Calamity Rayne: Gets A Life

by Lydia Michaels

  I supposed some women liked the whole older man thing, but Remington was older than my father. And now I was imagining what a decrepit old dick looked like. Thank God my imagination wasn’t very vivid.

  “Are you saying you’d turn him down if the offer were on the table?”

  “Seriously?” I couldn’t decide if I should be grossed out or insulted. Probably both. What if that was why he hired me? “If it ever came near the table I’d bolt. Your dad’s fascinating, but I’m definitely not interested in him that way. Plus, he’s my boss.”

  “Like that stops people.”

  Rather than dispute the unlikely chance of office affairs, which Remington Devonport probably had his fair share of, I turned the focus on him. “Why did you pass along my resume?”

  “I trust my mom’s opinion.”

  “Did you speak to her about me?”

  “No, but if she didn’t like you, she wouldn’t have given you my number.”

  I’d only spoken to his mother for a few minutes, so his reasoning wasn’t very sound. “Do you like working for him?”

  “I don’t work for him. I work with him.”

  “Oh. My mistake. Do you like working with him?”

  “I don’t believe in doing anything long term that isn’t personally satisfying on some level.”

  How very Steve Jobs. “So that’s a yes?”

  “Yes,” he clarified, and then tacked on, “for the most part.”

  “He seems to be recovering well. I mean, I’m no nurse, but aside from the foot he looks like he’s doing all right.”

  His lips compressed, but he made no comment.

  Cutting through a residential area of the shore town, I admired the pretty Victorian houses as the events of the last two days started to catch up with me. Hale slowed as the brake lights of several cars lit up in front of us.

  “What’s this?” he mumbled.

  “Traffic?” It seemed pretty standard, but Hale didn’t appear to think so as he lifted his sunglasses and frowned.

  Cars weaved around some commotion at the side of the road and slowly moved on, but as we spotted two older women standing on the grass and staring at the curb Hale pulled over.

  He rolled down the window and a duck squawked rapidly at the women. “Are you ladies all right?”

  His concern threw me for a loop. As far as judging a book by the cover went, he didn’t seem the type to play the Good Samaritan. But what did I know?

  The women approached my window, both wearing looks of concern. “There are ducklings trapped in the storm drain.”

  My breath sucked in as I looked to Hale. His expression was blank, his eyes briefly glancing at his watch. I sensed he was worried about the time so I quickly suggested, “Can we call animal control or something?”

  His brow creased. “Let me pull out of the way and see what I have in the trunk.”

  Pleased, I smiled as he moved his car to the shoulder of the road. “I love ducks.” Not that this was essential information in a rescue, but I wanted him to know I was glad he decided to help, even though there wasn’t much we could do aside from call someone.

  I followed him out of the car and around to the trunk. “Why do you have so many buckets?” His trunk was immaculate, but there was a stack of five gallon buckets and some other tools.

  “They’re left over from a project I was working on.”

  They looked brand new. “What sort of project?”

  “Just some landscaping.” He grabbed a pair of leather gloves and I tried to picture a man like Hale Davenport cutting his own lawn. It didn’t compute.

  I followed him to the storm drain where we assessed the situation. The mother duck squawked frantically as she paced by the curb, slowing traffic. The peeps of several ducklings echoed from below.

  “They’ve been down there for a while. We called the fire department, but no one’s been here yet,” one of the woman explained.

  “Poor babies.” I squatted close to the ground and used the light on my phone to count them. “I see six of them.”

  Hale rested his hands on the hips of his dress slacks and pursed his lips. The mother duck continued to quack ceaselessly, clearly concerned for her babies.

  Hale sighed. “We’ll have to get the grate off.” Giving his sleeves a shove, he bent and lifted the heavy iron cover off the hole tossing it onto the grass.

  Buttons. Were. Pushed.

  Dear God the man packed some strength under those fancy clothes. I’d never seen a guy outfitted in a designer dress shirt and worn leather gloves, but it was totally doing it for me. And all for the sake of some fuzzy little ducklings. This was scoring points all over the place with my girlie parts.

