Calamity Rayne: Gets A Life

by Lydia Michaels

  The limo pulled into a posh marina, and the other passengers shifted, stowing away their devices and adjusting their cuffs. I gave my hair clip a tug and licked my thumb before rubbing it over the stain on my pants. Nope, wasn’t coming off. Seriously, when did I use glue?

  “That’s the Lady Parr,” Miles said as he pointed to the largest ship glimmering in the harbor.

  Holy crap. It was like the boat from Overboard but bigger. I immediately wanted to see if the closets looked like the ones Kurt Russell built Goldie Hawn.

  “Why is it called Lady Parr?”

  Ten bucks said Miles had the answer.

  Before he could answer, Cadence said, “Lady Parr was Henry VIII’s first wife.”

  Everything she said struck me as irritating, so I acted like she didn’t speak at all. Thankfully, Miles expounded.

  “He buys a yacht every time he gets a divorce. It’s part of his divorce-moon. When his first wife left, he named the yacht Lady Parr. When he and Barrett Devonport’s mom split, he bought Catherine Two. After divorcing Seraphina’s mother he bought Anne of Cleves and when his last wife passed away he got Jane Seymour, but he’s never sailed in that one. I think it’s because he loved her most.”

  “Jane Seymour was King Henry’s favorite wife,” I added, pleased I could keep up with the conversation.

  I should have been disgusted that Davenport named boats after six queens, which left him the option for two more failed marriages, but I thought it was somewhat romantic, especially since he couldn’t sail the one he loved most.

  “You should ask him about it,” Cadence suggested, as she slid her leather briefcase onto her lap.

  I, too, shifted my discount Old Navy shoulder bag, treating it with the level of respect Armani luggage deserved. “Maybe I will.”

  We parked alongside a dock that crept over the bay. The door opened, and I exited first. The thick air was so different here, wafting with strange odors of sea life and the nearby marsh.

  We followed the chauffeur down the weathered planks to the enormous ship. Surely only rich people needed toys this big and shiny. How much did it cost to fill the gas tank of a monstrosity like this? I didn’t have a clue, but I was pretty certain Mr. Davenport’s dick was tiny if he needed four yachts this size.

  The moment I stepped onto the plank—or whatever one called the bridge thing that went from dock to boat—I walked out of my comfort zone and trespassed into someone else’s lap of luxury.

  Grateful that my sunglasses were one of the few possessions I maintained during my travels, I placed them over my face as the late afternoon sun beamed off the gleaming exterior. A tall silhouette caught my eye as a man watched from above, but he was too far away to make out any features.

  The fine hairs on my arms stiffened with a chill despite the heat of the day. No one else seemed to notice his presence, but as I stared up at him he seemed to look directly at me—

  “Watch it,” Cadence snapped, as I missed a step and my flip-flop tripped me. Who put steps on a boat? Gah!

  I glanced back to the upper deck, but the man was gone.

  “Mr. Davenport is awaiting you at the main deck dining area,” the chauffeur announced.

  I didn’t do nautical terms, but I could manage a pretty decent pirate dialect when drunk. “And the main deck is…?”

  “You’re standing on it,” Miles whispered helpfully.

  “Gotchya.”

  Following the driver down a narrow corridor, the coast was on our left and frosted windows brightly reflecting the sun to our right. I tried to take in as much detail as I could, but everything struck me as clean, white, and shiny.

  The bay air wasn’t briny, but there was definitely a sense of being on a boat as large bells clanked in the distance and the slight rocking of the craft caused waves to lap at the sides. The faintest scent of diesel coated the marshy air.

  Stepping through a glass door, the chauffeur cleared his throat. “The Davenports prefer no shoes touch the carpets.”

  Staring down at the pristine ivory rug I understood why. I slipped off my sandals and placed them next to Miles’s polished dress shoes, feeling bad that he had to wear his nice suit with socks. We followed our chaperone through a few narrow passageways, around a bend, past a spiral staircase that led to places unknown and landed in an open common area.

