Page 5 of Below Deck Billionaire
She took a deep steadying breath, dragging warm Aegean air into her lungs before rolling her suitcase the short distance to the cast rail. Behind her was the waterfront where colourful tavernas, restaurants and souvenir shops bordered the cobblestone promenade that separated land from water. Where donkeys – the only form of transport on the island – patiently waited with their handlers to deliver tourists to the Church of the Assumption, or their hotels or one of the seaside villages further away.
In front of her was her invitation to the sea.
Stepping onto the sleek, sturdy bridge leading from mooring to deck, she dragged her case behind her as she navigated the narrow path then stepped onto the aft lower deck area. No one appeared to be around to greet her, so Tiffany took a moment to imagine what it must be like to own something like this. To live this kind of life. To take off when you felt like it and drop in wherever you wanted. To have that kind of freedom at your fingertips.
To know you could cast off and travel anywhere the whim took you.
Not that she’d ever wanted to be rich. Having money – on paper anyway – hadn’t brought her mother much joy, or helped her little brother fit into a hypermasculine world that didn’t make space for vegetarians, especially those who preferred creativity to cattle. And God knew she’d seen enough tragic stories in the eyes of many a high roller who had sat down at her blackjack table.
But to have the time and space money afforded a person? That would be nice.
‘Oh, hey.’
Tiffany turned at the sound of a thick Scottish accent to find a big guy with a shock of red hair and woolly red beard shot with grey. ‘Hi.’ She walked forward, extending her hand. ‘I’m Tiffany. The new second stew,’ she said as they shook. ‘People call me Tiff.’
‘Ivan,’ the guy said, introducing himself with a smile. He was in black shorts and a navy polo shirt withNeridaembroidered in white on the left upper chest. ‘I’m the bosun. My wife, Kelly, is the first stew. Come on in and I’ll take you down to meet everyone then you can meet the boss.’
He grabbed her bag before Tiffany could assure him she was fine carrying it herself. She was big-boned like her father and brothers and strong from years of hard work lugging hay bail and saddles and roping cattle. But he took off at a clip and she followed as he strode through the boat, naming rooms as he went, travelling through the kitchen to a set of stairs that led below deck to the staff quarters. Everyone, dressed in variations of the Nerida navy shirt, was sitting at the staff dining table, so she got to meet them en masse.
Remembering names was not one of Tiffany’s fortes but, in her defence, large cruise ships usually employed about two thousand people. And sometimes, like on her last ship, theHellenic Spirit, turnover could be significant. She was pretty sure she could handle the names of five people.
‘This is Tiff,’ Ivan announced to the people around the table cradling mugs topped with frothy milk and indulging in a mid-morning snack, which appeared to be baclava.
Her stomach growled. She’d been too excited and nervous to eat this morning before she caught the ferry from Athens to Hydra.
A deluge of introductions followed. There was Maria, the chef from Venezuela; Kelly, a Kiwi who was the first stew and essentially her direct boss as well as Ivan’s wife; Simon from Nova Scotia, who was another member of the deck crew along with Anja, who was Danish.
Tiffany smiled at each of her new crewmates. The mix of accents was one of the things she’d known she was going to miss about being on a huge cruise ship, but it appeared she needn’t have worried.
‘I’ll take you to meet the boss when you’re ready,’ Kelly said as she showed Tiffany to her cabin.
It was a bunkbed but the space wasn’t too cramped, and she didn’t have to share with anyone – bonus. Stowing her suitcase on the lower bed, Tiffany turned and said, ‘No time like the present.’
Kelly took her on a more thorough tour as they made their way up to the bridge, through the guest suites and saloon, bars and lounges, chatting all the way about their cruise to Mykonos tomorrow and what a cushy gig it was on theNerida. When they got to the bridge, it was empty.
‘Oh.’ She frowned. ‘He was here earlier. Hang on.’ She unclipped the small handheld walkie talkie hanging from her hip. ‘Boss, the new girl is on the bridge.’
Girl. Tiffany couldn’t ever remember feeling like a girl. She’d been her father’s little sidekick for years and then, at the age of twelve, she’d seen something she shouldn’t have and she’d grown up overnight.
‘Roger,’ a distorted voice responded.
‘He won’t be long,’ Kelly assured. ‘In the meantime, this is the wheelhouse where?—’
She was interrupted by Ivan’s Scottish brogue over the radio. ‘Kel, provisions have arrived.’
‘Roger, I’ll be down.’ She slid the radio back in place. ‘Do you mind if I…’ She gestured her intent to leave.
‘Of course.’ Tiffany nodded. ‘Go. Actually, why don’t I come and give you a hand with the provisions? This could probably wait?’
One of the things Tiffany had liked about working on massive cruise liners was being one of many small cogs in a big wheel that all did their own thing to keep the ship rolling. Cogs didn’t meet the owner of the wheel.
Not unless there’d been a serious screw up.
She understood this was a comparatively much smaller boat and that the owner was on board and that she’d probably run into him on a daily basis, but she wouldn’t have thought people who owned multi-million-dollar superyachts generally hung out with their staff. It wasn’t like they were going to be lounging in the jacuzzi together.
Their intro could surely wait.
Kelly quirked an eyebrow. ‘Impressing the owner already, you’ll go far.’ But she was obviously teasing as she continued. ‘At ease, sailor, there’ll be plenty enough for you to do over the next two months. You can take this one off.’
