Docked

by Wade, Rachael

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on, Lan.”

  “Nope. That arrogant SOB is right. You should write it, and I’m going to see to it that you do. This is your chance to really impress Ted with a feature, so make it good.”

  “Lana, I don’t want it!”

  “Yes you do, you just don’t realize it yet.”

  My eyes squeeze shut at her words and I groan. “That’s what Tanner said.”

  “In that case, I changed my mind. I still have words for that man, but they’re good words now. Ya know, I should buy him something. Like a thank-you gift. A freaking gold statue. A harem of women. An unlimited supply of that hair-loss drug. Ya know, for when he starts to lose his youthful swagger and all. Damn. What the hell do you buy a man who has everything?”

  “A thank-you gift?” I mock, laughing and covering my face. Why would I expect anything different from Lana? She’s certifiably insane. This is just like her to jump on board with this plan.

  “The man’s brilliant; I need to thank him somehow.”

  “Oh, God. Don’t tell him that. Trust me, his ego is already big enough.”

  “Well, he is. He must see what I see.”

  “And what is that exactly?”

  “A woman who needs a chance to shine. This is your time, Anya Banks. You came aboard this ship and faced the ocean. Faced your demons head on. Now you can face anything. It’s time to get you out of that cubicle back home, and this is the first step. Just think, if Ted likes your piece, then you could be traveling a lot more often. More than me, even. It’s your dream, An. I know it is, so don’t even try to pretend like you don’t want this opportunity.”

  My hair twirls between my fingers as I consider her words, my gaze settling across the bedroom, out the window. Palms frame the view, and a beautiful stretch of teal blue sits just in the backdrop, calm and peaceful, inviting and welcoming. Today I think I’ll finally get that swim I’ve been waiting for.

  “Anya?” Lana’s voice punctures my train of thought.

  “Hhhmm?”

  “Just admit that it’s a brilliant idea.”

  I sigh and rest my head on my knees. “Fine. If it’s really what you want.”

  “Yes! It’s abso-freaking-lutely what I want, An. I’m gonna try to call Ted now. Hopefully I can get some service. Will keep you posted. Have fun, love!”

  There’s a click and she’s gone, leaving me in a daze. I really don’t want to take the feature from her, but not because I don’t want to write the review. Deep, deep down, in the recess of my stomach, I know without a doubt that she and Tanner are right. I want this. I know it could potentially open new doors for me, not just with Four Corners Elite, but as a travel writer in general.

  I don’t want to write the review because I’ve earned it unjustly.

  The bedroom’s silence stirs around me as I stew in my thoughts. A few moments pass and the front door squeaks, shoes tapping on the white tile.

  “Hey,” I call out to Tanner, stretching my arms high above my head. “Come back to bed.” The sheet slides down my torso, pooling around my waist, and I smile mischievously to myself, eager to greet him in my topless state. Nothing like another round with Tanner Christensen to relax me and make me forget that I’ve just caused my best friend to miss out on a project I know she wanted for herself.

  He doesn’t respond. There’s a beat of silence and then shoes resume their tapping on the tile, the clacking growing louder as they approach the bedroom.

  “I think things might be a little too crowded, don’t you?” A woman steps through the bedroom door, one brow arching as she sneers at my naked body.

  “Oh!” I jump and scramble for the sheet, bringing it up to my chin. This woman is middle aged, with flawlessly coifed blonde hair that hits just above her shoulders. A hint of gray highlights the silky blonde, and barely-there wrinkles spread from the corners of her eyes. She’s all made up, face powdered and eyes lined, standing there in a peach-colored suit that’s tailored to perfection. A white snakeskin bag hangs from one arm, with gold accents complementing her gold earrings and bracelet. “I’m…I’m so sorry,” I stutter. “I thought you were someone else.”

  “Clearly.” Her brow inches higher, expression unamused. “My son, perhaps?”

  “Your…” I gulp and my face grows hot. My voice splinters and I think I might choke. “Your son?”

  With a tilt of her chin, her nostrils flare. “Yes. I’m Margaret. Tanner’s mother.” Her gaze slices from left to right. “Now, would you mind telling me where he is? Once you’ve put on some clothes, that is.” She burns me with a loathsome glare and turns to walk out, slamming the bedroom door behind her.

