Chapter Ten
POST-PRODUCTION CONFESSIONAL
CLOSE QUARTERS
GISELLA DíAZ: DECKHAND/STEWARDESS
PRODUCER
Can you start by saying your name, where you’re from, and what you do?
GISELLA
I’m Gisella Díaz, I’m from Barcelona, and I’ve been in yachting for two years now. I work as deck crew, but I help on interior when needed.
PRODUCER
Do you prefer deck or interior?
GISELLA
Deck. No question. I’d rather scrub teak than cater to a billionaire telling me his drink is exactly two degrees too warm. I don’t mind laundry, though. It’s therapeutic sometimes.
PRODUCER
Let’s talk about that first charter. How did you feel about the guests?
Gisella smirks, shrugs.
GISELLA
Oh, they weren’t so bad. Benedict was only mildly insufferable, and Brielle only looked like she wanted to murder me for about ten seconds when her hair got wet on the jet ski.
I don’t know. They were a little difficult, I guess, but it’s rare to have charter guests who aren’t.
And honestly? That was the happiest I was all season.
PRODUCER
Why’s that?
GISELLA
Because back then, I thought the worst thing I’d deal with was a tech mogul making me inflate the giant slide, or an Instagram model making me risk going overboard to get her the perfect shot.
Gisella shakes head, pauses for a moment.
GISELLA
I was on a yacht in the Mediterranean with my boyfriend, making good money, catching a nice tan, and having fun. I thought, this is it — this is what they mean when they say you’re living the dream.
PRODUCER
And that changed?
GISELLA
Yeah. Because back then, I thought my biggest problem was going to be the guests.
PRODUCER
And what was?
GISELLA
The chief stew.
I was excited the next morning as we braced to welcome our next charter guests.
For approximately twenty minutes.
Then, I found out Leah was sick.
I was on my way up to the deck, tightening my ponytail as I swung through the crew mess to see what Finn had laid out for breakfast. When I saw fresh croissants, I moaned, snatching one to have with my coffee.
I was, surprisingly, not hungover — not that I was in tip-top shape, either, but I’d had worse mornings, for sure.
Unfortunately, that was not the case for Leah.
I heard the retching from the cabin she shared with Bernard even over the gentle hum of the washers and dryers going. Bernard slipped out of their cabin with a grimace, shaking his head at me. “It’s an absolute crime scene in there.”
“Hungover?” I guessed.
“Possibly, but she swears blind she isn’t. Says she didn’t drink enough for it to be the booze.”
I tried to remember everyone’s consumption from the night before, and had to admit I didn’t recall her slamming down shots the way the guys had. She’d only had one glass of wine with dinner, too.
But if it wasn’t the alcohol, then that likely meant…
“Fuck,” I cursed under my breath.
“Food poisoning,” Bernard finished the thought for me, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. “She did have a whole bloody plate of oysters.”
I winced as another violent retch echoed from the bathroom, then closed my eyes with a sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose.
This was not good.
“I’ll check on her,” I said. “Go grab a coffee, then can you start on cabins?”
“It would be my pleasure, m’lady.”
He gave an exaggerated bow at the waist, one hand pressed over his stomach like a royal guard. It pulled a reluctant smile from me.
“You alright?” he asked, his voice softening.
I tilted my head, one brow arched at his searching gaze. “Peachy. Why?”
“Just checking on my chief.”
“Uh-huh. More like fishing for gossip. Spill. What have you heard?”
He flicked imaginary long hair over his shoulder, despite the fact his was cropped close to his beautiful head. “Only that you and ol’ Cheffy in there used to knock boots.”
Bernard stuck his tongue in his cheek as he inspected his nails, then flashed me a wicked grin.
“It’s true, isn’t it?”
I didn’t know if I wanted to scream, cry, or yeet myself off the top deck — but in my delirium, all I managed was a groan muffled behind a grin. “It was a long time ago.”
“Right. So long ago that rooming with his new girlfriend isn’t awkward in the slightest.”
“Cabins, Bernard.”
He snickered. “Yes, yes, all work, no play.” He gave my shoulder a quick squeeze on the way past. “It’s going to be alright,” he said, nodding toward where Leah was.
But he and I both knew the truth.
If there was a stew down, it was going to be hell on both of us.
“Leah,” I said, announcing my presence with a gentle knock on her cabin door. I slid inside when she didn’t answer, then inched the bathroom door open.
