by Nikki Bella
The door opened and in walked Captain Harper, all white hair and bushy beard, with Keith, the newly appointed bosun. Tarquin, a Cordon Bleu chef from London, followed them, pristine in his sharp white jacket, and as gay as can be, along with Sarah, who carefully and subtly managed to sit at the bolted down table as far from Brett as possible. They’d clearly just come from their senior crew meeting.
“Good morning, everyone,” Captain Harper’s English accent was crisp as he took a chair at the head of the table “I hope you all had fun last night.” Adam and I exchanged glances, and I saw Brett’s eyes flit over to where Sarah was sitting, although she didn’t flinch. “However, today is a work day, and here’s our charter.”
Keith handed round sheets of paper that had a head-shot and some details printed underneath. When the first sheet circled around to me, it showed a big, African-American guy with a scar on his left cheek and gold where his front teeth should have been. Charming.
“D Cash,” began Keith. Unaccustomed to public speaking, he stopped and cleared his throat before continuing, “as you probably all know, is a multi-million selling rap and hip-hop artist who loves his bling.” I passed the sheet on and took the next one. This was a handsome, clean-looking chap, in his early thirties, who looked incredibly fit but that could have been just the photo. “Paul Richards,” announced Keith, “another billionaire and a motorcycle racer who currently competes at world level in the Moto-GP championship.”
I felt my hands shaking as the third paper was handed over to me. I felt the breath catch in my throat as I looked at the picture. “Tyler Harcourt,” said Keith. “Our primary charter.”
Finally, I thought to myself, the one I’ve been waiting for.
“A billionaire playboy type that does actually take his work seriously,” Keith read from his notes. “As always, don’t forget that the primary is the guy who’s paying. He’s our boss for the next few days and the one that’s going to tip you all.”
I accidentally scoffed to myself but, luckily, no one noticed. Just as no one noticed as I held on to the paper and stared at his picture. Look at him, I thought, rich, handsome, arrogant bastard. My eyes began to stare through the photograph, my mind flashing back eight years, almost to the day.
I was the most popular senior in Santa Monica High School. I had wealthy friends, a BMW convertible, and all the cute boys chasing me. I was all set, eager to head off to one of the top colleges in the country, then carve out a career, maybe in fashion. My father’s successful yacht-building company had given me and my mother a privileged life that made others envious.
The bubble burst, though. Times went bad and I didn’t find out until it was too late. The spare cash dried up and people stopped buying yachts. My dad tried to keep it secret that his business was in trouble, borrowing and dealing, trying to stay afloat until the economy improved. And he succeeded for a while, right up until my car was seized and towed, right out of the student car park in front of all my friends. After that, well, I couldn’t even get a ride home.
Soon, the house went too and, not long after, my mother. She was desperate to get back the life she was used to, I guess, because we woke up one morning and she’d just vanished. I never saw her again. My dad never managed to recover. He was able to explain to me that they lost everything due to a hostile takeover from a huge firm. He told me it was a billion-dollar corporation called HHC, and that the founder and CEO was a guy called Bernard Harcourt.
He also knew that Harcourt had been leaking the problems my father’s company was experiencing, as well as HHC’s secret plans for the acquisition, for months. The result of that illegal move was no confidence in the company, so the share prices dropped and no one dared lift a finger to help the Morgan family business out. Two days after he’d been forced to sign the handover, selling his life’s work for a measly ten thousand dollars, my father shot himself.
So, the way I saw it, Bernard Harcourt and his greedy business practices were directly responsible for my father’s death. The Harcourt family and HHC were murderers and now, at last, was my chance for revenge. Bernard had died three years ago, leaving his son Tyler in charge of HHC, and he was now only hours away from being stuck on a boat with me, for three days.
Barely eighteen, with less than ten grand to my name, no place to live, and no college degree, I’d been forced to go to work so, after a few missteps and dead-end jobs, I eventually went back to the only thing I knew. I found employment on yachts. I liked to think I was smart, attractive, and resourceful, and that helped me build a career as cabin crew on several boats, moving up to becoming the chief steward of a huge yacht in the Mediterranean.