  EIGHT

  Curses pound my brain and I break into a sweat. I can’t get my legs into my jean shorts fast enough. I tumble into the bathroom and cringe when I get a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My skin is bright red, mascara blotchy beneath my eyes, my lipstick smeared over my chin. My bed-head hair is positively ghastly. I look like a five-dollar hooker on the strip.

  I hurry and rinse my face off, then run my fingers through my hair, struggling to look at least somewhat presentable. How in God’s name am I supposed to march out there and face this woman? Not just any woman; Tanner Christensen’s mother, for fuck’s sake! Not only have I crossed the line professionally by sleeping with the owner of the ship I’m reviewing, but now I truly see myself for what I am: just another one of Tanner’s playthings. God only knows how many women his mother has found in his bed, just like me, clueless and tacky. Oh, God.

  So, so tacky.

  My lungs inhale a deep breath as I position myself at the bathroom door. I compose myself and step out.

  When I walk through the bedroom door, I find her studying the shelves above the entertainment center, running her finger along the white wood, collecting dust. She scoffs under her breath. “Filthy.”

  I lightly clear my throat and she spins around, assessing me from head to toe. I adjust my t-shirt hem and tuck my hair behind my ear. I lift my chin and force myself to greet her head on. “I’m sorry for that introduction, Mrs. Christensen.” I step forward, my bare feet noiseless on the tile. “I’m Anya Banks. A friend of Tanner’s.”

  “A friend?” Her gaze lowers to my outstretched hand. She doesn’t accept the shake, just stares at it as if it’s disease ridden.

  I recoil my hand and smooth it over my jean shorts. I change the subject. “Do you live here, on the island?”

  “Oh, heavens, no.” She swats at the air, shooing away my attempt at conversation. “Now, would you please tell me where my son is?”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m not sure.” I pick at my belt loop. “I just woke up, so…”

  She groans in protest and turns back to the shelves, waving me off like hired help. “Very well. I’ll wait. Go about your business.”

  My mouth hangs open as I stare at the woman’s peach-colored back. My dignity is fried on the spot, and every bone in my body tells me to retreat back into the bedroom and crawl under the covers.

  But I don’t.

  I buck up, square my shoulders, and count to ten. Then I walk around her and station myself in front of her, blocking her view of the shelves. “Perhaps you’d like something to drink? Some coffee or tea?”

  Her eyes widen.

  “I can make you some breakfast, if you’d like. There’s plenty of food in the refrigerator.”

  “How would you know how my son stocks his refrigerator? Surely you haven’t been around him long enough to be acquainted with his domestic habits.”

  Once again, the woman has rendered me speechless, but I quickly recover and stand my ground. “You’re right. I haven’t. I know because we stopped by the grocery shop on the way here last night to pick up some things.”

  “I don’t know how women like you do it,” she eyes me up and down, her voice thick with condescension. “Don’t you have even a shred of self-respect?”

  “Excuse me?” I cock my head and narrow my eyes. I might be
just another girl in Tanner’s bed, but this woman is making some very lofty assumptions about my character. “You don’t know me, Mrs. Christensen.”

  “Oh, I know you.” She points in my face. “I know all women like you. You hop from bed to bed, from man to man, with no regard for anyone but yourself. You think men like Tanner are gold mines—and they are. You use your youth and perky breasts to wiggle your way into their world, only the joke’s always on women like you, my dear. In the blink of an eye, you’re discarded like the trash you are.”

  The air is knocked from my lungs and the front door swings open, creaking on its hinges. Tanner walks in, shirtless and dripping in sweat in a pair of white running shorts. He slowly peels the earbuds from his ears as his stunned gaze settles on me and his bitch of a mother.

  His face pales.

  “Mom?” he pants, taking a hesitant step forward. “What are you doing here?”

  She stalks up to him and plants a hand on her hip. “I think the more appropriate question is what are you doing here?” She gestures to me flippantly, her stony expression colder now that her son’s entered the house.

  “That’s uncalled for.”

