Avery

The wind cooled my warm cheeks as the tender headed toward the coast. I sat in the back while Eric steered, trying to calm my racing pulse. I turned to see Hayden Wolf leaning on the railings of the main deck, facing in this direction. Was he watching me? When he’d grasped my arm earlier, had he meant to? Was it concern, thanks or something else he was trying to convey with his touch? Perhaps it was because he was the only guest and I was the only person he spoke to onboard, but I’d begun to feel an affinity, something more than physical attraction, a pull toward him. I wanted to help.

I turned back to face the shore.

As Mr. Wolf had predicted, Eric didn’t question me further when I said I had to pick up some documents from the shore, even though I’d made up some elaborate story in my head. I guess we’d all seen far wilder requests from guests.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Eric asked as he steered us into the marina.

I took his hand as I stepped off the boat. “No, you stay with the tender. I won’t be long.”

“You don’t even have your phone with you—you know the way?”

My French was basic but good enough to ask for directions if I got lost. “I’ll be fine. If I’m not back in an hour, send out a search party.”

At the end of the jetty, a paparazzo with a camera hanging around his neck leaned against the railing. It was a little early in the season for celebrity sightings, but there was always the odd exception.

“Hey, beautiful,” he called over in a British accent.

I smiled and kept walking. Without the breeze from being at sea, the temperature had notched up. I wanted a long, cold drink. And maybe a pool.

“You work on the yachts?” he asked, following me.

I ignored him and headed up the street, the yachts on my right, surrounded by tourists trying to peer inside to a world inhabited by the rich and famous. A hodgepodge of different buildings screened the other side of the road in chalky pinks and yellows, housing restaurants and ice-cream bars sheltering from the heat under awnings.

The photographer followed. “Hey, you shy? Don’t speak English?”

During high season, it wasn’t unusual to be approached by paparazzi asking who was staying on which yacht. Sometimes they even offered a little money in exchange for information, but they were easy to ignore. “I’m just trying to enjoy a few hours off.”

“So you are yacht crew. I knew it.” He punched the air as if it was some huge victory. Maybe this guy was new. “Anyone interesting on board?”

“Nope,” I replied. I was pretty sure a picture of Hayden Wolf wasn’t going to earn this guy any money.

“Not Leonardo DiCaprio or JLo?”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” I said, seeing the road split off in two and the promise of a restaurant table with shade farther up.

“Give you a hundred bucks if you tell me who’s on your boat.”

I stopped and turned to him. Like a hundred bucks was incentive for anything. It wouldn’t even cover a single physical therapy session. These paps needed to understand that the tip was a much bigger incentive to keep quiet. “No one you would be interested in, but I did hear that man-child Leonardo is going to be in Nice later in the season.” I hadn’t heard anything about Leonardo DiCaprio that I hadn’t read on Page Six, but maybe if I gave this guy something he’d beat it.

“What if I gave you two hundred bucks?”

This photographer wasn’t getting it. I just shook my head and started to walk again.

This time he didn’t follow me, and I headed into the backstreets away from the chatter, laughter and popping champagne corks of the busy waterfront. Hayden had said I needed to be at the patisserie by two, so I still had some time to call my dad.

Glancing around, I spotted a public telephone kiosk up the street. I grinned at the thought that I could unload a little—be the girl from Sacramento who had her whole life in front of her instead of the woman who was looking after her family by yachting in Saint Tropez.

“Daddy, it’s me,” I said when he answered, excited to get to talk to him away from everything.

“Hey, kiddo, we were just talking about you.”

“I wish I were there,” I said. “I miss you guys.”

“Well, you not being around means Michael and I get complete control over the television, watch sports all day and eat what we like. Isn’t that right?”

I grinned as Michael yelled abuse in the background.

“You miss me, you know you do.”

“Of course we do. What are you up to? Been peeling grapes for your guests?”

I laughed. “Not today.” Hayden had still been in his office when I got on shift at seven this morning, which meant he’d worked all night. Grapes were the last thing on his mind.

“Guests aren’t being too handsy, are they?”

Early on in my career I’d made the mistake of giving my dad too many details about the things guests got up to. Now he worried.

“Not at all,” I said, trying to reassure my dad, though I thought back to Hayden touching my arm. It hadn’t been disrespectful. Just familiar. The fact it caused my body to heat and shudder was my problem—Hayden hadn’t been out of line. “I’m running some errands for the client.”

“Always busy running around after everyone else. You need someone to wait on you for a while. Treat yourself.”

“You don’t need to worry about me.” I liked to be busy.

“I know you’ve told me it’s difficult to date on yachts, but maybe you could find another way to think about yourself, carve out a life for yourself. You’re a generous girl and I worry you’re giving up too much of yourself.”

I rolled my lips together, trying to block out what my dad was saying. “You know that I want to take care of Michael.”

“And we both appreciate it. But it isn’t the only thing you should be doing. You have your own life to lead as well.”

