Calamity Rayne: Gets A Life

by Lydia Michaels

  I glanced at Eric who stood with his arms folded at his back. “You’re not just the chauffeur?”

  “No,” he answered with a touch of insult. How was I supposed to know?

  “Eric’s been my PA for eleven years. He can answer your questions if I’m not available. Be sure to use his expertise in your favor, Meyers. He’s still here because I like him. I don’t like many people.”

  “Yes, sir.” I couldn’t figure out if I was on the like or don’t like list yet, but something made him hire me. “Do you usually have two assistants?”

  “I have several assistants, but Eric’s my only personal one. However, I usually have two feet. You’re here to compensate.”

  Great. I was a foot.

  “Give it a test drive.” Remington passed me the phone, which was larger than my other one and awkward to hold.

  “What should I do?”

  “Call someone. Call Hale.”

  “How about I call my—”

  “Just call him so we can move on.”

  Fumbling through the apps I located the call program. Lo and behold, there was a short menu with three important numbers: Remington, Eric, and Hale. Swallowing thickly, my thumb tapped his name, and I brought the oversized phone to my ear.

  “It’s ringing,” I whispered.

  “Davenport.”

  Once again, I cleared my throat with the grace of a hyena. “It’s Rayne.”

  There was a pause. “You have a different number.”

  “Your dad gave me a new phone.”

  “I see.” Another long pause. “What do you need, Rayne?”

  My eyes briefly closed as an image of him wrapped only in a damp towel flashed in my mind. There was something about his tone that sucker punched me in my equilibrium. He never spoke tersely, yet there was a touch of impatience beneath that thick, masculine voice that somehow traveled through my ears, around my belly, and down my legs.

  “Does it work?” Remington asked, demanding my attention.

  My eyes opened and turned to my boss. “Yes.”

  “Yes?” Hale asked through the phone, not realizing I was speaking to his father.

  “Sir,” I whispered reflexively, then shook my head. Wait, what? Yes, the phone worked, but no, I wasn’t talking to Hale. I did just call him sir, though, which might have mixed up the whole caste system of the ship. I was a total disaster around these people.

  Hale’s voice lowered, making it all the more challenging for me to pretend I was normal. “Did you need something from me?”

  My skin tingled as if his soft-spoken words were little caresses petting me in all the right places.

  “Rayne?”

  The slight rasp of my name eased my tension. I wanted to hum and shut my eyes again, wearing only a punch-drunk smile as he whispered in my ear. My breathing noticeably accelerated and I realized everyone was staring at me. This was bad.

  “I have to go.” I ended the call. There was seriously something wrong with me.

  I was an utter catastrophe and if I didn’t pull my head out of my ass and focus, I’d end up fired before the job even started. No more Hale thoughts!

  Sliding the large tablet sized phone onto the table, I stared at it, sensing Remington still watching me. Him I could handle. Hale, on the other hand, was a freaking wild card that turned me into a puddle of awkward girl stereotypes I swore I’d never be.

  Clearing my throat, I mumbled, “It works.”

  Satisfied, Remington went into a swift orientation of his schedule. I tried to focus as much as I could, but my brain was stuck on Hale. This was ridiculous. I never—never—got stupid around men.

  First, I wasn’t even sure I liked the guy. I sort of didn’t until he went all Wonder Pets and saved the day for the little old ladies in distress. Sure, he held open my car door, which was incredibly old school debonair, like letting me touch the handle would be a crime against the last endangered gentleman of the world.

  And yeah, he smelled like the mythical fruit that brought down the Garden of Eden. That stupid Hale scent tempted me to do all sorts of things that never crossed my mind. And third, I just missed everything my boss said. Fuck.

  “So you never want to hit that command.”

  What command? I looked at the screen, but he was already minimizing the calendar and opening a new page. For all of Remington’s instinct and success, he absolutely picked the wrong candidate for this job. Cadence certainly wouldn’t be this clueless. I stared at the computer wishing he’d repeat his last warning, so I didn’t accidentally blow up the ship.

