Calamity Rayne: Gets A Life

by Lydia Michaels

  I finally started to relax and let the experience sink in. “I’m driving a boat,” I muttered and laughed. “I’m driving a boat. Me!”

  He chuckled and glanced at me from the corner of his eye. The shadow of his short stubble matched the golden brown lashes around his eyes. My lips parted and I felt myself easing closer to him by fractions of a centimeter.

  “You look good behind the wheel.” His breath fanned over my cheek and I drew in a deep breath.

  There was no mistaking that look—I think—maybe there was. Come to think of it, no one had ever looked at me quite like Hale was looking at me now.

  I blinked several times, waiting for the haze to fade. But his eyes had super powers. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  This time, he didn’t throw up his guard. “I don’t know. I like watching you.”

  I couldn’t hold his eye contact anymore. Licking my dry lips, I looked down then glanced back to the water.

  That was the first hint of confirmation that this tension wasn’t one sided. It should have been enough to jolt me back to my senses, but it only made matters worse. I was suddenly entertaining a pretty intense fantasy of a shirtless Hale sitting in the captain’s chair while I straddled him and dragged my tongue up his neck.

  “We should let Wyatt get back to work.”

  Who the fuck was Wyatt and what did he have to do with my fantasy?

  Hale stood to his full height and held out a hand. Oh, there was Wyatt. I hadn’t heard him return. Seeing he had everything under control, I released the wheel and stood on shaky legs. I didn’t dare take Hale’s hand. I needed to get back to that bar for a shot or something.

  Following him to the upper deck, Hale made some mention about the captain’s cabin, but we didn’t go inside. We took the stairs to the main deck and were once again on the floor with the dining room.

  The moment we were out of the cramped hallway Hale seemed back to his usual self. His posture was reserved and the much-needed distance between us dispelled a good deal of my nerves.

  “Did you still want to see the lower deck?”

  “Is that where the crew sleeps?”

  “Yes.”

  I nodded, and he led us down a stairwell paneled in sleek, polished wood, but that was where the luxury ended. The lower deck had its own kitchen and common area. The walls were made up of basic particleboard cabinets, so unlike the expensive carpentry on the upper decks of the boat.

  The moment Hale entered the crew’s domain, it was clear he didn’t belong. A woman and man playing cards at the bench table paused and looked curiously at each other.

  “How you doing?” Hale greeted them, and the other two nodded. “This is the crew mess,” he said, and then pointed to a large monitor on the wall that showed similar images to the ones in the cockpit. “The crew has constant communication with the captain.”

  He turned and I offered an apologetic grin to the couple at the table. We were clearly barging in and interrupting their downtime. Hale didn’t seem to notice.

  “Back here are the sleeping quarters.”

  Each room had small bunks, with a personal reading light and a closed off port window. The beds were long, but stacked right on top of each other, which made me want to take a deep breath while I still could. I had yet to see a bathroom, but I assumed there was a communal one somewhere.

  The cabin pressure made me very aware of swallowing and my hearing turned a bit muffled.

  “How many stay down here?” I whispered.

  “Quite a few. You have the engineers, the stewards, and chefs, the deckhands, the cook hands, the mates, the captain Tangiers or skipper, housekeeping, and of course one of the beds belongs to Eric.”

  “Eric sleeps down here?” My eyes went wide. No wonder he hated me.

  I figured he had the same accommodations I did, but he was stuffed below deck breathing other people’s carbon dioxide and sleeping on what was really a glorified shelf.

  “I assumed you knew that.”

  Mortified, I glanced back at the couple patiently waiting for us to leave, and grabbed Hale’s arm, pulling him back up the steps. Once we were in the hall and alone, I hissed, “No, I didn’t know that. Why doesn’t he have one of the rooms like ours?”

  “There are only four staterooms, Rayne. Seraphina and Barrett might join us at some point. We couldn’t put them with the crew.”

  No, the other Davenport children definitely wouldn’t tolerate sleeping with the crew, but I was sure Eric would relocate if they showed up.

