Cruise Crush (Pinnacle #1)
Chapter One
Day 1 – Saturday
Fort Lauderdale, Florida
Andrew
“I’m going off the rails on a crazy train” is blaring in my ears. Nothing gets me going like a little Ozzy on my morning run. The screeching sound of the guitar shredding it and the echoes of the “ay, ay, ay, ay, ay” will push me to go harder and faster. It was always playing in the weight room at college and has been a constant in my workout playlist. I can hear the pounding on the rubber tread beneath my feet, finding a rhythm, and pushing through the burning sensation in my thighs thanks to the idiot who set the incline at five. What the hell was I thinking? Seriously, what was I thinking?
I keep looking down at the black digital screen with red indicator lights showing my progress, but the burning sensation creeping through my body tells me I’m almost done. I sweat. Not just a little. I mean, I sweat like I’m standing in Ho Chi Minh in June. I can feel the sweat soaking through my shirt, causing a dark discoloration on my back and shoulders. The light gray s hirt I started with this morning at five a.m. is long gone, replaced by the sticky, wet fabric that is now clinging to my body.
I’m close to the finish line, and I feel the incline and speed drop as I start my cooldown. I look up and enjoy the view from the 42 nd floor. The sun is coming up over the horizon, casting orange hues on the Atlantic off in the distance, while the city below is quiet, not unusual for a Saturday morning. It’s peaceful. It’s going to be another scorcher in South Florida today. Finally finding my breath, I grab the white terrycloth towel draped on the rail and wipe the sweat from my head. I pick up the bottle of water sitting in the cup holder and take a large swig.
The tread below my feet comes to a slow stop. It's not bad—five and a half miles in forty-six minutes. I bend over to stretch my calves, pointing my toes north and reaching down as far as possible. I rotate and do the other leg as beads of sweat drip on the rubber track below.
I finish the water and head right to my shower. Installing the oversized sink in my laundry room was genius, as I now have a legitimate spot to drop these soaking wet clothes. Before then, I would just leave them in a basket, and it didn’t take long for the stench to take over the whole apartment. Not what you are looking for when entertaining women. Not even the White Tea and Sage candle from Bath I hope you have a great day. Love you.” And hang up.
Seriously, it was his friendly reminder that while he was working hard to build a company, I was sleeping in, screwing around at college, and having the time of my life. It worked. I never skipped a class. Well, there was that one time with the redhead from the third floor, but that was only once (but twice that afternoon). I worked every summer starting my freshman year of high school and have not stopped. I graduated college on a Saturday, was in the office on Monday morning, and boarded a ship the following Saturday. He instilled a solid work ethic that I can only hope makes him proud.
“Dad, why are you up so early?”
“This is a big trip for you, AJ,” he says in a tone too serious for this early in the morning but one I’m well familiar with. My parents, sisters, and close friends are the only ones who call me AJ. It was easier growing up so my mom could distinguish between my grandfather, dad, and me, as I am a third. Andrew James Russo III.
“I know,” I reply. “We’ve been through the schedule and agenda every day for the past two weeks.”
“I realize that, but this is going to be a very important week for you to establish yourself as the next CEO of the company,” he says sternly. I hear the slight parental concern in his voice.
“I understand, but you have prepared me well,” I reply, knowing he appreciates the comment. It’s true, he has prepared me for this next step as he transitions to retirement and I officially become the CEO of Pinnacle Cruise Lines.
After one final review of my goals for the week, we hang up, and I realize between the texts with Kristen and the call with my father, it’s already 7:15 a.m. The car arrives in seventy-five minutes, and I need to pack!
Delaney
Drinking from my white Stanley, I swallow two ibuprofen and hope the pounding in my head subsides. I crack the back window of my UBER just to get some fresh air.
“Can I get you anything?” my driver politely asks.
“No, just needed some fresh air, thank you.” I close my eyes and rest my head on the chilled window.
Ding…I look down and see a text.
Mom
Are you at the airport?
Delaney
Not exactl y
I’m not a party girl or one who typically is part of the going-out scene. I fall on the quiet side, but two of my guilty pleasures are Mexican and margaritas. Well, last night, those pleasures collided.
Mom
Are you going to make your flight?
Under the circumstances, she has every reason to ask. She knows I went out last night with the girls for pickleball and margaritas. But for the record, I’m extremely punctual, and this is not my MO. In fact, tardiness is my biggest pet peeve. However, this morning, I may have hit snooze a couple of times before peeling myself out of bed.
But what I can’t fathom is why she’s up this early. She and Dad are recently retired and are living their best lives in South Florida, Pompano Beach, to be more precise.
Delaney
Yes…I think so
Which is the truth. It’s not like I haven’t known about this trip for the last three months. I’ve always been a last-minute packer, and the idea of getting up at five a.m. for anything other than sex or a flight is just not comprehendible, especially on a Saturday.