  “Are you clear, Meyers?”

  “As a bell, sir.” Elle had said to fake it until I made it, so that was exactly what I planned to do.

  “Good. Eric, tell them we’re ready to eat.”

  Eric disappeared after collecting the packaging from the phone, and Remington frowned at me.

  “You sure you’re up for this?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m just tired from traveling.” That had to be what was wrong with me.

  He nodded but continued to study me. “You’ll get the hang of everything soon enough.”

  The fine hairs at the back of my neck prickled and I sensed his presence without looking toward the doorway. My nose registered that indescribably smell, stronger now since his shower. How was I ever going to survive this man in such close quarters?

  “Hale,” his father greeted.

  The air of the cabin charged with something heady and drew my gaze to Hale’s silver eyes. He looked back and my throat was instantly dry. My stomach tightened—Oh God, I was getting cramps.

  No smile. Not even half a grin, but I couldn’t look away as his intense stare unapologetically took me in.

  His hair was still slightly damp and his clothes were different. He must go through a bottle of starch a week with shirts that crisp. But he pulled it off with a just rumpled enough cuff at the elbow. He was the champagne of men, nothing like the guys I was used to seeing in Oregon.

  Sweat gathered under my clothes as I tried to decide if he was challenging me or undressing me with his eyes. Outmatched, I gave up and broke the stare as the cool perspiration, lack of oxygen, and nerves bouncing around in my stomach made me want to suddenly hurl.

  “Excuse me,” I blurted, rising from the table. I needed a reprieve, a moment to get my game face on and knock all this senseless girlie crap out of my system.

  In my haste to escape, I forgot my phone—the one that was supposed to be holstered to my person at all times. There was no way I was walking back in there until I had my shit together.

  As I booked down the hall to the steps that led to my room, I didn’t stop until I reached my sleeping quarters and clicked the lock on the door in place. I grabbed my personal phone and speed dialed Elle as I lowered myself to the bed.

  “Hello?”

  “I think I made a huge mistake,” I hissed.

  “Already? It hasn’t even been a day.”

  “Crazy, I know. But I don’t think I can do this, Elle. I’m pretty sure I’m in over my head.”

  The phone rustled and then her voice was a little clearer. “Catch me up. What happened?”

  “We’re on a yacht—not a houseboat. I’m talking something Oprah would own. There’s a freaking pool on the deck. A pool, Elle. Apparently, we’re going to Florida and—” My gaze shifted to the cabin windows. “Oh fuck. We’re moving. We’re fucking moving!”

  “Slow down. You’re sailing to Florida? That’s awesome, Ray.”

  “It’s more than I hoped for, but you know how I have a tendency to think I want something, invest a bunch of energy into preparations, and then I realize I was wrong?”

  “Yeah.”

  “This might be one of those situations.” I really hoped this wouldn’t end like my teaching career, but I was only a few hours in and already having second thoughts—very reminiscent of my first day in the classroom.

  “What’s the problem? You’re traveling. Focus on that part and just get throug
h the rest. How hard could it be to freshen Davenport’s mint julep and help him around a yacht? Give him a bell, put on a bathing suit, and go get a tan by the pool. I don’t see the issue. Is he that bad?”

  “No, it’s not Remington. It’s The Other One.”

  She laughed. “Who cares about him? You only need to keep Remington happy.” She scoffed and I could sense her rolling her eyes. “Every time I see his son on television he looks like a prick with a secret. I bet he knows where Hoffa’s buried.”

  “He’s not a prick, but…” How to explain it? “I can’t think around him. He watches me like I’m a kleptomaniac or something. And he tried to kill me in his Batmobile car then stopped to help sweet old ladies rescue ducklings.”

  “Watches you or checks you out? There’s a difference.”

  “I think I’d know if someone was checking me out.”

  Elle snorted. “You’d think, but we all know better. Remember Jimmy Rice? He hit on you for years and then you went and sent him on a blind date with me. I’ve never seen someone less interested. You don’t have good man radar.”