  The momma duck marched over in a panic, quacking belligerently at Hale’s ankles.

  “I think she’s telling you off,” I informed, incase he didn’t speak duck.

  “She doesn’t seem pleased,” the other woman observed.

  The ducklings scurried along the edge of what appeared to be a wide drainpipe. “Do you have a net or a rope?” he asked the ladies.

  “Rope? I likely do, but my house is on the other side of town.”

  Hale glanced at his watch again. I checked my phone and noted we only had about twenty minutes before my two hours were up. “What about one of those buckets in your trunk?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “That won’t reach.”

  “Maybe we should try the fire department again, Ethel,” the first woman suggested.

  “Don’t worry,” Hale said. “I’ll get them out.”

  I stepped back as he dropped to the ground and lowered his legs into the storm drain. The women twittered nervously. “Oh dear, try not to step on them.”

  I watched, eyes wide, as a man dressed in what were likely two hundred dollar pants and a really nice button down, slithered into the sewer. Something happened to me in that moment. My heart raced, and my hearing started to buzz as I could hardly blink. Holy hotness, I hadn’t been so impressed by a man in…

  When was the last time a man gave me these squishy feelings? Huh. I couldn’t recall. Maybe this was a first.

  “Rayne,” he called, and I shook off my shock, scooping the first fuzzy baby out of his gloved hands. “Put her on the grass so the mom sees she’s safe.”

  My mouth made a soft and silent awww as I cupped its little feathered butt in my hands. The momma duck quacked and followed me to the grass where I deposited the baby a safe distance away from the street. The older women followed, each carrying another duckling.

  I returned and scooped the next one out of Hale’s hands. The momma duck seemed to scold her returned runaways as she quaked and nudged each one, inspecting them with her beak. When the last two were reunited with the gaggle, she led them further away from the street.

  I turned just as Hale was lifting himself out of the storm drain. His clothes were a mess, and his shirt was likely ruined, but he looked… really good. The women fawned over him, calling him a hero and praising him for a job well done. I took one last look at the ducklings and returned to his side.

  “I can’t believe you did that.” My words came out a little breathless, but that had everything to do with the excitement and—I was sure—nothing to do with any sort of hero worship.

  “That’s a good man you have there, young lady. You hold onto him.”

  My eyes went wide at the older woman’s misunderstanding. “Oh, we’re not—”

  “We have to get going,” Hale interrupted, sending me a wink.

  Who winked these days? Winking was reserved for men like Bing Crosby and Charlie Chaplin, yet somehow Hale pulled it off, and I was blushing from my roots to my metaphorical poodle skirt.

  Blowing out a breath, I turned my attention to the ladies. “Hopefully, they stay away from the drains.”

  Hale lifted the heavy metal grate and slid it back into place, brushing his gloves together to shed any loose dirt, but they were saturated with mud. The ladies waved goodbye as we walked ba
ck to the car.

  “Your clothes are ruined.”

  “Well, the ducks are safe and the mother’s happy.” He opened my car door, and I stood frozen.

  “What about your car?”

  He paused, as if only now considering what a mess he was. “It’s fine.”

  He moved to the other door as I stood in awe. Once he slid behind the wheel and leaned across the passenger seat, he looked up at me. “Time’s up, Rayne.”

  Shit. I forgot about Remington. I clamored into the car and shut the door. “Here.” I passed him a bottle of hand sanitizer from my purse.

  “Thanks.” He rubbed it into his arms, but he really needed soap and a sink. He sniffed his fingers. “Is that…?”

  “Cotton candy. It’s all I had.”

  “I like it.” His mouth kicked up in a half grin, and I had to look away as my stomach tightened—not with cramps, but with something warm and heavy like chocolate fudge or warm cookie batter. I was obviously hungry since skipping lunch.

