Chapter 2 Nina
NINA
My stomach was growling and my shift was minutes from being officially over, but I was still focused on my final guest sitting alone at a table and staring off into space.
Sweet Noah Ashford, looking like a smaller, sadder version of his annoyingly handsome father.
The rest of the parents had been by to pick up their children and get them ready for our first formal dinner, but Mr. Potty Mouth clearly thought the rules didn’t apply to him.
I wasn’t surprised, though. Seemed like he cared more about the boat we were on than his own child.
Why he wasn’t traveling with a nanny was beyond me.
Logan seemed like the type to pawn anything non-business-related off on to the staff.
Then it hit me. Shit. I was the nanny. He was going to keep pulling this crap for the rest of the trip, forcing me to work overtime.
I fought back a growl of frustration, not wanting Noah to see me upset.
His dad might be a grade A asshole, but that was hardly Noah’s fault.
If anything, it made me feel more for him.
No wonder he was so withdrawn. He seemed desperate to connect, yet something was holding him back.
Well, I knew how to handle that.
“Hey, Noah,” I walked over to where he was sitting. “Want to draw with me? You’re really good at drawing; everyone could guess your Pictionary clues right away.”
He shrugged a shoulder.
“C’mon,” I teased. “Look, I’ve got the forbidden Sharpies.”
I wiggled the box of coveted markers, which had sparked a fight earlier in the day that had resulted in them getting put away. Noah cracked a tiny smile.
“Let’s do a joint picture. We’ll build a character, starting at the feet. I’ll draw something first, then fold the paper over so you can’t see what I drew, and you do the middle part, and we keep going until we get to the head. Okay?”
He nodded. “Okay.”
I pulled out the chair next to him and got to work.
“Don’t look!” I teased, shifting my body so he couldn’t see the chicken feet I was drawing.
He giggled, and my heart lightened at the sound.
I colored the feet in with a Big Bird palate, folded over the paper, and slid it to him to take care of the torso. I was happy when he got to work immediately.
I took advantage of his divided attention to push him a little about the way he was feeling.
“Did you have fun today?”
“Yeah,” he said. He grabbed a brown marker and started making lots of angry lines.
Wrong approach, I scolded myself. No yes or no questions.
“What was the best part about today? I’ll go first. The best part of today for me was meeting all of the new young cruisers.” I paused and lowered my voice. “Especially you.”
“Why?”
The disbelief in his voice almost broke me. This child was in turmoil.
I was way too familiar with the sensation. It was part of the reason why I’d made kids my career. If I had my way, no child in my orbit would ever feel less than or overlooked.
“Is it because of my Daddy? Everybody cares about him the most.”
“Oh my gosh, no,” I replied immediately. “I liked your vibe, Noah. You, specifically. You do your own thing. And you’re a fantastic artist. I guess I just think creative people are really cool.”
He folded over the paper and slid it back to me. The lines he’d made were so dark that they bled through the paper.
“So what was your favorite part of today?” I asked, pretending that I was focused on the torso I was drawing.
“Umm…I guess this. Drawing with you.”
I held my hand to my heart. “Really? Aw, Noah, that means a lot to me!”
I sped through my portion of drawing the shoulders and arms and slid the paper back to him. “You get to do the head, which I think is the most important part. Make it good!”
The corner of his mouth kicked up. “Of course I’ll make it good.”
I laughed. “Okay, sassy!”
He giggled, and the smile finally took over his face. It was what I needed to see. A ray of sunshine breaking through the storm clouds. Proof there was a happy kid inside.
He kept drawing, dropping his head down close to the table and focusing so intently that his tongue popped out of the corner of his mouth.
“Hey, Noah, you ready?”
We both jumped and turned to find Logan striding toward us. Somehow, his figure made the rest of the room seem even smaller, like he was a giant invading a gnome’s house. Part of it was because everything in the room was scaled down for kids, but it was mainly because the guy was big.
Like, big as in muscular, but also in aura.
I’d had a hard time holding my ground earlier, when I was fighting for my right to whiteboard, because those striking blue eyes pierced my soul and made me feel like a specimen he was trying to catalog.
But not like he thought I was some sort of exotic animal.
More like I was garbage trapped in the grooves of his shoe, and he was trying to figure out exactly how disgusting I was.
Yeah, I could pick up on zero appreciation from the man. Which made it even worse that I couldn’t seem to stop appreciating him.