  “Welcome.”

  Ripping my attention from the polished marble tabletops, I glanced at Remington Davenport. He wasn’t wearing his usual power suit, but his thick black brows against his tanned, weathered face and silver hair were unmistakable.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Davenport.” Kudos to me for being the first to speak.

  Cadence and Miles topped me by doing the mature thing and shaking hands with him. Bastards. I should have thought of that.

  “Have a seat.” Wiping his mouth on a linen napkin, he tossed it over a plate of pasta and waved a hand, which immediately triggered a maid to collect the dish and carry it away. Someone was feeding him pasta? Shouldn’t he be on a strict diet after a heart attack?

  The three of us filled in the long edge of the polished table directly across from Remington. Reaching to the seat next to him, he produced three files, each one labeled with our individual names.

  “Let’s begin. Which one of you is Ms. Thorndale?”

  “I am, sir,” Lady McTwatface said.

  He tipped his head, as he paged through the files and tossed them aside. “We’ll start with you, Mr. Pendleton. Why should I hire you?”

  Miles rattled off what sounded like a well-practiced and logical explanation for his services. At the end of his elevator pitch, I was convinced we all needed a Miles in our lives. He was clearly overqualified for the job.

  “And you, Ms. Thorndale?”

  “As you can see by my extensive resume—”

  “Let me stop you right there,” Remington interrupted, and I’d be lying if I denied getting a mild jolt of pleasure seeing her focus jostled right out of the gate. “I’ve read your resume and my memory’s fairly decent. I don’t need your stats regurgitated. Tell me what makes you better than the people sitting to your left and your right.”

  Cadence drew in a slow breath but didn’t break a sweat. “Fair enough. I’m dependable, not easily sidetracked, and prepared to be the best option, no matter what that entails.”

  He raised a dark brow. “I praise your confidence and determination.” His gaze shifted to me. “Ms. Meyers?”

  There were probably tons of wise things I could have said, but let’s face it, this man didn’t need another person kissing his ass. Shrugging, I simply said, “I want the job more than them.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because I was looking for it before the position even became available. You fit my needs before I fit yours.”

  He glanced at the files and lifted the cover of mine. “You’re the one who called Hale.” It wasn’t a question, but I nodded anyway. “And how is it you, with no prior experience with my companies, found out about the job opening?”

  “Um, my friend saw your son on CNN. She knew I was looking for a similar position, and she told me you were in need of a personal assistant.”

  “You’re a teacher?”

  “Waitress…sir.” I’d never naturally called a man sir in my entire life, but the others did, so I copied.

  “And—I’m sorry, what exactly are you wearing?”

  Pulling the lapels of my cardigan over my shirt I narrowed my eyes at Cadence who seemed to be fighting a smirk. “My luggage was lost.”

  He cocked his head. “Yet you arrived in that. You left your home, went out in public, and boarded a plane wearing a hand me down sweater and leggings, never once thinking something else might be more appropriate?”

  A nasty little snicker slipped from Cadence’s direction. It wasn’t like I left the house wearing footy pajamas. I mean, I’d be the best dressed in a People of Wal-Mart video, but he had a point. I looked like a Women’s Studies maj
or on a three-day coffee bender gearing up for finals, not someone out to get a job from one of the wealthiest men in the world.

  “An oversight, sir.”

  He turned his attention back to Miles, investigating his references and what he planned to do about his MBA classes should he be hired for the job. Similar questions were asked of Cadence, who had good answers for all of them, but when he got back to me, his eyes narrowed.

  “Ms. Meyers.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Your mother assures me you’re a nice young lady.”

  Who else was I going to give as a reference? I simply smiled.

  “And Elle Tuttle tells me you always keep your appointments.”

  Fuck. He actually called all my references?

  “Could you describe your professional association with Ms. Tuttle?”

  “She’s my, um, hairdresser.”

  “I see.” His gaze lifted to my hairclip. I had a stylist for a reason. Ponytails and clips were as far as my expertise went. “Perhaps you should schedule another consultation soon.”