Happily, I found I loved the work and, with tips, the money was good. And the lifestyle allowed me to never need to settle. I had no house, no car, no family. I worked boats constantly, calling each one home, for one season at a time. Any downtime I had was spent in cheap lodgings in whatever port I landed. Jamaica, Nice, Singapore, flipping from one side of the world to the other, chasing the summer vacation seasons. Not too bad at all.
However, when I heard that Tyler Harcourt had chartered a boat, I knew my chance had arrived. Having no home or real family, there was no distractions, nothing to stop me kicking my plan for revenge into action. I jumped ship immediately, flew to Aruba, and pestered Captain Harper to take me on board Aphrodite. I even lied about my experience, knowing he had a longstanding chief steward and I’d never get that job, I went for the lowest cabin crew position to make sure I got aboard. Then it was just a matter of working the few weeks, waiting for Harcourt’s charter to come around.
“Miss Morgan?” called Captain Harper, “Are you still with us?” I jerked upright in my seat and nodded, finally putting down the paper with his face on it. “Mr. Harcourt is paying for his friends and him to have a good time,” he continued. “He always brings his attorney, Henry Osborne, with him and they told us at reservation that there would also be three to five… erm… lady-friends joining them.”
“They landed in Oranjestad yesterday,” Sarah piped up, “and will be boarding at eleven this morning. Stewards, a last look over the guest bedrooms and facilities, please, then into your whites for the charter’s arrival.”
Tanya and I jumped up to obey Sarah’s instructions, as Keith called out his directions to the deckhands. The next three hours flew by as we three stewards inspected the opulent master cabin, with its huge central bed that gazed out on a panoramic ocean view across the bow of the ship, the three plush double cabins amidships and the stern twin room. We made sure the three bars, one on deck, one in the lounge and one in the formal dining room, were stocked with single malt scotch, good brandy, rum, tequila, and Dom Pérignon champagne, and that all the glassware and crystal shone. The deckhands scrubbed the decks, the hull and saw that the three Waverunners, the speed boat, and other assorted millionaire’s toys we carried were ready. The sundeck and the eight-person Jacuzzi were also thoroughly prepared, as they were the most popular places the guests liked to hang out. There were many good reasons that it cost upwards of $200,000 to charter this boat for a long weekend.
Tyler
The beautiful Caribbean sun shone down on Aphrodite as she sat bobbing gently in her slip. Through the distant windshield, I’d seen the crew standing on the lower deck, all lined up in their shining, starched white uniforms, looking extremely dapper. They seemed to be paraded in order of seniority, ready to greet us as we boarded. Now, as the stretched black Hummer pulled to a halt by the jetty, I could just make out the yacht’s outline through the tinted rear windows
Our driver, Geoffrey, opened the door for us to step out. “Don’t forget, ladies and gentlemen,” he reminded us, “you’ll need to remove your shoes as you step onto the landing platform.
I tried to imagine how it must look to the crew, watching another group of privileged one-percenters unloading from some bloated limousine, ready to be waited on hand and foot. D Cash got out first. I struggled as I tried to remember how we became
friends. I know we both bought and moved into neighboring houses in Calabasas years ago, right after his first hit album and Grammy Award. He was a total cliché, always surrounding himself with women and bling but, oddly, we had a very similar sense of humor. You didn’t see it much in him, it didn’t suit his image. Late at night, though, after some drinks with only a few of us around, he could be reduced to hysterics over Monty Python or Pete and Dud, just like me.
I looked back up toward the crew and wondered what they were thinking as they watched D Cash, 250lbs of dark-skin covered muscle, dripping in gold, step out of the back of the car. He held out two bear claw-sized hands. One was daintily taken by Britney as she got out, a tall and very thin blonde girl in a light summer dress that plunged right down to her navel, lengthening her slight body, and gently cutting across her small, high breasts.