  “Uncalled for?” She snickers and glances at me. “What’s uncalled for is me walking in to find this,” she juts her chin at me, “naked in your bed. I thought we discussed this, Tanner William Christensen. I thought you understood your obligations. Clearly, your father’s legacy is nothing but a joke to you. You’re making a mockery of it by continuing to gallivant around this way. He must be rolling over in his grave!”

  “That’s enough.” Tanner briskly steps forward, and in the blink of an eye, his stunned expression turns to one of rage. His eyes are wide, the muscles in his neck and shoulders bulging as he steps in front of his mother. He peers down at her, still reverent, but coiled tightly with protest. His voice is sharp. Measured. “Don’t you dare tell me about my father’s legacy. I’m very aware of my obligations. And this is a woman. A person, mother. Not a thing. Not a piece of garbage for you to humiliate.” He looks to me, jaw stern, eyes hard and cold. “Anya, I apologize for my mother’s behavior. You’ll have to forgive her. She’s still very hurt over my father’s death and seems to think it’s her right to intrude on my life and involve herself in my business.”

  “Business,” Margaret huffs. “Is that what you call it nowadays?”

  “I’ll just let you two handle this.” I raise my hands and scurry for the bedroom. Harsh whispering follows and then their voices rise until a shouting match commences. I can’t help myself. I lean against the door and listen. Not that I can’t already hear them loud and clear. If there were actually neighbors surrounding this secluded beach cottage, they’d be treated to the show, too.

  “You still haven’t answered my question, mother,” Tanner insists. “What are you doing here?”

  “I flew in to see my son!”

  “Flew in on what?” Her broomstick, that’s what.

  “What do you mean, on what? Your father’s jet, of course.”

  “I thought we agreed that would be auctioned off.”

  “And let Javier go? He’s the finest pilot we’ve ever had. I’d never let that happen. Speaking of hired help, when was the last time the maid cleaned this place? Those shelves are atrocious. Dust everywhere!”

  “Javier wouldn’t be tossed out on the streets, mother. We offered him five years compensation upon leave. That was the agreement.”

  “Well I don’t know if I like that agreement,” she retorts petulantly.

  “Dad would’ve wanted this,” he presses. “He talked about downsizing, remember?”

  “Remember? How could I forget a thing like that?”

  “All he cared about was the ship. He made me swear up and down that the ship would be cared for. Everything else was to be donated. He was very clear.”

  “Well excuse me if I happen to believe keeping a good, honest pilot employed is more charitable than cutting him off from a job he’s depended on for over ten years with nothing more than a few lousy grand to cover his expenses.”

  “Mother, since when do you care about goodness and honesty?”

  The house falls silent and I step back from the door.

  Margaret’s voice drops to an eerily low octave, but I can still hear her. “Since your father made me promise that we’d do whatever necessary to ensure that the Trident Voyager remain number one on the seas, number one in the industry. Since it was his dying wish that his son manage it and see it grow to its utmost potential. Since he entrusted it in your care! Me keeping that word is good and honest, Tanner, and if that’s not what you want to hear, then tough luck, because you’ll have no sympathy from me. If you spent half of the time on shore tending to your responsibilities at home as you do running around this ship like an entitled, careless playboy, we wouldn’t be on the verge of losing out on the merger your father so desperately wanted.”

  “We’re not losing the merger, mother. I run the ship, and I run it well. You’re wasting your time, coming out here like this. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a guest waiting for me.”

  “Do you honestly believe this won’t all blow up in your face? Because I assure you, son, it will. And nothing will break your heart more, when you realize you’ve let your father down.” Another wave of silence passes, and then the front door opens and closes. I run over to the bed and wait.

  Tanner opens the bedroom door. His gaze lands on me and he stills. He’s so excruciatingly handsome in nothing but running shorts and sneakers. His physical beauty distracts me for a moment, but I’m quickly drawn to the hurt in his eyes. I move to stand, but he motions for me to stop.

  “What did she say to you?” he asks quietly.

  I watch him cautiously and slowly shrug my shoulders. “All sorts of things. Don’t worry about any of them.”