Normally, blonds did nothing for me, so it was annoying that this particular one did. Not that I’d ever admit I found him attractive.
Scratch that. The man was hot as balls. Drool-worthy.
Shaky-feelings-in-my-belly gorgeous. The height thing was a win since I was a touch taller than the average woman.
His light hair was short and tidy, but there was a definite style to it.
And his skin had the tiniest hint of a suntan, like he spent his weekends doing manly, outdoorsy stuff.
Despite that, I could tell he wasn’t afraid of moisturizer, because his face was flawless.
So strange in this business, because most seafaring men looked like an old leather catcher’s mitt.
And then there was the body. He moved like a jungle cat, smooth and confident because he knew he was at the top of the food chain.
Despite being tightly wound, there was still an ease about him, probably because of the firepower he was hiding under the expensive suit.
Broad shoulders—I could picture him doing some sort of water sport, so it made sense that he had swimmer’s shoulders—long legs, and what I could only assume was a perfect ass hiding beneath the flap of his blazer.
If he weren’t such a dick, I’d have a hard time resisting him, and now I had a new aspect to scrutinize: his smile, which I hadn’t previously thought existed. As expected, it consisted of bright white, perfectly straight teeth.
The longer I stared at him, the more evident it was that the smile wasn’t genuine. I glanced at Noah to find him still engrossed in the drawing.
“Noe, you ready? Let’s go, we need to stay on track.”
On track? What the hell did that mean?
Logan came to a stop next to his son.
“Noah.”
The boy pounded his fist on the table. “Hold on, I’m almost done!”
“Hey, hey…” I said in a soft voice. It wasn’t my place to parent him in front of his actual parent, but I wasn’t about to let terrible manners slide on my watch.
I tried to telepathically tell Logan to take an interest in what his son was drawing, and it seemed to work.
“What is it?” Logan asked.
“It’s a co-character,” I answered, “where we each add a part of the body without seeing what the other person drew.” Noah put down his marker, signaling that he was finished. “Can I look now?”
Noah nodded and unfolded the sheet of paper. We both cracked up at the exact moment.
“What the?” I laughed, pointing at the gorilla torso on top of the bird legs I’d drawn. The shoulders were mine, so of course I’d added little wings, and Noah topped the creature off with a one-eyed alien head.
“This is perfect,” I laughed.
I glanced up at Logan, and he had his head twisted like he was a dog listening to a siren. “What’s it supposed to be?”
I sighed. Did the man have zero imagination?
“It’s nothing,” Noah answered. “And everything.”
“We need to name it,” I said.
Logan sighed and glanced at the phone in his hand. “Bud, we’ve got to watch our schedule. C’mon.”
I was getting frustrated with his micromanaging. His withdrawn son was having fun—let the boy live!
“We’ve got a little time; dinner doesn’t start for thirty minutes,” I said.
“I’m well aware, but Noah’s is earlier. We’re on a different schedule.”
I frowned at him. “I didn’t see anything about that in his notes.”
“I’m referring to his evening schedule.”
Evening schedule? What did that even mean?
“Franken-bird,” Noah said, staring at the paper in his hand.
Working with children meant I was used to conversations that shifted on the fly. “That’s a great name!” I turned back to stare at Logan. “Can you explain more about his schedule?”
He considered it for a moment, his flexing jaw clearly conveying his frustration with me.
Well, he could be annoyed all he wanted, but if I was going to be spending all day with Noah, I needed to know about any special requirements he had.
Finally, this seemed to dawn on Logan as well, and he gave me a curt nod.
“I guess you should get the full picture. Noah’s therapist—”
My eyebrows shot up.
“Noah’s therapist wants him to stay on a regimented schedule. That means meals and bedtimes must happen at the same time every day, no matter what. Zero wiggle room.”
I frowned at him, making sure that Noah couldn’t see. I had a million questions, but it wouldn’t be appropriate to talk about Noah’s diagnosis with him sitting right beside me. Still, there was one question I really had to ask.
“No matter what?” I echoed. “Even on vacation?”
I mean, I knew the value of keeping children on a schedule firsthand, but being this strict on what was supposed to be a fun break felt weird. Infants needed that sort of predictability. We were talking about a six-year-old with emerging executive function.
Was this the therapist’s actual advice—because it sure sounded odd to me—or was Logan twisting what the therapist meant to suit his own micromanaging?
“Even on vacation,” Logan agreed. “All set, buddy?”
Noah stared at the drawing glumly then finally nodded.
