Chapter Twenty-Eight
CHARTER CONFESSIONAL
CLOSE QUARTERS
PALMER HUGHES: BOSUN
PRODUCER
Well, this morning was… something. How are you feeling after the madness?
Palmer blows out a breath.
PALMER
Nervous. We’ve got a high-profile group of guests coming aboard and everyone is at each other’s throats. Hard to work together as a crew when every ounce of trust has been obliterated.
PRODUCER
So, what’s your game plan to make it through the charter?
PALMER
Keep my focus on the deck team and making sure they’re successful — but that sounds easier than it will be. Eli’s feeling foolish after that shit with Ember. Cameron is sick over Leah shutting him out. Gisella is…
Palmer swallows.
PALMER
No one is at their best right now. My job is to make sure the guests can’t tell. We need a perfect departure, a smooth anchoring, water toys galore, and a clean, safe deck. If we can pull that off, it’ll feel like a normal charter to the ones holding our tip.
PRODUCER
And interior?
Palmer shrugs.
PALMER
Not my problem.
The dockside breeze carried the scent of sunscreen and saltwater, the sun peeking out between puffy white clouds on what should have been a perfect day. It was warm but not too hot, the water was smooth, the wind pleasant without being enough to make it an uncomfortable cruise.
I felt like a zombie.
I stood with my tray of Veuve, white blouse crisp and smile polished within an inch of its life, as the latest guests boarded Sinking Sun.
They called themselves “The Successful Six” — a self-proclaimed name I’d only learned a few hours ago, thanks to the four-page preference sheet that read more like a Forbes feature and less like a hospitality request.
The tension had been thick at the table in the crew mess as Captain Gary read over everything, not a smile in sight.
Palmer wouldn’t look at either Finn or me, content to talk to Captain like we didn’t exist. Finn and I chose to stay quiet for most of the meeting, chiming in only when necessary to give our opinion on something with service or food.
It seemed like a straightforward charter — a group of old friends reuniting for a vacation with very little demands.
There were a couple of food allergies, nothing Finn couldn’t handle, and their one interior request was to have a “high school reunion” themed dinner and party where they got to give out superlatives to one another.
Even for the deck team, it was an easy setup: water slide, jet skis, requests to snorkel.
With the crew as wound up as we were, we needed an easy charter.
I crossed my fingers that this one would actually fall into that category in the end.
My head pounded as the guests made their way up the passerelle, each of them stepping out of their shoes at the bottom and placing them in the basket Eli was holding out for them.
I was exhausted, both from the lack of sleep and the abundance of tears I’d shed in Finn’s arms. I felt more hungover than ever, and I hadn’t had an ounce to drink last night.
The guilt swirling in my gut didn’t help, especially any time Eli would catch my gaze. He couldn’t mask the anger and hurt there, and gone was the big goofy dude I’d come to adore all season.
He was shut off now, tight-lipped and sharp-jawed. And he made it very clear that he wanted nothing to do with me.
I owed him an apology, and very much wanted to give him one. But I knew now was not the time.
Tammy was our primary and the first guest to come aboard.
Her hair was platinum blonde, her skin impossibly tan, and she was dripping in diamonds that probably weighed more than she did.
She was in high-end real estate and made sure to mention it in nearly every sentence of her preference sheet.
Her husband, Russell, followed close behind, one arm slung around her waist, the other balancing an espresso martini he’d brought with him from the beach club.
He was paler than she was, with jet black hair and a carefully trimmed beard.
A rockstar in hedge funds, he wore no-show socks and mirrored sunglasses, and had the confidence of someone who once cheated on the SATs and got away with it.
Jacob was next, the very successful, very tortured artist. With warm brown skin and his lips in a flat, assessing sort of smile, he was all flowy linen and manicured fingernails. The bright silver jewelry he wore clinked like wind chimes as he shook hands with the crew.
Maria came after him, the stunningly gorgeous heiress-turned-jewelry mogul.
Her waist-length black hair shined like silk in the sun, her smile blinding against her light brown skin.
She seemed pleased as punch to be here, her grin the widest, though I could already sense the distaste of her so-called “friends.”