  We were silent the rest of the ride back, and I kept my attention away from Hale. When we reached the marina again, he parked in a different spot, more removed from the other cars. “Are you leaving this car here for the next six months?”

  “It’ll be in Florida by Wednesday.”

  I laughed at such absurdity. He clearly had no concept of how strange that sounded, that a car could simply be shipped for his convenience as he yachted down the coast of the Atlantic.

  “Is that where we’re going, Florida?”

  “To start.” Once again he opened my door, but I wasn’t sure if it was manners or because he wanted the leather carryon he removed from the backseat. He collected my bags, but I took two as well. I was the help after all.

  “Have you ever spent the night on a yacht?” he asked as we walked the dock.

  “Um, no. I probably should have grabbed some seasickness meds.”

  “You won’t get sick. The Lady Parr’s smooth and the crew are accomplished.”

  “Good to know.” Maybe he really did think he was God.

  I still hadn’t been shown my sleeping quarters, so I wasn’t sure where to dump all my crap. “Do you know where I should unpack?” Once I stowed my stuff, I’d check on Remington. Later tonight I could settle in.

  “Follow me.”

  “Crap. Our shoes.”

  He turned and frowned. “What?”

  “Your dad doesn’t like when people wear shoes inside—”

  He laughed, catching me so off guard with the flash of straight, perfectly pearly teeth I stilled. There was a deep tug in my belly as I watched his full lips pull into a grin, the quick glimpse of his personality turning my insides to butter.

  “Did he make you guys take off your shoes? Figures. It’s a diversion tactic, sort of like putting the opposition in a smaller chair. It disarms the guest and immediately establishes the host’s upper hand. Trust me, he doesn’t care what’s on your feet.”

  “Oh.” I thought about poor Miles in his nice suit and socks. “Tricky.”

  He led me down a carpeted set of steps to an intersection of mirrored doors. The multiple reflections were a bit disorienting.

  “Those state rooms have twin beds and this one has a double. Which do you prefer?”

  Peeking into each option, I went with the room that looked the most inviting. “I’ll take the double.”

  Nodding, he carried the bags inside and deposited them on the bed, which was dressed in deep navy with steel blue satin throw pillows. Wow. Everything was really nice.

  “Your bathroom’s through here.”

  “I get my own bathroom?”

  “All the state rooms have private baths, so the other guests aren’t disturbed.”

  Stepping into the bathroom, I was again impressed that this was on a boat. Modern his and her sinks filled the vanity, accented by polished chrome fixtures and plush sapphire hand towels.

  It was all so lavish, nicer than any hotel I’d ever visited. The shower had floor to ceiling glass doors and a long bench against the wall. The tile was white porcelain, delicately flecked with gold.

  My perusal halted as I looked in the wall-to-wall vanity mirror. Hale watched me from the door, his mouth flat but his eyes missing nothing.

  Finding his reflection just as intimidating as the real man, I waited for him to say or do something. Maybe he thought I had some sort of motive to get close to his family. We already established I wasn’t after his father’s golden shlong. Or maybe he thought I was trashy. I didn’t know, but when he looked at me like that I felt nervous and unsure in a way I hadn’t felt since … ever.

  Glancing down I broke the intense eye contact. “This is really nice.”

  He cleared his throat. “I’m in the room to your right, so if there’s anything you need—”

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Ack! Blah! My words came out clipped and ungrateful. I wasn’t being rude. I just didn’t know how to read this guy, and he was making me beyond awkward. Maybe I was claustrophobic and boat cabins were a danger to my constitution.

  “Very well. I’ll leave you to get settled.”

  Thank him! My gratitude was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t get it out. Turning my back to the door, I shut my eyes and waited several seconds. When I opened them, he was gone.

  Chapter Five

  It’s Rude to Stare…

  “You’re late.”

  My steps staggered to a halt as I entered the master suite and found Remington scowling from the bed. “Sorry. I was putting some things away.”

  “Where’s Hale?”

