée. Making today a new low.
The cab hits another bump. I hope to hell I can remember to never do it again. I don’t drink for a reason.
I suck at it.
My body isn’t used to being poisoned the way it was last night. Dad told me to wait at the hotel for them until tomorrow. But if I can sneak into my cabin, I might be able to keep Candy from pinching my ass. One more night without Candy is a gift. I’d do anything to not have to spend one extra minute with that gold digger.
This whole thing is ridiculous, but my sister Emily and I are hoping to pull Dad aside and get some alone time with him. We’ll go fishing. There’s nothing Rocky likes better than deep sea fishing. We’ll take the tender out and get him away from the bitch. The last thing Candy would ever do is go fishing. She’s molded him into a completely different person.
He’s a changed man since he kicked Susan to the curb. He wears low-rise jeans and form-fitting T-shirts at home. He’s stopped going to the club’s poker game on the weekends. I know because the organizer called me, trying to get him to come back. Rocky is shit at cards, but he throws chips into the pot like he’s a World Series of Poker main event winner. Which is fine. My dad has worked hard his entire life. He’s run two marriages into the ground by staying in the office 24/7. When they remodeled the offices a few years back, he put a small sleeping room off to the side. The same room where I caught Candy going down on him last week. She’d known I was coming in because Dad’s administrative assistant told me they were waiting for me.
Fuck, it’s not something I can burn out of my retinas. I hope to hell we can talk him out of marrying her. I never would have thought that Susan—Dad’s second wife after Mom died—would seem reasonable. But seriously, Susan seems downright conservative with her spending habits after watching Candy. But my dad is thinking with his dick. And Candy is thinking with diamonds in her eyes.
I anchor my feet on the floor of the cab to keep from flying across to the door. We’ve taken enough turns to screw into the earth’s crust. But this guy assures me with his not-half-bad English that he knows where he’s going. The car stops in front of a rundown harbor house. From the parking lot, all I can make out are fishing charters and smaller boats. But if this marina is like others, the mega yachts are farther out, under lock. I give the driver a tip. It’s not customary here, but damn, I’m alive, and there were a few times I didn’t think I was going to be.
The harbormaster’s house is locked up. Past a little strip of land, I follow the dock. The boats turn more expensive the farther out I go, until there’s an empty guard shed and a closed gate. I jump it. Finding my dad’s boat can’t be that tough. Especially not since Candy helped design it. It’s huge and gaudy like her. That’s what I’m expecting. Hell, I don’t even know the name of the vessel. I should have thought this through. But scanning the bigger boats at the end of the dock, there’s only a handful it could be.
I make my way down the pier, taking in each yacht. The first two aren’t quite large enough. The third is too old. The next one is too small and too old. I stop and glare at the one after that. Holy Mack-roll. That’s the name of the boat. It’s new. And big. And far too classy to be anything Candy was involved with. But I should make sure.
There’s a deckhand washing down the side of the boat. They’re always washing something, whether it needs it or not. Not that I’ve been on board one of my dad’s yachts in years. He enjoys going out and spending too much time there. When I was training professionally, I couldn’t be away from the pool for that long. And no, swimming in the ocean is a completely different thing.
“Hey, excuse me. Odd question: is this yacht owned by Rocky Rockwell?” My dad’s real first name is Winston. But the last person to call him that—that I know of—tucked me into bed when I was eight and I never saw her again.
“Rocky? No. Are you thinking of the Rock Candy ? She’s in the second-to-last slip.”
“Yeah, that will be the one. Thanks.” I try to keep the irritation out of my voice.
“Hey, aren’t you that American swimmer?”
“I used to be.” I raise my hand in a goodbye and saunter to the end of the dock, to the slip he pointed out. I have to check the back of the yacht. This can’t be the right boat. It’s sleek and good-looking. I figured it would at least have a pink racing stripe or a lion sculpture on the bow. Candy has a thing for lions and horses.
There’s another deckhand polishing the back chrome of the boat.
“Hey!” I call.
He looks down at me.
“I’m Rocky’s son, Easton. I know I’m early. Any chance I can crash here tonight?”
“Tonight?” His voice cracks. “Um, let me see.” He turns away from me as I wait on the dock, but it wasn’t hard to read his shock.
I cross my arms over my chest, stretching out my biceps. It’s a habit I’ll never get over. But it is what it is. I glance at my watch. It’s late. Like, you shouldn’t show up at someone’s house this late. But this is my dad’s place. It will be mine someday.
Emily has a trust fund. It’s not huge, not by Rockwell standards, but that was what she requested. She doesn’t want any inheritance from Dad and only agreed to the trust fund to shut him up. Last Christmas, she told me the second he’s gone she’s giving most of it away to charities and political candidates she thinks Mom would have liked. It’s up to her. My sister doesn’t need Dad’s money. She’s a top-ranked editor for the second biggest publisher, and she gets to work from home. Not exactly a job that will land you on the Forbes 500, but Emily isn’t out for money. A lot like Mom.