Then there was Benny, the fashion designer who practically glowed with theatrical energy, followed by Katie — the quietest of the group and, incidentally, the bestselling author of psychological thrillers currently topping charts in both the US and UK.
She gave me a tight smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Benny was the tallest of the group, his skin a deep, dark brown and his black hair gathered in thick, gorgeous braids.
Katie was his polar opposite, it seemed — petite and pale white, shrinking in on herself where Benny stood tall like he was used to being on a stage.
Tammy and Russell were married, but one look at Russell and Maria finding their way next to each other had my infidelity alarm blasting.
Tammy couldn’t hide her disdain for Maria, either.
I wondered if it was because, in her eyes, Maria didn’t fit with her inheritance being her success story, or if she knew what I already assumed about her husband’s affection for the girl.
Jacob and Katie had already let little snide remarks clip about the other, something about what constituted as art and literature.
And with Benny, it seemed like he was here against his will, like these people used to be his friends but he felt like he was above them now in every way possible.
I could smell the drama from a mile away.
No doubt the producers had to, which was exactly why this group was here.
“Welcome aboard!” I greeted as brightly as I could muster after Captain’s welcome speech, offering each of them a glass of champagne.
“This boat is just… stunning,” Tammy drawled, turning a full circle with her designer skirt flaring in the wind. “Ugh, this is going to be the best Successful Six vacation ever.”
I faked my smile so hard I was pretty sure I looked constipated. “We’re so happy to have you. I’ll give you a quick tour while the deck crew gets your bags stowed and we prep for departure.”
It was dizzying, walking our new guests through the yacht and pretending like everything was peachy when there were ticking time bombs walking all around us.
Not only was I anxious from the crew, but I was also spinning from my night with Finn.
I was glad we talked a little last night, but we hadn’t had time to really decompress from any of it.
We hadn’t had time to make a game plan or discuss how we were going to face the rest of this season.
I longed for a stolen moment with him, for us to be able to curl up in bed together and sort through the knotted mess we’d found ourselves in.
But we were heads of department on a superyacht, leading a crew being filmed for a television show.
There was no time to stop, no time to plan.
And now, I was a fish out of water on a boat that should have felt like home.
By the time the Successful Six had unpacked their designer duffels and started requesting drones, floaties, and freshly muddled cocktails, the interior I was desperately trying to hold together was already slipping.
It all snapped when Leah mixed up a drink order.
A gin fizz instead of a gin and tonic. A simple, harmless mistake — but it was one I knew I needed to catch before she took the drinks to the guests, especially because I had zero doubts that they’d know the difference and be sure to complain about it.
But I knew there was no way to give feedback and it go well in this moment.
“Leah,” I said gently as I corrected the glass on the tray, “he actually asked for tonic, not fizz.”
She froze, blinking at the drink and then at where she was making the next one. She didn’t look at me. “Right. Got it.”
Leah threw the shaker into the sink with such force it clattered loudly, and then she was angrily twisting the top off a bottle of tequila to work on the next cocktail.
“It’s okay,” I offered, reaching for her arm. “There’s a lot happening—”
“I said I got it.”
The words landed like a slap against my cheek.
My nerves were shot from the morning, and even though I knew it would be pointless to try to talk to her about everything now, it was difficult not to.
I wanted to explain myself, to make her hear me out, to prove to her that I valued our friendship, and I would have told her if I knew everything I knew now.
I also wanted to comfort her, not from the pain I’d caused, but from that which I knew Cameron had.
Leah’s emotions were more complex than just feeling betrayed by a friend.
She had been lied to by a man she was considering moving across the world for.
I just wanted to hug her, to tell her it would all be okay — somehow, some day.
Instead, I stood there with my hand still reaching for hers and not a word in my mind that I felt would make anything better.
Leah ignored me, moving on to the martini request. When she poured entirely too much dry vermouth in, I grimaced.
“Hey,” I said, lowering my voice. “If you need a break—”
“Why would I need a break?” she snapped, finally turning to face me. “You think I can’t handle this?”
“No,” I said quickly. “I… I just can see you might be a little shaken from the morning, which is understandable.”