  “I don’t want Remington’s son checking me out!” I hissed. “He’s old.”

  “Googling. Hold on.” She tsked. “He is not old. He’s thirty-three.”

  That couldn’t be right. He came off way too mature. “Are you sure you’re looking up the right one? I’m talking about Hale.”

  “Yes, Hale Davenport. Born in Avalon, New Jersey. Son of Remington Davenport and Naomi—”

  “Okay, fine, none of that matters. How do I become functional again? Because I can’t perform my job if I stowaway and hide in my room on the yacht.”

  “Just ignore him. Avoid him.”

  “We. Are. On. A. Boat. The halls are two feet wide!” There was a knock at the door. “Shit. Hold on.” I lowered the phone and cracked open the door. Thankfully it was only Eric—another one that didn’t smile. “Hey.”

  “They want to know if they should wait. Dinner’s served.”

  My scalp was sweating. “You know, I’m not really feeling great. Tell them to go ahead and eat without me. I’ll just grab something later. I think I’m going to call it a night.”

  His eyes narrowed and he held out my phone. “Mr. Davenport said to give you this.”

  “Thanks.” I took the phone and he turned away. Shutting the door, I whispered, “No one likes me here and I don’t know what I did wrong.”

  “Maybe they’re just snobs. Who was that?”

  “That was Eric, the other PA.”

  “Man, I want a PA. So unfair rich people get multiple assistants. How cool would that be?”

  “Could you please focus? I’m freaking out.”

  Rummaging through my bags, I found the Oreos and tore open the package. Stuffing a whole cookie into my mouth, I garbled, “He gave me a phone the size of my Kindle and it’s full of appointments and numbers. It has more options than the Death Star. What if I accidentally delete his whole calendar?”

  “Well, don’t do that.”

  I groaned and devoured another cookie. “But you know me. I’m Calamity Rayne. I mess things up.”

  Elle switched to her serious voice. “Listen to me, Rayne. Taking this job was a good thing. It’s even better that it’s on a boat because that makes it impossible for you to jump ship when things get challenging. I know you’re stressing and getting claustrophobic in the face of commitment, but I have faith in you. And as far as The Other One’s concerned, just tell him it’s rude to stare and ignore him. Remington Davenport himself asked you to be there. If his son has a problem with your presence, he can take it up with Daddy Warbucks. Don’t let yourself be intimidated.”

  Blowing out a breath I nodded. “Okay. You’re right. I don’t know why I’m spazzing out.”

  “You’re spazzing out because this was all fun in theory, but now it’s real, and anything real makes you run.”

  I frowned. “That’s not one hundred percent accurate.”

  “Relationships. Careers. Mortgage. These things have you not, young Jedi.”

  “Fine.”

  “This is a commitment, Ray, but only a six-month one. You can do this.”

  Again, I looked out the windows. We were really moving now. I was stuck. “I feel like I’m going to be sick.”

  “Take some Pepto—”

  “No.” I turned away from the window and caught the wall with my hand. “Not that sort of sick. Oh, shit…” My stomach lurched, and I literally felt myself turning green. “I gotta go, Elle. Not good.”

  Tossing the phone on the bed, I bolted for the bathroom and crashed to my knees in front of the toilet just as my stomach locked and everything came rushing out.

  Mother. Fucker.

  Chapter Six

  Show Me the Money!

  While my phone barely made a chirp, the Remington phone never shut the hell up. At six a.m. I got a text from Eric telling me Remington was showering and requested I join him for breakfast on the sky deck to go over his itinerary for the day. This would be fine if I hadn’t been crawling back and forth all night from my bed to the toilet.

  Stupid Hale and his you’ll be fine speech could eat a dick. The next time we stopped, I was definitely picking up something for motion sickness. I’d finally passed out on the ceramic bathroom floor around four in the morning.

  Treating myself like a breakable porcelain doll, I carefully showered and dressed for the day. Though I tried to avoid looking out all windows, when I reached the deck the view was inescapable. We were traveling down the coast, but there was no land in sight. We were just cruising through the sea and I had no clue when I might step foot on solid ground again.