  “But Eric’s worked for your dad for eleven years.”

  “And he’s quite accustomed to the sleeping arrangements. Why are you getting hyper?”

  “I’m not hyper. If you think he’s not pissed off he’s sleeping down there after a decade of working for your family, especially when I breeze in yesterday and I’m sleeping upstairs, then you’re not as smart as I thought you were. It’s not fair, Hale.”

  He frowned. “Did you want to sleep down there?”

  “No, but I should.”

  He took my hand and walked us briskly through the halls, towing me along as we turned and made our way to the intersection of stateroom doors. Ushering me inside my bedroom, he released my wrist and waved a hand at my bed, which someone had made.

  “Go ahead, pack your stuff.”

  I pursed my lips. Well, I mean, I was already there, and my toothbrush was in the cup by the sink.

  Shaking his head, he asked, “Do you really want to sleep in a cubby because it’s fair? Come on, Rayne. Eric’s a guy. He’s slept there plenty of times. Don’t make a big deal of it.”

  But it was a big deal. If I continued to stay in this luxurious room while he slept below deck with the crew, he’d never accept me and I had six months of dealing with him ahead.

  Maybe I should suggest Eric relocate to the main deck unless Remington’s other kids showed up, just for now. That might make Eric less cold toward me. I hated any sense of animosity between me and other people and I didn’t want any issues with the other employees.

  “If you think he wouldn’t screw you over for a chance to sleep up here, you’re out of your mind,” Hale said and a bit of my charitable inclinations faded.

  “I can’t see him doing that.”

  “I guarantee he would, without a shred of concern for your comfort.” Hale stepped closer and looked directly into my eyes. “As a matter of fact, if I went upstairs right now and said you were moving down with the crew to “be fair” and your room was open, I know he’d take it.”

  I scoffed. “Well, screw that.”

  “Exactly.”

  His voice softened. “I put you on this floor on purpose. No one’s going to question whether or not you have the right to be here.”

  My brow lowered. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, it didn’t seem appropriate to put you with the crew. You’re new and this is your first time on a ship this size. You’ve already been sick once. This is the better room. Trust me.”

  “Oh.” I’d sort of hoped it had something to do with his intentions to ravish me in my sleep, but with all the nocturnal seasickness, there really wasn’t time for such nonsense. Maybe I was being ridiculous and should just let it go. “Well, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He glanced at his watch. “We should probably get back. We’ve been gone for almost an hour.”

  I didn’t dare take my gaze off him because directly to my right was a big bed begging to get messed up. Never before in my life did I suffer this impetuous urge to do something reckless, like slam the door and peg him to the wall so I could climb up his body and shove my fingers through his hair. This was bad—really bad.

  Not only was I undeniably attracted to my boss’s son. I didn’t have a clue about his personal life. For all I knew, he could be engaged, or gay, but I really didn’t think he was gay. At least I hoped. But above all, I needed to stop, because this was my job and I was starting to like it here, and I wasn’t ready to
go back to Oregon just yet. I needed to make back the money I lost in the stock market, and I really wanted to eat a beignet. So much ground to cover.

  For a girl who never had much interest in sexual encounters, I mourned the loss of my short-lived sexual awakening. Farewell, possibility of boat cockpit sex. So long likelihood of learning to Lewinsky. Au revoir, to butt bites and neck licks.

  I sighed and took a step back, once again putting some distance between us. I’d never successfully establish boundaries if I didn’t stop getting breathless every time he spoke to me. It was time to put on my professional pants.

  “Okay. I’ll be up in a minute. I just need to do a few things.”

  He nodded. “I’ll see you up there.”

  Shutting the door behind him, I unplugged my personal phone from the charger on the wall and typed Hale Davenport into the search engine. Oh boy, there were so many pictures, but he really wasn’t as photogenic as one would think. This was probably why everyone always thought Barrett was the cute one.