The other was clasped by Ruby, a dramatically made up African-American woman with, I couldn’t help but notice, probably the most amazing tits and ass I’d ever seen all crammed into the tightest booty shorts and crop top. I was sure I could see a couple of the crew members staring open mouthed as she slinked away from the car. I had never met either girl before and wasn’t sure where he’d found either of them. I think he told me they were in a Jay-Z video he produced last week.
Next to get out was the Paul. He was a few years younger than me, and we were expected to be friends because our families were both rich and went way back. However, we were actually close because we both loved fast cars and, more importantly, motorcycles. We rode together as often as we could. He helped his companion for the weekend, another slim blonde called Veronique, from the limo. Her I knew, because she was a supermodel, and I’d seen her in some of the magazines my family owned. She was almost taller than Paul and me, and dressed in designer label shirt, shorts, and sandals with those huge, round dark glasses favored by models and celebrities everywhere. They linked arms, too, and headed toward Aphrodite.
Henry hopped out next. He was trying to be sweet and assist Bella, a young and beautiful Latino girl out, only to lose his footing and end up with her steadying him. She was clearly out of his league, dressed in casual beachwear that accentuated her slender waist and full breasts, with long, flowing black hair that fell thickly down her back. Henry smiled meekly at her but she looked unimpressed. She couldn’t have been much more than eighteen. I couldn’t say anything to him but it was obvious there’d been an evening of her rejecting his advances in some bar, until he’d offered to bring her down to Aruba for the yacht trip. I felt for my poor friend.
I got an email from the office as I was about to get out. I’d told them to only contact me if it was life or death, so I had to check it. This made Ada, my date for the trip, smile at me through gritted teeth as I told her to go on first.
“Business, darling,” I said, “God knows if I didn’t take care of it, where would that leave us, eh?” I was being arrogant and knew I’d be made to suffer later. She flicked her long, shining, straight black hair, right out of a shampoo commercial, as she turned to disembark. It seemed someone hadn’t got the ‘life or death’ memo, so I slid my smartphone back into the inside pocket of my white linen jacket and stepped out too. I smiled an apology at Ada as she tapped her foot impatiently on the wooden dock.
She took off her sunglasses, the full force of her stunningly sharp features hit me like a truck, along with her attitude. She was a woman who knew she was beautiful and always got exactly what she wanted, every time. She was dressed in a black jumpsuit, open at the top to reveal an impressive cleavage, and gave a quick smile as she linked her arm through mine. We’d been dating three weeks. As heiress to the Showazuki family fortune, she was rich in her own right, devastatingly intelligent, and incredibly good-looking, yet I just didn’t feel very much for her.
I thought she was hot, sure, and I was hoping my physical attraction to her might blossom into something more permanent but, as time wore on, that was looking less and less likely. This trip was supposed to be the setting for our first time sleeping together. All the teasing, groping, flirting and heavy petting we’d managed on the half dozen dinner dates and parties we’d attended leading up to this point in our relationship had certainly got the old juices flowing, so that we were both getting pretty desperate for some kind of release, I just couldn’t see any real relationship developing between us and that saddened me. It made me wonder what was the point of us fucking?
“Are you okay?” she whispered to me, for like the twelfth time today.
“I’m fine, darling,” I lied, also for the twelfth time, “I’m just a bit taken aback by the boat and this magnificent setting.”
That, at least, was true. The sparkling blue water, the golden sun beating down, the rows of different-sized, gleaming white boats rising and dipping in time against the ancient wooden dock, all topped off by the sleek, modern, and decadent form of Aphrodite towering above us, easily the biggest in the harbor, took my breath away a little.
We stepped off the gangplank onto a low platform at sea level, leaving our shoes with Geoffrey who swore we’d find them in our cabin along with our luggage, then climbed some short steps up to the lower deck. It was covered from the sun and looked like a great place to enjoy breakfast. I could see a large room resembling a bar beyond the double doors.
Captain Harper introduced himself to Ada and I, “Welcome aboard, Mr. Harcourt,” he said with a firm handshake, “These are the crew that will take good care of you for the next few days.”