I threw my bag together late last night after I got home. Probably not the best decision. Truth be told, I’m not sure I have a complete outfit or enough underwear for the week. The gal-pals went to Jose’s Cantina for Mexican and margaritas after a fun game of pickleball. I know who to blame when I’m digging for a matching outfit this week—Jose! I had one too many “Jose Tequila Sunrises.” It’s the damn grenadine! Curses!
Mom
How far are you from the airport?
Delaney
I see planes landing.
My God, what time did those people have to get up if they’re already landing?
Mom
Maybe you should curb check?
I send her a thumbs-up emoji. The car pulls around to Departures.
“What airline?” the driver asks.
“Delta, please,” I respond.
Delane y
Ok, I’m at the airport, will text you when I get there. Love you.
Mom
Travel safe, love you too.
I walk to the end of the line at curbside check-in. I look at my watch and realize my flight begins boarding in twenty minutes. A jolt of adrenaline rushes through the core of my body. I get a pit in my stomach knowing I will never live this down if I miss my flight. My parents would forever question how they didn’t instill time management skills in me, and my brothers would have material to hold over me for every holiday gathering. Most importantly, this is a work trip. Bottom line, I cannot miss this flight.
I start getting that anxious feeling as I think about my travel day. Depart Atlanta at eight a.m. on a direct flight to Fort Lauderdale, arriving at ten a.m. Grab my bags and UBER right to the boat. I’m pretty sure the airport is only fifteen minutes from Port Everglades. Two things have to happen before I can relax. One, I have to make this flight, and two, no delays. The boat doesn’t leave until four p.m., but I think I used up all my prayers to the travel gods this morning.
I finally collect my bags on the other side of the x-ray machine, recheck my gate, and start the trek to Terminal B. As I grab the pole on the “Plane Train,” my confidence in making this flight is dwindling. “I’m not done yet,” I say to myself like a personal pep talk. I jump out of the train as soon as the doors open, and I make a mad dash up the long escalator. I am now in a full sprint down the terminal to Gate 16.
I’m in shape, but I’m late. I get to the empty gate, and my stomach drops. All the seats are empty, and there’s no one standing behind the counter. My head whips around, searching for someone, anyone who can help. Please! According to my watch, I still have five minutes. I walk up to the window, see the plane, and immediately start waving at the pilots like some crazy lady. I can’t even imagine what they’re thinking.
The jet bridge door opens, and the agent motions to me and asks, “Delaney Fitzpatrick?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply as I hurry to her.
“I was doing a final count, and the pilot recognized the name and saw you waving,” she explains. “I would make sure you thank him when you land.”
“Yes, ma’am, I will,” I confirm.
She scans my phone as I race down the jetway. Now, the walk of shame. The last one on the plane. Everyone is going to see me, judging me for holding up the plane or critiquing my outfit. I’m wearing my favorite black leggings, a black tank top, and an oversized white button-down shirt. It’s simple yet classic and, most importantly, comfortable. I throw on my faded black hat so that, hopefully, the other passengers won’t recognize me like the pilot.
I make my way down the aisle, hoping to find a spot for my carry-on. Feeling the glares, I move as quickly as possible to my row. I settle into my window seat, 24A, put my headphones on, and scroll through Spotify to find my Vacay Vibes playlist. I hit the play button and hear Tay Tay singing “Anti-Hero” in my ears. We met several years ago when we were seated next to each other at a charity event. I’m a self-proclaimed Swiftie! It’s eight a.m., and I’m on my way.
Andrew
Mentally and physically doing a checklist, I make sure I have all the necessities. AirPods, Kindle, swimsuit, a couple of jackets for dinner, my Dopp kit, OluKais, and chargers. Check. Check. Check. I zip up my bag and head back to the living room to gather my computer bag.
Bling…
Kristen
Car is arriving in 10 minutes. Don’t forget your passport!
Andrew
Thanks. Will touch base before we leave port.
I check my briefcase one more time to make sure I have my passport. I grab my suitcase, hanging garment bag, and leather briefcase. I slide my phone into the back pocket of my jeans, throw on my patterned blue blazer, pat my pockets to locate my wallet, and head downstairs to the lobby. I’m probably overpacked but will need multiple outfits due to scheduled (and unscheduled) meetings, events, and just the fact that it’s a seven-day cruise. You never know what you’re going to need. My sisters like to call me “one of the girls” because I pack so much, but at least I’m always prepared.
Don’t get me wrong, I can pack a week’s worth of clothes in a carry-on and travel with the best of them. However, due to the importance of this trip, I don’t want to get caught off-guard or not be dressed appropriately for meetings, dinners, or guest interactions.
“Good morning, William,” I greet our doorman.
“Good morning, Mr. Russo,” he replies. I still look around to see if my father is behind me. William has been with this building since it opened and is just as much a part of the fabric and feel as the marble tiled floors and patinaed wood railings. As many times as I have asked and requested that he call me Andrew, he just can’t bring himself to do it. The crazy thing is that he knows everyone, not in a creepy way, but in that genuine, caring, kind way that makes people feel comfortable and safe. Two critical characteristics you want from the people welcoming you home every night .