Was I just becoming a vessel for other people’s needs and desires? Was I not my own person anymore? It was true that yachting had supplanted any ambitions I’d had before Michael’s accident. But that didn’t mean I didn’t want to take time for myself. I just didn’t have many opportunities. I guess I could take up knitting.

“I’m in the South of France. How bad could life be?”

“Well, as long as you’re taking time to do what you want to do. It’s okay to be selfish here and there. It’s okay to enjoy yourself.”

I’d not been particularly adventurous since I started yachting. Most of the crew I’d worked with spent time at the end of each season exploring and getting to know the country they’d been sailing around. I’d always wanted to get back home.

“Okay, Dad, look, I’ve got to go.” I was nearly out of minutes, and I didn’t have long until I had to get to the patisserie. “Tell Michael I love him. And go easy on the pizza, you hear me?”

“Love you, honey.”

“Love you, Daddy.”

I hung up and as I headed to the address Hayden had given me, I tried to remember the last time I’d done something selfish or reckless. I could drink tequila with the best of them. It wasn’t like I was afraid of fun. But it always took place within very carefully drawn parameters.

I’d always wanted to spend more time in Italy, so maybe I’d take a few days at the end of this season and be a tourist instead of going right back to Sacramento. I’d at least think about it even if it was just for a day or two.

I reached the patisserie so quickly I was almost disappointed. It was a large shop with glass counters running around two sides, with a dozen tables and chairs for people who wanted to enjoy their pastry on-site. I scanned the customers but didn’t see anyone with a brown envelope or who looked like a lawyer.

Hayden had told me that his contact would find me, so I focused on the rows of desserts, so many that I couldn’t imagine how many customers the shop got each day. There were big cakes and individual cakes. Some had fruit, lots had cream and all varied in color and shape. I should remember this place for my next charter—it would be a good place to send guests who’d never been to France before. Hell, it would be a good place to bring August and Skylar after this charter finished. We could eat cake for breakfast and move on to the bar for lunch.

“Bonjour,” one of the servers behind the counter said. “Can I help you?”

I was always slightly depressed when I was in a foreign country and they realized I wasn’t a native. I guess with my polo shirt and khaki skirt, it was clear I was a yacht worker. “I’d like a Gâteau St. Honoré,” I replied. I’d only had one once, but it had been beyond the most delicious thing I’d ever eaten. “Do you have them?”

“Bien sûr. Large or small?”

“Two large, please.”

I followed the assistant along the counter as she made her way toward the section with the large cakes.

She pulled the tray toward her and chose two towers of profiteroles, caramel and cream. It might just be the best thing I’d ever laid eyes on in my life. I should order ten.

“Ms. Walker?” a quiet voice asked from behind me. I snapped my head around to find a petite girl with mousy brown hair clutching a brown envelope.

“Yes.”

“This is for you,” she said, lifting her chin at the brown envelope in her arms.

I glanced back at the assistant, who was busying herself making up a box for the cream concoctions I’d just ordered. I unhooked one of the handles of my tote off my arm. “Thanks,” I said.

She glanced around and then slipped the thick envelope into my bag and scurried out the door. Jesus, the girl looked as guilty as hell.

Loaded with cake and more questions, I headed back to the tender.

“You got it?” Eric asked as I handed him the two boxes before climbing back aboard.

“Sure did. And a treat for us as well.”

He smiled. “It’s weird that documents are the first thing this guy requests. I mean, usually it’s the wine with this type of guest.”

“He’s a workaholic.” I shrugged, then took a seat at the back of the boat.

“I’ve offered to get out the toys a couple of times, but he’s always said no. I guess it’s weird going down the water slide on your own.” He untied the line and cast off.

“I think he just wants to kick back, relax and work uninterrupted. I’m sure you’ve had worse guests. I know I have.” This charter was unusual but it wasn’t difficult.

“I guess. I just wish he wasn’t here for eight weeks. If nothing else, I’m going to get a little bored, especially without my computer.”

It was true; there was a lot less to do when we only had one guest who didn’t seem to do anything but work all night and sleep or work all day. “Let’s finish off the schedules. That way, we can keep the rest of the crew motivated if they’re working toward time off.”

“Good plan.” Eric started the engine and we headed back to the Athena.

We’d been gone nearly an hour and a half. Would Hayden have asked Skylar for anything while I was gone? I sort of enjoyed how he insisted on dealing with me as if I was special. The way he’d reacted to me asking him about the preferences sheet—another guest might have lost it, but I liked that I’d read him well enough to know I was okay to bring it up and I liked him even more for filling it out. He understood and respected we had a job to do and he didn’t seem to look down on me—that was unusual. Now here I was wondering if anyone else had noticed that instead of just making sure my hair was neat, now I tried to make sure it looked glossy. Lately I’d worn a little more makeup than usual. Hell, I was running out of fake tan. It was stupid. Hayden didn’t see me like that. To him, I was staff.