Page 1 of Falling Overboard

Chapter One

Lucky

“Everyone take a seat,” Captain Carl said. The entire crew was gathered in the main salon, and part of me cringed as they settled onto the luxurious couches. I fervently hoped the engineer didn’t have oil or grease on his pants, as I would be the one stuck scrubbing the stain out.

The captain cleared his throat and said, “As you may or may not already know, our chief stew left us last night. It’s not ideal, given that we pick up our first charter tomorrow, but I know Lucky can fill in for us.”

He nodded at me and I tried not to audibly gulp. I only had a year’s worth of experience working on superyachts. I’d been on theMio Tesorofor the last five months, starting off in the Caribbean. We’d recently crossed the Atlantic Ocean to spend the season in the Mediterranean.

I thought one year wasn’t enough experience for me to be acting chief stewardess. I felt comfortable as second stew. I understood that position very well. I probably should have been flattered that Captain Carl was going to let me run things until he hired a new chief stew, but all I felt was an increasing sense of panic.

“And I know you all were worried about the yacht being bought by new owners,” the captain said, and I felt my fellow crewmembers shift and grumble under their breath. Typically, when this kind of luxuryyacht was sold, the new owners wanted to redecorate the interior and would have the ship return to a dockyard for upgrades.

Which usually meant they let the crew go.

We’d all been worried about having to find new positions, but I’d tried to take the fact that we’d traveled halfway across the world as a good sign. My best friend, currently the second stew, Georgia, had told me with her Australian sassiness that I didn’t know what I was talking about, as I hadn’t been around long enough to have been fired multiple times, and we might still be in danger.

She was right—I was a newbie. She had been in the yachting industry for years and probably should have been made the interim chief stew.

“I don’t want it,” she had told me after the captain called me up to the bridge to discuss me temporarily taking over. “I’m not interested in having the responsibility. I like the perks without the migraines.”

My own head was throbbing, so I understood.

“I’ve spoken with the Cartwrights and they would like things to continue on as they are now. With one additional rule.” Making certain that he had all our attention, the captain said, “There will be no hookups or relationships of any kind among the crew.”

Emilie, the Canadian / our newest stew, gasped.

Casual hookups and noncommittal make-outs were fairly common on these kinds of yachts. Not with the guests, never with the guests. That was one of the strictest rules that existed.

But with the crew? It was always open season, even if there was a nonfraternization rule in place. Most of the crew were unreasonably attractive people in their twenties and early thirties and lived like we were in the last days of the Roman Empire.

Thomas, the British bosun, cleared his throat. “Could you explain exactly what you mean, Captain?”

“It’s self-explanatory,” Captain Carl quickly responded. “Keep your hands and lips to yourself.”

This had been the rule on one of the other boats I’d worked on but not on theMio Tesoro. Given the glum expressions and profound silence, none of my fellow crewmembers seemed very pleased about the change.

I wondered if Marika, our former chief stew, wouldn’t be the only person to sneak off the yacht in the middle of the night.

“Lucky, you don’t understand,” she had told me last night as she’d packed her bag. “Krzysztof finally said he’s ready to get married. I have to go back to Poland before he changes his mind.”

Our former chief stew had been waiting seven years for her boyfriend to propose. While I understood her desire to return home and seal the deal before he could talk himself out of making a commitment, it left us in a bit of a lurch.

Specifically me.

I was the one who’d had to go tell Captain Carl that Marika had abandoned ship, and I was now in charge of the two stewardesses beneath me.

Captain Carl shook his head, as if annoyed with the crew’s stunned reaction. “If any of you need anything, don’t come to me. Deal with your problems by yourselves, like adults. Dismissed.”

I stood up but the captain said, “Lucky? Stay behind.”

My heart hammering in my chest, I sank back down on the couch. To distract myself, I studied his profile as he watched the crew depart the main salon.

Captain Carl was in his fifties and had dark hair shot through with silver. His face was lined and weathered from being in the sun so much, but he was still a handsome man. Georgia had often waxed poetic about him and said he was her favorite silver fox.

When the room was empty, he said, “I will need you to be chief stew for the next few months.”

This was not a responsibility I wanted. I had thought I would be filling in temporarily. “But Georgia—”

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