He notices the large black Escalade pulling up and grabs the door.
“Need help with your bags, Mr. Russo?”
“No, I’ve got them. Thank you as always, sir,” I reply.
The driver meets me at the back hatch and takes my bags.
“Good morning, Mr. Russo,” he says.
“Good morning,” I return as I head to the side and jump in the back. The crisp feel of the black leather and musk scent greets me as I settle in. There’s a funky jazz sound coming from the speakers. I lean over to see the song info, “Let’s Get Away” by Norman Brown, on Sirius XM Station 66, Watercolors. It occurs to me that I am ready to get away as I settle into vacation mode. It’s only a twenty-five-minute drive to Port Everglades from my building, but at this time of the day on Saturday, we should make it in fifteen minutes.
“Is the temperature okay for you, sir?” the driver asks as we pull away.
“Yeah, it’s fine, thank you.”
“Please let me know if you need anything,” he says as he looks left and turns right out of the complex.
“Will do.”
That quiet city that I was looking down on just two hours ago from the treadmill is now starting to wake up. We pass a couple walking their dog, and a woman with a rolled-up mat tucked under her arm headed toward the yoga studio. I decide to call an audible.
“Sorry, we need to make a quick stop. Please pull over on the next block, right side, I want to grab a bagel.”
“Yes, sir,” he replies.
“Ya, just over there, Mitches,” I direct. “I’ll be right back. Do you want anything, bagel, coffee?” I ask.
“No, sir, thank you,” I hear as I jump out.
I pull the glass door open, and the oversized silver sleighbells hanging from the handle announce my presence.
“Hey, Rita,” I say as a friendly and familiar face greets me.
“Good morning, sweetie. What can I getcha?” she asks in her thick Long Island accent. “Want some cauffee?” Rita relocated to South Florida twenty-five years ago, but somehow still talks like she lives in Garden City.
“Iced, please, and a bacon, egg, and cheese on a sesame toasted.”
“For here or to go, babe?”
“To go, please.”
“Sit down, I’ll call you when it’s ready. You need cream or sugar?”
“No, thank you.”
There is no shortage of good Jewish eateries in Fort Lauderdale. In fact, there’s a great breakfast spot around the corner, Top Hat Delicatessen on 415 NE Third. They’ve got the best corned beef hash in the state. You sit down, and they bring over a plate of assorted pickles. Fuhgeddaboudit …
“Okay, babe, here you go,” she announces as she motions to come get my food. She hands me the brown paper bag and my cauffee, and I’m headed back to the car.
Back in the seat, I say, “Okay, let’s go, and thanks for stopping.”
I reach into the bag to grab my bagel. The bagel is cut in half, and I notice the cheese has had enough time to melt. The damn sesame seeds are like confetti as I try to limit the amount that will inevitably fall on the carpet. The first bite is so good. Since I’ve only had water this morning, this is needed.
We hit 595 and pass the Fort Lauderdale airport on the right. It’s a great airport. Smaller than Miami but undoubtedly more convenient. I know we’re close as I see the green signs directing us to Port Everglades. We approach a security checkpoint; the different cruise line brands are listed above, directing cars to their respective lanes and terminals. Saturdays are by far the busiest day in the port, and this checkpoint will be slammed in about two hours. There are no other cars in line since it’s too early for the new passengers to be arriving.
As we pull up to the terminals, there are three large boats that all docked about three hours ago, Royal Caribbean, Princess, and us, Pinnacle. Some people like planes, I like ships. I know the physics, but to this day, it still amazes me that these things float!
Semis are lined up on the side of the road, waiting to reload these massive ships with food, drinks, and supplies. Fuel lines are already connected as these ships are already well into their turn-around. The turn-around requires getting nearly 3500 guests off the ship and getting the ship cleaned, restocked, and ready to welcome 3500 new passengers in roughly five hours. It actually begins the night before when luggage is placed outside the cabins.
My car pulls up to the terminal. It’s still very quiet, as just a handful of baggage guys are hanging around.
“Just pull ahead to that door marked crew, up on the right,” I request.
“Yes, sir,” he replies.
I get out and head to the back, where I wait for my bags to be unloaded. A valet gentleman comes over. “Can I help you with your bags, sir?”
“All set, thank you.”
I motion to my driver. “Thanks for the ride.”
“My pleasure, sir. Have a great trip,” he replies.
My briefcase slides on the top of my luggage handle, and I carry my garment bag in the other hand. More people are starting to gather, cruise line workers, passengers coming through customs with their bags, and security officers taking their positions as the terminal is waking up.
I make my way to the crew entrance, and I’m met by a security officer and an x-ray machine.
“ID, please,” she requests.
I hand her my ID and begin to place my bags on the belt.
did.