Page 1 of Hooked

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Sia

“What do you mean the ferry isn’t running?”

I drove three hours, in traffic, from Boston to Hyannis to catch thisexactferry to Martha’s Vineyard.

I have a Christmas party to plan.

The best Christmas party the Vineyard’s ever seen.

But that’s not going to happen if I can’t get there.

“I’m sorry, Miss,” the young man behind the counter says. I’m trying not to stare at the giant blemish on his forehead, but that thing can probably see into the future. “The nor’easter cut closer to the coast than predicted. It’s not safe for us to go out.”

I tap my foot impatiently, looking out the window.

“It’s not even raining!” The sky is gray and thick with clouds, but that’s New England from November to March.

I’m fine with depressing weather if I can make things festive inside.

“It’s not the rain.” His voice cracks. “It’s the wind.”

“Is anyone going out? Maybe a private charter?” Dozens of boats dock in this marina. The state-run ferries are the cheapest, but I don’t need cheap. I just need to get there as soon as possible.

The young man shrugs. “No, Miss. Not that I know of. I’m really sorry.”

My stomach drops, but I don’t give up that easily.

“It’s okay. Thanks for your help.” Time to make some calls. I head toward the door, and just as I pull out my phone a weathered-looking man stops me.

“Miss,” he says, waving at me. Dark sunspots cover skin dried to leather from too much exposure to saltwater. “I couldn’t help but overhear. You need a ride to the Vineyard?”

“Yes!” I exclaim, grabbing his hand in delight. “Are you heading that way?”

“Sure am. I can take you. Going to tuck into Oak Bluffs for the night.”

“It must be fate. Do you leave soon?”

He smiles at my excitement. “Soon as possible. Best be on our way before the moon wakes up and really stirs those waves.”

He wears a big, brown water-stained coat and sturdy boots. If I were hiring him for a nautical-themed event, I’d insist on a captain’s hat, but otherwise, he looks perfect.

“Great. Just let me get my bags and tell me where to meet you.”

He scoffs and comes with me, helping to pull the three giant roller bags from the trunk of my black Jetta. It’s a matching set, and I’ve used these bags to carry my party planning essentials for five years now. They’re a little beat-up but built to last.

Just because I have money doesn’t mean I want to be wasteful.

“You staying a long time, Miss?”

“Call me Sia.” I follow behind him with two of the rolling bags. “Just for a week.”

“Oscar,” he replies. “Lots of stuff for one week.”

“Oh, this is mostly for work.” I laugh. “I know it looks bad.” One entire bag holds my portfolios. Can’t hurt to drum up business while I’m here.

He glances at my leopard print Jimmy Choos. I didn’t have time to change after my last client meeting, and when you work with the rich and powerful you have to project a certain image.

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