Page 5 of Adrift

She laughs. “Exactly!” Haley’s laugh makes me smile.

“After you.” I wave her through into the owner’s suite. Shayla isn’t in here, but a six-foot stack of boxes is teetering next to a perfectly made bed. “Shayla?”

“What?” Shayla’s muffled voice comes from the bathroom.

“She’s in the bathroom.”

Haley and I both turn toward Shayla’s voice. The place is enormous: two sinks on either end of the room, a make-up table and a massive shower with enough jets to wash an entire football team at once. Not that I played club football past year ten—I had better things to do. Not that I remember what they were now.

“Stop right there.” Shayla has her hand up palm-forward, like a policeman telling traffic to stop. “This room is almost done. It’s the only part of any cabin I’ve finished, the only part of anythingI’ve finished. Back the fuck up.” She’s wearing braids tied up in a bandanna on the top of her head.

Haley laughs again.

Shayla’s eyes go wide when she sees her chief stew. “Please tell me you’re Haley. And that you are really triplets who are going to trick the owner into thinking you are less people or you’re a robot who doesn’t need any sleep?” Shayla pushes us out of the bathroom.

“I am Haley. But no to the rest of it. Although, I don’t need much sleep. The bathroom looks amazing, and hiring triplets would be a brilliant idea. We’ll have to get the captain right on that.”

“Shayla Smith, nice to meet you.” Shayla peels a rubber glove off, snaps it, and drops it in a bucket of supplies on the floor. I’m not lying when I say Shayla scares me more than a little. “Well, praise the Lord for something.” She smiles and taps a stack of boxes. “Maybe you can get the deck crew to finally help me—us—out?” Shayla throws her long arm over my shoulder and squeezes.

I smirk at her. We’ve worked on a couple of seasons together and have a love-hate relationship. She can be a lot, but so can I. “Let me get those for you, Shay.” I take the box and the rest from the floor. “Where to?”

“Main salon,” Shayla says.

“I’ll see you around, ladies.”

The two of them are chatting up a storm. Shayla either loves her chief stews or is planning their demise. And if the tables turn, I’m going to take her out. Even knowing Haley less than a few minutes, I can tell she won’t see the sort of underhanded lengths that Shayla will go to. Shayla and I have history. I don’t trust her at all.

I push the boxes up against the outside of the wall and grab my radio. “Hey Waldo, where are you?” Which I love sayingbecause, well, one, it’s his real name. And two, every time I’ve checked up on him, he’s been working. So I don’t really need to know, I just kind of like saying it.

“Hell if I know,” comes back over the radio waves. I’m staring at the radio when he squawks back into it, “Just kidding. I’m in the storage compartment on the swim deck aft doing a water toy inventory. Can’t let the owner’s son, the golden boy, not have fun in the water.”

“Copy. Let me know if you need me. I’m heading for the dumpster.”

“Will do.”

Shit, I hope this season is a good one. Last one sucked balls for me. But then again, who enjoys watching their ex get it on with their roommate? No on-board sex, no more stews. But damn, Haley is someone I need to watch over.

Chapter 3

Propulsion

Calvin

It smells amazing in here. I love a fresh engine room. The new equipment hasn’t picked up the high-octane scent of an older boat yet, and I love every second. I’m weird in that boat fuel is practically my cologne of choice.

A bell rings, and the ship-wide announcement comes over. “Captain Sam here. All hands, meeting in the crew mess.”

The wipes in my pocket almost take care of the grease on my hands. “Let’s go.” I slap my second engineer on his back. There’s four of us sewer rats down here.

In the mess, Captain Sam sits on one of the benches still wrapped in plastic.

“This place is looking better,” I say, which isn’t saying much because the entire ship is a freakin’ disaster. Packing supplies and stacked boxes everywhere. When the captain told me we were taking possession early, I got excited. Because while I enjoyed the first week of staying in the hotel in Singapore, waiting for the Rock Candy to be ready. The second week was utter hell. The shipyard was running behind on the soft-scape of the yacht––the mattresses, pillows, curtains and extras. And the owner—prick that he is—told us to take delivery of the yacht as itis with things still boxed up. And what rich shits want, rich shits get.

“Thanks,” says the girl sitting next to Shayla.

“I’m Calvin Green, engineer. Those are my minions.” I jerk my head at the three of them.

“Hey, Calvin and minions. I’m Haley Brewster. Chief stew. I guess you’ve met the extraordinary Shayla already?”

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