“Hey, we had a great first day, didn’t we?” I said to Noah as he stood up. “Lots more fun to come.”
He perked up and nodded, the tiniest smile tickling the corners of his mouth.
“Should I plan for this sort of delay in pickup every day?” I asked Logan. I had to strain to be civil because the man was my boss, but the fact that he hadn’t apologized for being late had me fuming.
Logan’s expression went pinched, like he finally realized that he’d inconvenienced me.
“No. This was a one-off for embarkation day. It won’t happen again.”
I cocked a brow, waiting for the s-word that never came.
“Do you have a team to help out, if you get called away?” I asked even though I already knew the answer.
Logan shook his head. “It’s just the two of us. Noah’s last nanny, uh, wasn’t the right fit.”
I glanced at Noah and saw him frown at the mention of his former nanny.
“Anyway, we’re fine,” Logan said in a voice that cut off further conversation on the subject.
The way he said it sounded like he was trying to convince himself and me. Logan’s expression shifted for a second—pain, perhaps?—and then it was back to his stupid RHF: resting hot face.
Ugh. It didn’t matter how hot he was, I did. Not. Like. Him.
“All set, buddy?” Logan said as he squeezed his son’s shoulder.
Noah nodded then held up the drawing. “Can I keep this?”
I broke into a genuine smile, thrilled that our little art session was meaningful to him. “Of course! And we can make more of them. Get ready for tons of fun.”
He nodded. He didn’t look convinced, but after what I’d experienced with him throughout the day, I’d gotten the sense that quietly bummed was his level-set.
It would help for me to know what he was dealing with, but it wasn’t my place to ask. And Logan seemed like the kind of person who thought he could slay every dragon on his own.
“We’ll be back tomorrow,” Logan said as he led Noah toward the door.
“Bye, Noah!” I called after them. “Can’t wait!”
And then they were gone, without a “sorry” or a “thank you.”
That sealed it. I was employed by an asshole. I sighed and put away the remaining art supplies. I had a feeling that I’d be waiting for Logan Ashford quite a bit over the next week.
I’d told my colleagues to leave right on time, which meant I had to do the final cleanup. I felt a little like Cinderella as I put things away.
No doubt who the villain was in this story.
The FaceTime chime rang, and I grinned to myself when I saw my best friend’s pretty face smiling at me. Our matching dark hair and eyes made people wonder if we were related, but we were only sisters in our hearts.
“Hey, Tash,” I answered. “Where are you?”
I could tell by the glowy mood lighting behind her that she was living her best life. Then again, Tasha’s job as a travel writer meant she spent her days going from one amazing location to the next.
“Do you really want to know?” she teased. “It’s basically paradise.”
“Kansas?” I joked back.
“Close. Bali.”
She flipped her camera to show me the setting sun over a calm blue ocean.
“It’s a job. Anyway, how was your first sail away?” Tasha asked.
I sighed as I considered just how hectic the day had been. “It was…a lot. Some supply snafus and maintenance issues, which are normal on a new ship. The bosshole run-ins, on the other hand, were unexpected.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Shit. I’m sorry. What happened?”
“Where do I even begin? He’s the worst.” I sighed and dropped into one of the child-sized chairs. “Too bad he’s so hot.”
Tasha sputtered out a laugh. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Shit. Did I say that out loud?” I smirked. “Been a long day. Anyway, rather than give you a play-by-play that’ll just get me all worked up again, the headline is that he’s a lot. And his son is cruising with us, so it’s not like I can just avoid him.”
“Oh no. Does he have staff helping?”
“Shockingly, no. The two of them are solo. You’d think a billionaire would have an entire team following his kid around, but apparently, he’s doing it the old-fashioned way.”
“Where’s Mom?” Tasha asked.
I shrugged. “Don’t know, but she’s definitely not in the picture. The poor kid is going through something. He’s really closed off. I started to crack through today, but then Bosshole showed up and shut us down. He’s like the fun police.”
“Damn, girl. All that on day one? Going to be a long ten days.”
“Yeah, I know. I might go overboard if things don’t improve.”
Tasha laughed. “If you do, make sure to swim my way, and I’ll have a Bintang on ice waiting for you.”
“Tempting,” I said.
I closed my eyes and tried to imagine smooth sailing without my bosshole putting a crimp in everyone’s fun, but I couldn’t manage to picture it. Even I’m not that creative.
Rough waters ahead for sure.