The poor southern belle was splayed out on the ground, her legs in a stag shape, arms draped over the toilet seat, head resting on her forearms. She groaned, turning just enough to glance up at me through her greasy hair.
“I swear, Em. I’m not hungover.”
“I believe you,” I said. I bent next to her, holding her hair out of the way as she dry-heaved into the toilet. When she caught her breath, I rubbed her back and sighed. “I think it’s safe to say you need to be in bed today.”
“No,” she whined. “I’m fine. I… I just need…”
She vomited again, her shoulders deflating.
“You need rest and to hydrate. I’ll call provisions and add some electrolyte drinks to our order. I’m going to bring you some crackers to nibble on, and when you’re ready, Finn can make you some broth.”
She gagged, then whined again. “I’m mortified. And putting you and Bernard in this position…”
“It’s okay,” I assured her. I was distantly aware of the camera duo just outside the bathroom door capturing this whole thing. “We’ll figure it out.”
Leah nodded and sighed, then smiled just a little. “Thank God for Gisella, huh? Not often you have a deck/stew on board who can help when something like this happens.”
My insides coiled tight. I hadn’t even gotten that far yet, but Leah was right — I was going to have to talk to Captain and see if we could use Gisella for this charter.
Which meant not only were we rooming together, but we’d be working together — closely — for at least the next two days.
“Yeah,” I muttered, hoping my smile looked genuine. “Thank God for Gisella.”
“Don’t worry, mi reina. I got you.” Gisella squeezed my arm where I was filling the champagne glasses to welcome our next charter guests, her smile bright and filled with assurance.
I wished I believed it.
Captain had agreed that it would be best if Gisella worked mostly with interior this charter while Leah recovered.
He felt confident the guys on deck could handle everything without her and call on the radio for special circumstances, like docking or blowing up the giant slide that was always a pain in the ass.
I’d felt relief at first, but after provisions arrived and every moment since, that relief had slowly morphed into worry.
Gisella was sweet. She would definitely be able to serve with a smile. She was laid back.
But she was maybe a bit too laidback.
She’d moved at a snail’s pace with laundry, and Bernard told me he had to go in behind her to tidy up the laundry room and get uniforms where they needed to be.
She hadn’t read the names on tags, so everyone had ended up with other people’s clothes — including Captain, who also gave me a stern warning look when his epaulets went missing in the process.
Then, she’d taken nearly three hours to set the guest cabins, fluffing pillows and adjusting throws while simultaneously missing important things like tucking the corners of the sheets properly and making sure the mirrors were spotless.
I’d had to polish up every single room when I checked her work, fixing everything she’d overlooked.
When we were provisioning, she spent more time learning how to make an espresso martini — something the guests had specifically stated they’d want in their preference sheets — than actually putting anything away.
And yes, I needed her to know how to make that drink, but what I didn’t need was for it to take half the afternoon.
While the rest of us were knee-deep in organizing the fridges and dry storage, she was laughing at the mess she was making with the espresso machine like it wasn’t adding to our list of shit to clean.
Not to mention the amount of times just since this morning that I’d caught her flirting with Finn instead of working.
I felt like we’d all been duped — me most of all. Because where Gisella had seemed like a rockstar with the first charter, she was more like a rock in my shoe for this one.
I forced a smile at her now as I continued pouring the welcome aboard champagne, hoping for my and Bernard’s sake that it was just an off day. “At least these guests seem a little more relaxed than the last group,” I said.
“They’re certainly less picky eaters,” Finn chimed in as he swept past us, tucking in his chef’s shirt on his way to the main deck aft where the guests would come aboard. He smiled at me, making my stomach flutter like it was full of hummingbirds.
He’d almost made it through the sliding glass doors when Gisella grabbed his arm and whipped him back around, an expectant look on her face as she popped a brow into her hairline and leaned her weight on one hip.
“I know you weren’t just going to prance by me like that without a kiss,” she said.
Finn’s eyes flicked to mine, and then he dipped down to brush a quick kiss over Gisella’s lips, and all those hummingbirds in my belly died.
I swallowed, focusing on the task at hand and hoping my cheeks weren’t burning red. “You can go ahead and get in line,” I told Gisella. “I’ll be right out.”
“Sure you don’t need any help?”
“I got it.”
“Okay.” But she stayed, tapping her nail against the marble bar, a slow, rhythmic click that grated on my nerves. “I just want you to know I’m not upset or anything.”
I paused where I was pouring the last glass of champagne, arching a brow at her. “Huh?”
“About the whole Finn thing.”
All the blood rushed from my face.
Shit.