  “I’ll do that.” I’d probably have the opportunity tomorrow when my ass was sent home.

  “Please take a piece of paper from the tray and a pencil.” Just as I was about to ask what tray, a woman appeared holding said tray. Once we had our paper and pencils in hand, Remington continued.

  “Draw a circle with three lines in the center and three lines outside of the circle. Inside the circle, list three qualities all of you possess. Do that now.”

  Ah, shit. I drew vertical lines. Turning my page, I stared at the blank spaces. Well, Cadence was a competitive biotch. Miles was smart. And I didn’t belong here. Realizing I had started to doodle while thinking, I quickly erased the start of a thick penis shaft.

  Cadence put down her pencil and folded her hands. Miles had also finished writing. Damn it. I quickly jotted down the first qualities I could think of off the top of my head.

  “Mr. Pendleton, what did you write?”

  “Ambition, college degrees, and knowledge of the man interviewing us.”

  Damn. Good answers.

  “And Ms. Thorndale?”

  “Autonomous, resourceful, and perceptive.”

  He arched a brow. “Perceptive indeed, if you gathered all that about the competition during a short car ride. Ms. Meyers, what did you write?”

  Ah, crap. “We’re not wearing shoes, we’re on a boat, and we all want to work for you.”

  Every set of eyes, even the woman who had delivered the tray of papers, shifted to me. Slowly, Remington’s mouth turned up in an almost disbelieving, but amused smirk.

  “I’d have to say you came up with the most indisputable answers, though I’m not sure you grasped the purpose of the task. On the three lines outside of the circle, I want each of you to write qualities that set you apart from the others and only you possess. If you match another person’s answers, consider it a mark against you. Begin.”

  The rasp of pencils scratching over paper occupied the silence. Once I finished filling in my answers, I put down my pencil and looked up. Miles said he was earning his MBA, was trained by the page program designed by Davenport himself, and had memorized every detail of Remington’s Wikipedia page and the pages of each of his companies.

  Cadence referenced her knowledge of the stock market, the fact that she spoke five languages fluently, and her degree from Yale. It was getting a little pretentious. We get it. You’re smart.

  “And Ms. Meyers, let’s hear your responses.”

  “Well, I have people skills, because I’m a waitress, so I interact with hundreds of strangers daily. I don’t have any facts about you memorized because I’d rather learn from the source, and I’m not looking at this job as a means to an end, but more so an experience in itself. I just really think it would be neat to work for you for the next few months.”

  He nodded. “Eric will escort you above deck, and I’ll call you back one by one. Miles, you may stay.”

  This was like a game show. I must have done something wrong to be put on the penalty deck with Cadence. We did each other a favor and didn’t talk while we waited. I practically forgot she was there once we settled in on the foam bench bolted to the floor of the deck.

  Holy shit, this place was totally nuts. There was a pool—a mother fucking pool—sunk into the floor not twenty feet away. I needed the chance to swim in that thing.

  “Ms. Thorndale,” the chauffeur, Eric, called.

  Cadence rose and paused. Facing me one last time, she smirked. “It was interesting meeting you, Ms. Meyers. Have a safe trip home.”

  Oh … that girl. Why were people nasty like that? What had I ever done to her? Sure, I was probably going home, but wasn’t that enough? I mean, why rub my nose in it? I should—

  My thoughts were distracted by the sudden sense that I wasn’t alone. Glancing at the pool, I saw it was empty. My gaze wandered over the vacant deck, but no one was there. It was hot in the direct sun, but I shivered, the hairs on my arms lifting much like they had when I first arrived.

  Shading my eyes, I gazed overhead and spotted a familiar silhouette, only this time I could make out his broad shoulders and the way the wind caught wisps of hair by his ears. He was wearing dark glasses, but there was something familiar about him. My attention zeroed in on his jaw, the slight shadow, and strong line. He wore a dress shirt open at the collar. Everything inside of me wanted him to turn—

  “Ms. Meyers?”

