400 P.M. — Sunday, September 9
SPLIT, CROATIA
CHARLOTTE EVANS
“So far I don’t love Croatia,” Antonia muttered as she, Ted, and Charlotte rushed through the crowded airport with overloaded luggage carts in search of the exit.
“It’s hardly the entire country’s fault,” Ted answered.
“I was being hyperbolic.”
The flight arrived in Split on time, but there was a technical problem with the gate, and they’d sat on the tarmac in the baking sun for an excruciating ninety-two minutes—without the benefit of air conditioning.
Charlotte, who had been fast asleep until the plane landed, and was already a little too warm, was overheated, groggy, and grumpy by the time the door finally opened, allowing a rush of fresh air into the cabin.
The next twenty minutes had been frantically searching for their bags at the luggage claim, and making phone calls to the car service to ensure a limo would be waiting for them.
The entire time, Antonia made little disapproving comments under her breath.
“What is with these people? Do we have to stand so close together?” “Honestly, can they not just find someone to get us our luggage already? Don’t they know we’ve been delayed? ”
“You should leave a review of the airport on TripAdvisor,” Ted told her sardonically.
Charlotte bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.
She couldn’t laugh. Not now. Not with Antonia, the world’s greatest Karen, in a mood again.
God, she was a bitch. She could find a way to be miserable in Disneyland.
What’s with these people? Why are they smiling so much? Why are there so many children?
Finally, they found themselves settled in the back of a cool, quiet limousine, speeding toward the marina.
“Can you see if there’s water in the fridge please, Charlotte?” Antonia asked, even though she was the closest to it.
“Certainly.” Charlotte scooted forward until she was perched on the edge of her seat. She tried to yank the door open, and when it wouldn’t budge, she felt her pulse speed up. She pulled again and again without any luck.
Ted leaned forward and flicked the lock at the top.
“There you go,” he said in his friendly, ‘I’ve got you’ voice.
It was the single most attractive thing about him.
His older man know-how. His kindness too (well, to Charlotte anyway).
Since she first got hired as a PA on The Marriage Whisperers, Ted had been unfailingly good to her—protective, understanding, sweet, and funny.
At first, it felt like he was the father figure she should have had.
And he just knew how to do stuff the men of her generation didn’t.
Like opening the mini-fridge in a limo. And pleasuring her with his mouth.
He knew what he was doing. And even though Charlotte knew it was all kinds of wrong, she let him do it.
He was a terrible husband, but she didn’t blame him for that. She was sure he had started out as an amazing one (well, decent, at least), but year after year with a disapproving wench like Antonia would cause a saint to abandon his morals.
She took out two bottles of Evian, giving the first one to Antonia, then holding the next one out to Ted, who accepted it with a quick brush of his fingers against hers.
She got that little jolt of adrenaline, like she always did when he found a reason to touch her in front of his wife.
It made her feel simultaneously thrilled and sick because she knew there was something horribly wrong with her to be carrying on with her boss right in front of her other boss.
She should get help, talk to a therapist about why she was doing this.
The irony is that the best therapist she knew—the woman who would undoubtedly get to the bottom of it—was the one person she could never ask.
Part of her hated herself for what she was doing.
She was ashamed, just like her mother would be if she knew the truth.
She’d be horrified to discover her only child was an adulterer.
She had to end it. She knew she did. This wasn’t supposed to be her life.
She was supposed to be with a man her own age, getting married and starting a family and building a life together.
Not with a middle-aged man she worked for, risking her career and reputation for some comfort and excitement.
But the job itself made finding love all but impossible.
Few guys would tolerate a partner who worked fourteen hours a day, eight months of the year, weekends included.
And so, she had allowed herself to become the other woman, enjoying whatever little moments they could find to be alone.
Antonia had a long drink, then poured some water onto a napkin from her handbag and dabbed at her forehead and her neck.
She was always complaining about being too hot, and Charlotte knew she must be going through menopause, like her own mother was.
After another sip, Antonia said, “Okay, that’s better.
Ted, let’s go over the guest profiles for next week. ”
“I’d suggest we wait until the trip home, but after a thousand years with you, I know better.”
Charlotte sat back, tuning out the conversation while she stared out at the hills and smattering of buildings along the highway.
So far, the city wasn’t much to look at.
A lot of low brush and an irritating bank alongside the road that only allowed the briefest glimpse of the water.
But soon, she’d be surrounded on all sides by the clear blue Adriatic Sea, and she felt a surge of excitement.
It was her first time in Europe. As a teenager, she always thought she’d go right out of high school—backpacking and staying in hostels for a few months, really living, as her mother, who’d never gone farther than Niagara Falls from their home in Muskegon, would say.
But in the end, Charlotte met a boy and decided he was more exciting than Italy and France and England combined.
Only he wasn’t. He was a huge disappointment, and by the time she realized it, it was already move-in week at the University of Michigan.
So here she was, at the ripe old age of twenty-nine, getting her first taste of the ‘old world.’ This wasn’t how she imagined it (few things were)—sandwiched between her lover and her lover’s wife in the back of a limo—but this was how she had arrived.
Charlotte was sleepy and mixed up and felt guilty as all hell, but she was here.
She had made it. She’d take as many glamorous pics as she could to post on her Instagram account.
Her friends would be filled with envy which they would mask with comments like, ‘Looking hot, mama!’ and ‘You deserve it. You work so hard. Have an amazing time, girlie!’