He moved us on down the line, introducing each crew member as we went. The others had all shaken hands with everyone by the time I got there. I met a beautiful thirty-something redhead called Sarah, who welcomed us by offering tall glasses of champagne. Next, a slender and long-legged brunette called Tanya, who flashed me an alluring and slightly suggestive smile, was introduced, followed by the third steward, Misty. For a microsecond, I could have sworn she eyed me up and down with pure contempt. Then suddenly, her eyes lit up and a dazzling smile appeared. She looked so beautiful in that instant, I swear she made my heart skip a beat.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Harcourt,” she curtsied. I couldn’t help myself and sneaked a peek down the front of her shirt as she bent forward. It must have been a shade too obvious, because Ada sharply tugged my hand, pulling me to her.
“If you’d like to follow me, I can quickly show you around our boat,” said Sarah, before leading us off below decks. Still, I couldn’t draw my eyes away from Misty. Her long blonde hair ran down past her shoulders, perfectly framing her gorgeous face. Her sparkling blue eyes dazzled me and her full lips looked intoxicating. I felt like a dumb teenager meeting a playboy bunny. She stood with the other staff, smiling warmly at me every time she saw me staring at her, until I was dragged out of sight.
Misty
Got him, I thought to myself.
He’d noticed me, that much was obvious. Honestly, I was a little surprised. Seeing that Asian goddess on his arm, I never expected him to seem so interested in me. I wondered if this Ada just might be the most completely attractive woman I’d ever seen in my life. Exactly what I’d expected to see with him. In person, though, he was far more handsome than I’d anticipated. It didn’t worry me. I still hated him. I just never expected to find myself even a little attracted to him.
Aphrodite had been underway for an hour, the guests were settling into their quarters, and Sarah and I were helping Tarquin prep for lunch when Tanya stumbled into the galley, giggling.
“Oh, my God! I just passed by D Cash’s room. All three of them are fucking like mad!” she squealed. “You can hear that black girl moaning and that skinny blonde screaming right up on the sundeck.”
“Well, they’re paying guests. No harm in them enjoying themselves,” Sarah said absently, concentrating on pairing a cucumber for the salads.
“Speak for yourself, Sarah,” cried Tanya. “If I have to listen to any more of that, I’m either joining them or I’m gonna need that cucumber and a twenty-minute
break in my bunk!”
“Oh! How crass! You are a filthy slut, Tanya,” teased Tarquin.
“Look who’s talking!” she teased him back. Here we go again, I thought, having seen this scene play out once or twice before.
“Can’t you just stop being gay for a second and do me a favor?” Tanya cornered the chef against the walk-in freezer, where he mimed frantic shock and panic. “Please, Tarquin, ‘me so horny’!” she flipped around, lifted her skirt, and exposed her G-string clad behind, “Puhlehehease… stick it in… just for a second… it won’t hurt a bit, I promise!”
“Do you see this, Sarah? This is sexual misconduct of the highest order!” wailed Tarquin, as Tanya ground her nearly naked butt against his crotch, “Vile temptress! Get thee to a nunnery!”
“That’s enough, Tanya,” Sarah scolded her, still smiling.
Tanya pouted and made herself decent. “It’s still not fair, though, is it?” she whined, “We slave away for them, no booze, no sex, while the whole weekend they get to have the time of their lives.”
“Just think about that fat tip waiting at the end, darling,” reassured Tarquin, before rushing over and diving into one of his ovens. “Dozy cow, you nearly made me burn my meat!” he pulled out a lightly smoldering tray of pork cutlets.
“I thought that was what she was trying to do,” I murmured, and the other three burst out laughing again.
“Well, someone’s got an admirer,” said Azure from the galley doorway. We all jumped a little.
“Christ!” breathed Tarquin, indicating desperate heart palpitations. “How long have you been there? I hate when she does that.”
“Who?” I asked, ignoring Tarquin’s theatrics. “Has Tanya found another heart to break?”