  I searched for a few minutes, trying to find any mention of his personal life that might work as repellent, but there was nothing. Maybe I could get some repulsive details about Hale’s private life from Remington. Or was that like asking how much a yacht cost?

  I’d fish around and see what happened. The worst he could do was call me by my last name and not answer. Or he could fire me.

  Chapter Seven

  Doodles and Daydreams

  “I want you to plan an event for the twelfth of July, Meyers.”

  My brows perked up as I’d been sitting in on Remington’s phone calls for the past three hours. Reaching for my trusty notepad, I opened it to the first page. It was a brand new tablet and free of dick doodles. This was my professional, I’m a fancy PA notebook.

  “What sort of event?”

  “An intimate get-together. It’s my daughter’s twenty-third birthday, and she’ll want something nice.”

  I wrote Seraphina’s name at the top of the page and asked, “Do you have a theme in mind?”

  “That’s what you’re here for. You’re young. I’m sure you can come up with something.”

  I knew how to make Jungle Juice and buy plastic cups in bulk, but I had absolutely no knowledge about throwing soirées for girls like Seraphina who already sat on their own little empire from a chic clothing line.

  “What kind of stuff does she like? And is it a surprise?”

  “Not a surprise, but this is something I’m doing for her, so I don’t want her involved in the planning. Hale will probably be able to give you some ideas. You have Barrett in your contacts as well.”

  That was true. I also had other celebrity contacts, but I’d resisted the urge to call them so far. But the temptation was there.

  “Will it be on the yacht?”

  Remington rubbed his chin in consideration. “I hadn’t thought of the Lady Parr as a possibility, but that might be nice. We can cruise down the Gulf and have everyone back sometime after midnight.” He nodded. “Go with that, Meyers. I’ll okay whatever you need to make it nice: music, catering, the whole deal. Figure on about fifty guests.”

  My eyes went wide. “Can The Lady Parr fit that many?”

  “For a trip over the course of a few hours, sure. Ask Phina to email you a guest list. Her number’s in your phone too.” He looked at his watch. “Why don’t you find a place to work with the iPad and start thinking up some ideas? Eric, I’m ready to go back to my room for a bit.”

  Gathering my notebook and iPad, I made my way down to the main deck and regretted not buying a bathing suit, but swim attire would have annihilated my budget, and it wasn’t like I could wear it during regular work things. Taking a moment to mourn my adorable tankini lost somewhere in cargo-space, I made do by rolling my sleeves to my shoulders, so I didn’t get too horrible of a farmer’s tan.

  No one had called from the airport about my luggage. Maybe I’d at least get a check for my lost items, but it wasn’t like the Pony Express would be swimming out to sea so that money would be no help. Once I got paid I’d buy a swimsuit.

  Settling on the foam-cushioned bench that wrapped around the pool, I kicked off my flip-flops and keyed on the iPad. The first thing I had to do was figure out what a girl like Seraphina Davenport would like, so I Googled her.

  Hale’s sister was really pretty. She had plump lips, a youthful glow, and her jewelry accented every outfit perfectly. I wondered what she was like in person, but was in no rush to meet her, at least not until I was more settled in my position as her father’s assistant.

  I wasn’t sure what sort of theme I should go with, but I kept imagining rap videos and eccentric rich people doing lines of cocaine in the bathroom. I don’t know. I was going off a mental montage of Crocodile Dundee, Pretty Woman, and Britney Spears videos. Apparently my experience with anything outside the realm of picnics and keggers was limited. I needed to get in touch with current pop culture.

  As I perused images on the Internet, I mentally considered what my role would be at the party. I’d likely be sweating my ass off, limping around in fancy shoes, running cocktails back and forth to Remington while Hale hit on some runway model that worked with his sister. Splendid.

  Okay, so clearly I had a crush on the guy, which was weird because I hadn’t had a crush on anyone since Jonathan Snipes let me use his glitter paint in second grade, and that was really more about the glitter than the guy.