  I rolled the scooter closer to the bed, sensing he’d rested long enough. “I’m not sure.” That man needed to stay far away from me until I got my senses in order.

  Offering my arm to help Remington transfer from the bed to the scooter, he grumbled, “I need a minute of privacy. Don’t go far.”

  “Yes, sir.” Backing out of the room, I closed the door and waited, still on edge from earlier.

  My attention lingered on the stairs leading down to the staterooms. If I listened close enough, I might hear the trickle of the shower where Hale rinsed off the grime from his heroic rescue. At first, I wasn’t sure if his personality would match his unruffled persona, but now I was totally confused about what sort of man Hale Davenport actually was. I mean… he rescued ducklings! You can’t be a prick and also rescue small, fluffy creatures. It’s a rule.

  Once Remington was finished in the bathroom, he called me back as if I should have anticipated the exact moment he’d be ready for me to enter the room again.

  “Meyers.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I need the laptop, iPad, and that file there.”

  Scurrying to gather his items, I followed him out of the suite toward the common area of the ship at a snail’s pace, my arms burdened with his requested items. “We should get you a bicycle basket for the front of your scooter.”

  “What the hell do I need that for when I have you?” So he was unpleasant after naps. Duly noted.

  The dinner table had been set with centerfold worthy dishes and linens. Silver chargers cradled gold trimmed china and crystal glinted under the lit chandelier. I was so distracted by the gorgeous centerpiece that I crashed into Remington.

  “Damn it, Meyers. Who’s the one with a disability here, me or you?”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “Pull out a chair so I can sit.”

  Quickly withdrawing the heavy seat, I turned it so he could slide over. “You know, a simple please or thank you wouldn’t hurt from time to time. You get more bees with honey, Remington.”

  He scowled at me, unimpressed. “Save the fortune cookie crap for someone who can only afford clichés. Pass me the laptop.”

  “Right.”

  He waved a hand at the chair next to him. “Have a seat.”

  Please… It was extremely tempting to prompt his manners, but I wasn’t sure he had any. And you couldn’t get blood from a stone.
That was another fortune cookie cliché, but nonetheless true.

  Sitting beside him, I watched as he slid the place setting out of his way and opened the laptop. A calendar filled the screen, showing barely any white as every date had abbreviated appointments scheduled.

  Eric, the driver, returned, and a pang of guilt hit me. Where were Cadence and Miles? It seemed wrong that I was the one sitting here and they were likely waiting in an airport bar for a flight home.

  “Did you get it?” Remington asked, and my attention returned to him as I prepared to ask what he was referring to, but Eric answered first.

  “Yes, sir. It’s all set up and synchronized.”

  “Good.”

  Eric handed Remington a bag, which he quickly opened, producing a very high tech smart phone.

  “Pay attention, Meyers.”

  Where exactly should I focus? Already watching him, I forced my eyes as wide as they could open. “Yes, sir.”

  “This is a 360 Block Smart Phone. It’s impossible to hack and it will be a part of you for the next six months. You’re not to go anywhere without it.”

  He removed a small case from the box and snapped it into the bottom of the phone. “There are two batteries, so you’ll never have to step away while it’s charging. My itinerary’s been synched and you’ll have a bird’s eye view of our location at all times with the GPS app installed. There’s also a program that connects you with the crew and lets you read the knots we’re traveling at any given time.”

  A touch overwhelmed, I nodded. Not only was I going to have to carry two phones, I was going to have to Google the term knots because I wasn’t sure what one was. “Yes, sir.”

  “There’s a Wi-Fi bar in each room, so if we’re out of satellite reach you’ll still be able to contact me via text or call. Even in an emergency, we’ll be able to keep contact.”

  Excellent. Who needed 911 when there was Remington Davenport and his handy-dandy scooter to come to the rescue?

  “My general contacts have been uploaded, but you’ll only need to use them if I tell you to get in touch with someone. Eric handles most of my appointments, and he’ll be the one to update my schedule on the main calendar drive.”