  I jerked my attention to Eric, who waited by the door leading inside. Glancing back to the upper deck, the man stepped out of view. Maybe it was Davenport’s son, The Other One. He was usually in the same vicinity as Remington.

  Eric led me back inside, and I was surprised to find Miles and Cadence absent. Where were they? Was this like some Hunger Games shit where people kept disappearing? Ah, they’re in the study with Colonel Mustard and the candlestick! I really knew very little about fancy living, but I assumed even houseboats had all the elements of Clue.

  “Have a seat, Ms. Meyers.”

  I dropped into the chair like a well-trained collie and looked for any signs of the others.

  “They’re gone.”

  Gone as in waiting in another room, or off the ship?

  “Do you like waitressing, Ms. Meyers?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Then why do it?”

  “Money.”

  “I assume you make something just above the poverty line.”

  Dick. “Roughly.”

  “Why not teach?”

  “I didn’t like teaching as much as I thought I would.”

  “So you won’t do something you dislike that pays a sustainable income, but you’ll do something you don’t like for less than minimum wage.”

  I shrugged. He had a point. “The most I can mess up is an order of fries at the bar. I’d feel pretty bad about screwing up someone’s child.”

  “Good point. Why is it you want to be my assistant?”

  “I think it would be interesting.”

  “The job, not me. If you were interested in me, you would have started with Davenport, but you started with a job search. What was it you hoped to find?”

  “A change of scenery, mostly. I’m not really sure. I just thought it would be different.”

  He nodded. “I’ll expect you to be at my beck and call. If I need something in the middle of the night your phone will ring, and I don’t like to wait.”

  Wait, did this mean I had the job? “Are you offering me the position?”

  “I do hope you’ll become a bit more intuitive by the end of your six months, Meyers. Yes, I’m offering you the position.”

  “Er—why? I mean, Miles was perfect—”

  “Should we call him back?”

  “No, but…”

  “Let me explain the basics of any investment. A decent businessman will always understand the return. You, a thirty-year-old waitress from Oregon, prove the most affordable investment, b
ut we must also consider the risks. A woman like Ms. Thorndale will rebound quickly. Don’t be foolish enough to assume this was her only opportunity. And Mr. Pendleton will do well to finish his masters and start at a higher paying entry position. You, however, have no other options, am I right?”

  “Well, I could go back to waitressing.”

  “Thrilling, I’m sure, but I think this is your only opportunity for the change of pace you desire. That tells me you were being honest when you claimed you wanted the job more than the others.” He tapped a finger to the surface of the table and pointed at me. “That’s hunger, Meyers. I like working with people who are hungry for more. And, I like that you don’t seem to sugarcoat situations even when it sheds an unflattering light on your own circumstances. Your clothes for example.”

  “The airport probably called by now—”

  “Regardless, I think you’re capable of hard work. Why else would you be on your feet all day when you could be sitting on a carpet reading stories to impressionable children?”

  Dick again! The tiny teacher part of me that still remained took great offense. Teaching was hard as hell. If someone had told me that, I probably would have picked a different major.

  “So you see, I can pay you less than I would have paid Thorndale and Pendleton, because it will still be more than you’re used to earning, and I don’t have to compete with someone else’s philosophies when it comes to how I conduct business. You’re used to taking orders. I like giving orders. Do you follow or am I moving too fast for you? Let me know now, before the others make it back to the airport.”

  And he knocks it out of the park! The crowd is on their feet and going wild. There’s no denying it now, folks. Remington Davenport is a total dick sack.

  “I see.”

  “Do you? Perhaps if you had dressed yourself like a professional, a different impression could have been achieved. The irony is, while you don’t seem to hide your cards you aren’t transparent either. You walk in here with cotton clothes and unkempt hair, giving the impression you don’t know any better, yet somehow you managed to be sitting here all the same. Do you know how many resumes my staff reviewed for this position, Meyers?”