But she wouldn’t be having an amazing time, would she?
She’d likely be working long hours—maybe even through the night—to liaise between the studio and her bosses, not to mention having a front row seat to the ‘Ted and Antonia pretending to be blissfully happy’ show, which she’d much rather skip.
She knew it was all bullshit, at least on Ted’s part.
An act to keep the multi-million-dollar ruse going.
It was bad enough when they were on set and she had to watch them gaze into each other’s eyes and act like they were still in the playful honeymoon phase.
Ted had warned her that they’d have to lay it on extra thick around Mr. and Mrs. Bishop, but not to let it get to her. Because he only wanted her.
None of that was stuff she could share on Instagram, or tell her friends, for that matter. She’d keep her secret and smile, like she always did. But at least she could pretend she was having a wonderful time.
The second she got a look at the yacht gleaming in the sunlight, Charlotte knew she wasn’t going to have to pretend.
The photos she’d seen online showed that The Winds of Opportunity dripped with luxurious finishes, but even just standing here on the dock, with her head tilted back so she could see all the way to the top of the third story, took her breath away.
“Holy shit,” Ted muttered. “Can you imagine the kind of cash a guy would need to buy something like this?”
Antonia gave him a look that said, We don’t talk about money in front of the help.
He ignored his wife and grinned at Charlotte. “What do you think? Pretty amazing way to spend a week, wouldn’t you say?”
She nodded, smiling back at him, and loving him just a little bit for his enthusiasm. Unlike his wife, he wasn’t putting on airs, which was one of the things that drew her to him in the first place.
“Ahoy there!” A man’s voice rang out from the main deck.
It took Charlotte a second to find him, but when she did, she had to keep her mouth from dropping open.
Dressed in a very official-looking uniform of a white epaulet shirt and black pants, stood a tall, lean, and incredibly handsome man.
His hair was almost so dark as to be called black and he had a tan, no doubt from so much time on the water.
He hurried down the plank to greet them.
“I’m Oliver, chief steward. Welcome aboard. ”
Holy hell. Oliver, chief steward, was the chief of all chief hotties.
He had the sexiest of all accents as far as Charlotte was concerned—French.
And once he got to the bottom of the plank to meet them, she could see he was roughly her age and had what her grandma would call ‘bedroom eyes.’ Charlotte would most definitely need to post some pics that included Oliver.
Her friends wouldn’t even pretend to be happy for her.
They’d come right out and call her a lucky bitch in the comments.
Ted shook his hand and introduced the three of them, puffing himself up a bit to try to appear taller, and Charlotte found herself amused that confident, unshakable Ted might be feeling a little jealous.
Oliver’s gaze held Charlotte’s at least two seconds beyond what would be considered polite. “Have you been on a yacht before?” he asked her.
She shook her head. “First time.”
“Oh, a virgin then. Well, she’ll spoil you for every other yacht on the planet.
The Winds of Opportunity isn’t just a megayacht, she’s a sailboat.
Mr. and Mrs. Bishop are nothing if not champions of Mother Earth, so they insisted on the ability to use the wind to power her,” Oliver said.
He took Charlotte’s suitcase and continued talking while he led them up the plank.
“She was built by renowned shipbuilder Dimitri Pappas in 1987 and given a complete refit in 2016. Winds is 110 feet of classic, sleek lines and opulent finishings with luxurious, private master suites for each guest.”
“Lovely, yes,” Antonia said, dragging her suitcase along behind her. “I was hoping to go straight to my suite for a shower before we see the Bishops. We were stuck on the tarmac for an excruciatingly long time. It was like a sauna.”
“Sounds awful. The good news is there is no rush to get freshened up. The bad news is that the Bishops have been detained and won’t be here until tomorrow morning.”
“What?” Ted asked, his expression hardening.
“Not to worry. The other guests, Mr. Ramirez and Mr. Taggart, are already settled in, and I’m under strict instructions to cater to your every whim and need while we’re docked tonight.” He threw Charlotte a grin that said every whim.
“I hope everything is all right,” Antonia said.
“Yes, I am told it was work-related,” Oliver answered. “If you’d like, I can arrange to take you all out for a night on the town. I know the best spots in Split.”
Charlotte’s face lit up and she almost said yes before she realized it wasn’t her decision to make.
Her mind whirred with a slide show of night club shots and outdoor cafe pics (all featuring her face pressed up against Oliver’s—‘you work fast!’ ‘who’s the hottie and does he have a brother?
’), but then she saw Ted shake his head.
“No, I think not. We can use the evening to get some work done and get adjusted to the new time zone.”
And in that moment, Charlotte felt like a teenager who’d just been grounded, and Ted resembled a boring, controlling father, spoiling all her fun.
Oliver must have read the disappointment on her face because he said, “Not to worry. I’ll make sure you have a grand evening aboard.”
Charlotte, for the first time since she started sleeping with Ted, wondered what the rules were for their relationship.
Could she have a fling? After all, it would only be fair given the fact that he was married and probably had sex with Antonia once in a while (a thought she quickly banished from her mind).
But Ted was also her boss, so it’s not like upsetting him was exactly smart.
Not if she wanted to have a job come next week.
But then Oliver turned to lead them in the direction of the bedrooms, and she glanced at his tight buttocks in his uniform. Maybe being unemployed wouldn’t be that bad…