“The captain told me to bring you on board.” The crewman is standing there glaring at me. My bag is small, but he doesn’t offer to take it and I don’t hand it to him.
“I’m Waldo, lead deckhand. I’m on night watch. But we’re docked. The captain is getting up; he’ll be out to meet you in a minute.”
I follow him; we’re moving through the decks to the top. “Easton.” I shake his hand. “Right, Waldo, I don’t need a lot of formalities. I don’t need the whole crew coming out.”
“Good.” His mouth cocks to the side. I guess I deserve that.
Waldo slides open a door and there’s the captain. I’ve seen pictures of Captain Sam. Emily loves him, says he’s a wonderful influence on Dad. But I call bullshit because Candy was on the Mermaid’s Tale last year and the captain’s wonderful influence didn’t get Candy’s claws out of Rocky.
“Easton,” the captain says as if I didn’t haul his ass out of bed.
“Captain Sam. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“Same. Your father thinks the world of you.”
“My dad also likes Spam, so I wouldn’t put too much stock in that endorsement.”
“You must be tired. Our chief stew, Haley Brewster, will show you to your cabin.”
I glance up, and the most beautiful angel is standing at the entrance to the bridge, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. She’s got curves for days, and I’m becoming a lech because I can’t stop staring at her. She nods to the captain and then shakes her head as if she’s trying to wake up.
“I’m sorry to wake you. Easton Rockwell.” I put my hand out. I hope she shakes it.
“It’s no bother. I haven’t been to bed yet.” She shakes my hand, and I end up staring into her blue eyes. “If you follow me, I’ll take you to your cabin. I’ll give you a full tour tomorrow.” She stops in the doorway of the bridge. “Unless you want one tonight.”
“No, that’s fine, Haley. Tomorrow will be great.” I like the way her name rolls off my tongue.
“Okay then. Goodnight, Captain.” She smiles.
“Goodnight, Haley. Nice to meet you finally, Easton.”
I turn back to the captain and incline my head. He’s staring but not at me.
“This deck has the owner’s suite, the main salon, and the dining deck,” says Haley. “The junior suites are one deck down.”
“A junior suite for a junior.” I laugh. Damn, Rockwell, get your shit together. I sound like an ass. I’ve had a supermodel hit on me, but this steward is making me act like a teenager. Down the spiral stairs, I try not to stare at her ass. But it’s hard to do, because it’s big and juicy like a peach. I’ve become a complete asshole because I’m hoping the short shorts she’s wearing are her uniform shorts and not something she sleeps in.
Shit, I got laid last night in a club bathroom. I shouldn’t be this horny.
The hallway is full of boxes. Come to think of it, there were several stacks of boxes we walked by coming out of the bridge. “How’s the new ship? Are you liking it?”
She shoots me a glance over her shoulder, one she carefully and quickly schools. “The Rock Candy is going to be a great boat.”
“Interesting choice of words.” I smile at her, but she quickly turns away and stops in front of two doors.
“So, here’s where you have a choice to make.” She points to a door with a brass label that reads Fortune , Rockwell Harding’s premier product, and then one that’s labeled Emily . “Fortune is ready, but the door jams and Shayla, the second stew, was stuck in there for an hour earlier today. The engineer is going to work on it tomorrow. Or you can sleep in the Emily suite. The bed’s made up, and the bathroom is ready to go, but we haven’t hung up curtains or, well, finished it.”
“Which is less work for you?”
“Your sister is Emily?”
“Yes.”
“I’m guessing she’s going to want to sleep in the Emily suite.”
“I suppose so. I’ll stay in Fortune.”
“Excellent.” Haley leans into the door, twists the handle, and opens it.
“Wow. This is remarkably nice.” There are a few decorations but nothing over the top. Not like how Candy has changed the main house and the house in Florida. They both look like they threw up an accessory store. The curtains are slate gray with a ribbon of gold around the edges. And the bed has the correct number of pillows. Did Candy even have anything to do with the boat?
“Thanks. We’re trying to figure out what to do with all the extra stuff in the boxes.”
Aw, there it is. “Oh, didn’t you hear? Candy ordered extra. I’m supposed to take everything you don’t want to the women’s shelter.”
“Really?” Haley’s brow jumps up.
“Yeah, you know, she’s eccentric and likes to give control to people who know better. You know what they say: surround yourself with smart people and you’ll never appear dumb.” Damn, I hope I don’t get this girl fired. I’ve got friends with yachts. I’ll get her a job if need be. “You better get some rest. We’ll need to get the rest of the things you and your staff don’t need off the boat early.” As in before Candy shows up. I give Haley a smile.