  Uncertainty colors his expression, lips bunching as his brows pull down. “Don’t worry about any of them?”

  I nod softly. “She was just upset. She found me…well, not in the best position.”

  The tension in his chest and shoulders seems to dissipate a bit, and he looks around the room, emptying his lungs in a long exhale. “She had no right to act that way. I truly am sorry.”

  “No need to apologize.” It’s his mother who should be apologizing. Not only to me, but to Tanner. Who speaks to her son that way? I don’t know much about Tanner’s father other than what he’s shared with me, but that little display certainly told me all I need to know about his mother. Namely that she’s incredibly insensitive to the fact that Tanner respects his father’s legacy; he respects it much more than she’s willing to acknowledge.

  “I hope you slept well. If you’ll excuse me, I need a shower.” He strides across the room and heads straight for the bathroom. He disappears behind the door and I remain there on the edge of the bed, feeling all sorts of uncomfortable. I didn’t expect to be thrown into the midst of a personal family squabble this morning, and certainly not Tanner Christensen’s. The lines are blurring, growing messier already, and I’ve barely touched the surface for my review feature. My curiosity is nowhere near quenched now. Not after hearing all of that. The thirst has grown tenfold, and a pang of guilt taps at me, reminding me to reel it all in. I cannot mix business with this—my personal time with Tanner. It isn’t fair, not to mention it sucks all the fun out of our arrangement.

  Determined to shut that door, I decide to get up and search through my bag for my swimsuit and head out onto the beach for that much-needed swim. I slip into my spare white bikini—Tanner’s destroyed my favorite teal one—and dig through my bag for sunscreen. The sunscreen is nowhere to be found, but I do find my sunglasses. I slide them on top of my head and wander over to the bedside table in search of some extra sunscreen. Tanner must have some lying around here somewhere.

  I crouch down and search the little shelf beneath the lamp, then open the drawer. The inside isn’t nearly as neat as the table top. I dig through piles of papers, energy ba
rs, boxes of condoms. My fingers make contact with something hard—glass, I think. I latch onto it and push a stack of papers to the side. A picture frame is revealed, the edges decorated with seashells, as if the frame were a poorly constructed kid’s craft project. The glass is dusty, but I can make out the photo. It’s of a young, blond boy with striking blue eyes and an older version of him, holding the boy up on his shoulders. They both have the same sun-kissed skin, the same good looks, and judging from the sparkle in their eyes as they smile, the same charm.

  My curiosity gets the best of me and I start searching for more photos, moving stacks of receipts aside to rifle to the bottom of the drawer. Two more picture frames catch my attention, one holding a photo of a woman I recognize as Tanner’s mother. She’s also much younger in this picture, but the same aura of pure wealth and arrogance radiates from her expression, leaking right from the photograph onto my fingers. The other picture is of Tanner and a woman I don’t know. Definitely not the brunette plaything from the hallway. It’s a newer photo, showcasing the couple at the top of the ship’s main spiral stairwell. I recognize the space immediately. It’s one of the first things you see when you board, designed to catch your attention.

  Tanner’s arm is protectively draped around her waist, his body turned to the side slightly, as if he’s stepping in front to guard her. She’s something fresh out of a glamour magazine, with warm, bronze skin, and jet black hair. Her teeth are perfect—starkly white against her honey brown skin. A dark plum gown graces her tall, elegant body, complementing Tanner’s sleek, polished black tux beautifully. Tanner’s smiling, too, the creases around his eyes bringing about that same sparkle that’s present in the photo of him as a child, with his father. I’m mesmerized for a moment at the transformation, both photos lying side by side in the drawer, the one of Margaret buried beneath them. I can’t imagine the pressure that comes with owning such a huge vessel, such a huge business. It’s a responsibility I surely wouldn’t ever want.

  I close the bedside table drawer and wander over to the other side of the bed to search the other one. Still no luck finding sunscreen, but I do find more photos. These aren’t in frames, just a variety of prints stored loosely in a white envelope. Some shots of Tanner fishing with his dad as a kid, some of him with a track team. Cross country, I think. The water stops running in the bathroom and I close the drawer, resolved to give up on my sunscreen search.