  My reference points for infatuation were all jacked up and out of date. I had no clue how adults handled these sorts of situations, situations I typically avoided. My mind was certain any sort of crush on the boss’s son was bad news, but my body was in firm disagreement. Part of me wished he did have a girlfriend so all these distractions would go away.

  “Gah!” I mumbled, reaching for my phone.

  I opened up a text to Elle, but wasn’t sure what to write. How do I get out of a crush? Is a guy coming onto you if he rubs your knuckle and likes looking at you?

  I was an inexperienced idiot. I tossed the phone aside and put all Hale thoughts away. Picking up my notebook, I got down to business.

  Okay, rule number one about rich-folk parties…stay in the shadows. Making a list was probably my best bet, so I started with that. The list grew pretty fast as I thought of things to ask the chef and realized the crew would likely be my greatest alliance in making sure things went smoothly. It was rather bizarre having an entire staff at my disposal, but if I pretended I was a young, hip Martha Stewart, there was a chance I could knock this party out of the park.

  In my head, I also made a mental list, a partying with rich people survival guide. It included things like don’t get drunk, don’t take the brown acid, remember escargot means snails, and dick jokes are not okay in this crowd.

  “You look busy.”

  My pen stilled and all of my focus abandoned me as I looked up at Hale in a pair of swim shorts and no shirt. Oh, this was not a step in my get over Hale plan. As a matter of fact, this seemed more like stage two of my get under Hale plot that was sabotaging my be the indispensable, always capable, totally sophisticated PA plan.

  What to do? What to do?

  I shut the book and smiled. “I’m planning a birthday party for your sister. Any suggestions?” How about you come over here and whisper them into my cleavage?

  He must not be a mind reader, because rather than join me on the lounge, he slithered into the pool and holy mother of biceps did his arms and shoulders look good wet. Dunking his head under the water, he broke the surface and did the male porn version of Ariel perching on the rock spraying wet hair everywhere. I could almost feel the tiny drips of water hitting me.

  “Rayne?”

  Shaking my head, I blinked. Or I just totally imagined all of that, because he was staring at me, wearing the same clothes he wore that morning, and his hair was bone dry.

  Great. Now I was hallucinating. Note to self, WebMD hallucinations at the first opportunity.

  “I’m s
orry, what?”

  “I said if the iPad gets low there’s an outlet behind that cushion.”

  Reaching, I lifted the cushion. Oh, look at that. It was an outlet specifically made for an iPad adapter. Rich people were funny. “Thanks.”

  “What are you working on?”

  Deja vu. Let’s try speaking for real this time. “Your dad asked me to come up with ideas for Seraphina’s birthday.”

  “What do you have so far?” He sat on the bench and scooted close enough to read my notes. Once I stared long enough to assure myself he was really there, I put my worry about vivid daydreams aside.

  Flipping open the cover of the notebook—penis! I quickly scribbled over the doodle I must have drawn while I was brainstorming.

  “Um…” My pen rapidly scratched out the drawing and I fell into acceptable dialogue to distract him. “I was going to ask the chef if he wanted to go with something inspired by the French Quarter.”

  Once the penis doodle was obscured I met his gaze and…yeah, he saw it.

  Sighing, I confessed, “I doodle dicks. I don’t know why, but they’re the only thing I know how to draw aside from Snoopy.”

  “You doodle dicks,” he repeated slowly.

  My face was on fire. There would come a moment in time that these people would realize they should have hired one of the other candidates for the job, but the more I tried to divert them from that realization, the more I was reminded how much of a calamity I truly was.

  So I came to terms with reality and told it like it was. “Yes. Big ones, little ones, some with faces. Once I drew one wearing a cape and an emblem with the letters SS. We called him Super Scrotum and hung him on the wall of our dorm. It’s a problem, but I’ve been doing it since high school and sometimes I do it without even realizing it. Hence, the penis you just saw.”

  “That’s quite a talent.”

  “Not really.” I hadn’t seen a living-breathing dick in so long, for all I knew the model changed and I was just drawing a bunch of snakes wearing helmets. “It’s stupid. Anyway, your sister’s party—”