  The idea of breakfast made me ill, but the wind coming off the water helped settle my stomach. The mere thought of possibly heaving again made me queasy. Every muscle in my body was sore from tensing and I was pretty sure another night like my last would kill me.

  “Meyers,” Remington greeted, closing his laptop.

  He sat under a canopy looking well rested and refreshed. The small table was dressed in crisp white linens. Crystal goblets held bright orange juice, which appeared remarkably steady for how fast we were moving. His plate was already picked over, but there was a basket of muffins and a covered dish at the empty seat I assumed was mine.

  “Morning,” I muttered.

  “Rough night?”

  “I feel like a hacky sack after Woodstock.”

  Pushing my goblet closer, he said, “Have some juice. The vitamin C will do you well.”

  I took a small sip, afraid anything more might release the Kraken. “How’s your foot?”

  “In my way. You missed dinner last night. Eat and then we’ll get started.”

  Passing over the eggs, I grabbed a muffin and nibbled slowly. “Do you always get up this early?”

  “I’m most productive in the morning. I conquer the tedious tasks first, so they’re out of the way. I get more accomplished before ten a.m. than most people do by happy hour.”

  “Interesting.”

  Being that I worked in a bar, I usually rolled out of bed around eleven. This was probably why Remingtons ruled the world and Raynes tackled smaller goals, like squeezing a whole season of Game of Thrones into one Saturday.

  “Are you settling into your room?”

  The small talk was unexpected but pleasant. “I don’t have much to unpack, but the room’s really nice. How much does a boat like this cost?”

  He chuckled. “Asking a man how much he pays for his toys is a little like asking a woman her age, Meyers.”

  “I never got why that’s offensive.” Though, with my recent birthday I was starting to understand. “If a woman’s in her fifties and someone has to ask, that should mean she’s hiding it well. I’m thirty, by the way.”

  “And you look exactly that. What does that say about you?”

  Squinting against the sun, I frowned at him. “Gee, thanks. I don’t know. What does it say?”

  “It says
you aren’t trying to look any younger and you’re not getting enough exercise.”

  “I have a gym membership.” I made donations there every month, because, hey, I’m a giver. I wasn’t overweight, though I also wasn’t fit. I’d probably pass out if I had to ride a bike uphill.

  “If someone offered you a can of fruit versus the actual fruit, which would you choose?”

  “The actual fruit.”

  “Exactly. A gym membership’s a sucker’s investment. Call them today and cancel. The last thing you need is more time under fluorescent lights breathing in other people’s body odor. The world’s big, Meyers. Explore it. Experience the fresh air, travel until your bones know the true meaning of exhaustion, and make love until you collapse. That’s the sort of exercise people enjoy.”

  I chuckled. “Is this the stuff you teach at your seminars?”

  “I mention it, but those conferences focus more on investment tactics. I don’t think you’re interested in that.”

  “Your instincts are spot on.”

  He eased back, folding his arms over his chest, studying me as I finished my muffin and washed it down with more juice, which I was pretty sure was fresh squeezed because it was damn delicious.

  “Do you have a boyfriend, Meyers?”

  Placing the glass on the table, I smirked. “No, and that’s by choice.”

  “Why is that?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t see the hype.”

  “Is it the freedom of being single?”

  “Being that I’ve only left my home state a handful of times, I’d have to say no.”

  “Are you a lesbian?”

  “Jesus, Remington!” It was one thing to talk about this stuff with my best friend. It was a totally different thing to discuss sexual orientation with my boss.

  “It’s a fair question.”

  “No, I’m not gay.” Maybe I wasn’t anything. “I’m just not into relationships.”

  “Have you ever been in one?”

  “I don’t see how this has anything to do with my job.”

  “It doesn’t. But your boss is a nosy, eccentric man who has limited company over the next few months and you’re it.”

  “Once we get to our destination you’ll have plenty of company, I’m sure. You seem like a man who enjoys his … exercise.”