Page 1 of Adrift

Chapter 1

Launch

Haley

Iclutch my duffle bag over my shoulder. It’s digging into my skin, while my suitcase thumps with each deck plank it rolls over. Eight a.m., but this marina is bustling. Crew are pulling carts of trash past me; birds squawk and circle above them. I’ve seen a lot of marinas, and this dwarfs them. It’s twice as big as the dock of my last yacht, back in Fort Lauderdale. And the yachts here aren’t like at home.Good Boy, to my right, is a mega yacht over 80 meters long. The next one,A Good Deal, is even bigger. The vessels here make the ones back in Lauderdale look like something you’d put in your bathtub.

My arm aches. Why did I bring so much? I know better. It’s just that, after breaking up with Steven, I packed most of my things in the back of my mother’s Honda to die a slow mildewed death in her Maryland garage. I’ve only got essentials with me—at least, that’s what I told myself when I hopped on the plane.

I give a nod to a bosun on the next mega yacht. He’s scrubbing the side ofDay Trader, port of call Macao. He wavesback. Damn, the muscles bulging out of his crew shirt have me walking a crooked line.

Focus, Haley. Having a boyfriend right now isn’t what I want. Or need. And I’ve promised myself I will never, ever have another shipboard romance. And this time, I mean it.

Slip sixty-nine is at the end of the dock. I pray the slip number is a funny accident and not the mentality of the ship’s owner. I leave my suitcase at the bottom of the gangplank, take my shoes off, and board. It’s a massive boat, 85 meters long. I studied its plan on the plane on the way over.

The deck’s empty and a bit of a mess. The deckchair covers are half off, and a bucket full of water sits beside the large outdoor dining table. Inside the main salon, it’s not much better. The pillows on the sofa have tight plastic wrapped around them, and a tower of them are threatening to tip over.

“Hello.” A deep, warm voice fills the space. “You must be Haley. I’m Captain Samuel. Call me Sam.” He puts his hand out for me.

The jet lag is getting to me. I didn’t sleep at all on the plane. And with the twelve-hour time difference, I’m in for a world of pain. I need to get a grip on myself. Because I’m staring at my boss like he’s some sort of lollipop I want to lick.

Of course, I knew he was going to be good-looking. His brother Charlie—the first officer on my last boat and the reason I got this job—is handsome in that I’m-a-rugged-guy-who-likes-dogs-and-hiking kind of way. But Captain Sam... Damn. Thick dark hair, his crew monogrammed polo stretched tight over his chest. Deep blue eyes, with light laugh lines around them. If Charlie is handsome, Sam is traffic-stopping gorgeous. Is that even a thing for guys? If it’s not, it should be.

I shake myself out of my daze. Charlie sent my CV to him, and Sam hired me a few days later. A godsend really. Getting outof Florida and away from Steven were my two highest priorities. And this is about as far away from Florida as you can get.

“Haley. Nice to meet you, Captain.” I shake his hand firmly, like my grandfather taught me.

He laughs. Sam’s got a touch of gray at his temples, wide shoulders, and his arms are those of a captain who does more than steer a ship and sit in the wheelhouse all day. I’ve never been interested in older men, and that isn’t going to change now. I bite my molars together—I’m going to focus on the job, the primaries, and my staff. Being the best chief stewardess out there is my only task. I love being a stew. And I’m darn good at it.

I shake his hand, and that stupid spark of desire rolls around in me like one of my granddad’s old pinball games. The captain’s blue eyes land on me, and my face has to be turning five shades deeper red than the pillows lying on the floor.

I let go of his hand that I’ve been holding for too long. “Wow, this place is a wreck.” I pause. Captains can be super defensive of their ships. “I mean, she’s beautiful but a mess.”

“You’re correct on both counts. The owner, whom I’ve known for a few years, insisted they rush delivery from the boatyard, and the company obliged. They finished the interior mechanicals and built-ins, but we took possession on the day some of the furniture arrived from Singapore.”

I do a one-eighty in the salon. Everything is in place, if you consider covered in plastic and cardboard “in place.” A lot of the finishes that would normally be completed by now are taped down for rough seas or are in boxes on the floor. “My team will take care of it.” We can make this place shine.

The captain looks away. His barrel chest lets out a huff, and he turns back. “Well, that’s the thing, Haley. I understand I signed you on as chief stew of eleven.”

The air in my lungs chokes me. I need the money of the chief stew position to afford to live on my own after the season’s finished. I’ve put down a deposit on a nice apartment for myself.

“But things have changed a bit since you got on the plane to come here.” He picks up a box off a chair and motions for me to sit. That’s not a good thing. I don’t want to sit.

Fuck.

I sit.

And he pulls up the chair across from me. “The owner of the boat has decided not to allow rentals this season. They want to take it all for themselves.”

My chest relaxes. Owner-occupied means the tips won’t be as great, but it also means not as much work. Unless they’re the kind to bring a never-ending rotation of guests through. “That’s no problem, Captain. Sam.”

“Right, owners can be a pain. I’ve known this one for a long time. He’s good. A daughter in her twenties and a son. I’ve never met him. Easton Rockwell, the Olympic swimmer. He’s always too busy training to come out with his dad and sister. The thing is that this boat was to have ten stews.”

“Eleven with me.”

He nods. “Right? We’re supposed to have a lot of stews. And it definitely calls for it. But the new fiancée doesn’t want too many. She called yesterday, when they moved up their boarding again, and told me to knock the interior team down.”

“All . . . right. Why?”

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