Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 99607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“I’ll make you a deal,” I said.
She rolled her eyes. “You’re all about the deal.”
“It’s who I am. I’ll head to the upper deck now and leave you to this if you join me with a bottle of champagne and two glasses.”
“We don’t drink on charter,” she spluttered almost before I’d finished my sentence.
“So for an hour you won’t be on charter. You were meant to have this evening off anyway.”
She shifted her weight onto one leg. “I don’t know . . .” She scanned the horizon as if looking for something external that would resolve the conflict inside her.
I knew she could feel this pull between us. I could tell now when she was being polite and when she was being real, and I knew she wanted to say yes but her dedication and sense of duty held her back. “Isn’t it your job to fulfill a guest’s request?” I shouldn’t abuse my power, and if I hadn’t thought that Avery and her big brown eyes wanted to continue our conversation over a glass of champagne, I wouldn’t have pushed it. But she did from the way her body shuddered on the few occasions I’d touched her, to the way her cheeks pinked when I grinned at her—I could feel the attraction no matter how hard she tried to hide it.
“Not every request,” she replied.
“You’re right.” Again, she’d pulled me up and I just wanted her more because of it. “I don’t want you to join me because I’m a guest. I want you to watch the fireworks with me because the Avery Walker that exists off this boat wants to.”
Avery
It would be easier if I didn’t want to join Hayden. If another guest had asked me to watch the fireworks with them I probably wouldn’t have resisted so hard. Tipsy guests would often encourage us to join them in their revelry and we’d smile and join their conga line, sing karaoke or line up their shots. But I fought against Hayden’s invitation, albeit half-heartedly, because I knew I’d want more from our encounter than I was supposed to. There was no doubt that Hayden Wolf was attractive physically, but the more I got to know him, the more I liked and admired him. From the way he wasn’t so prideful that it stopped him from taking advice about his deal and he was prepared to admit it to the way he used a family photograph as a bookmark. My draw toward him was . . . unusual, dangerous, frightening.
I released the cloth, dropping it over the ice, and scooped up the bucket, resting it on my hip. I picked up the two champagne glasses I’d set on the counter and headed to the upper deck.
I’d resisted because the transparent but very clear divide between crew and guest, which was always in place, even when we were dancing and singing along with them, I felt crumbling when I was with Hayden. I’d want him to tell me things guests shouldn’t tell crew—personal things about his family and life. I’d want him to look at me and think that I was beautiful. I’d wanted to forget I was crew and paid to serve him.
And more than anything else, I didn’t want to join Hayden and be disappointed that that barrier between us disintegrated for me, but stayed in place for him.
But I’d lost this battle. I wanted to please him, was a little drunk on the attention of this rich, charming man who seemed to be so different to anyone else I’d met who was in his position. But even more, I wanted this for me. I’d never felt such a strong pull to someone and I wasn’t ready to let go. I never did the wrong thing. I was always caring about my family and my job but right now, I just wanted a few more minutes of feeling as special as I did when Hayden looked at me, searching and fascinated.
As I got up to the upper deck, Hayden was facing the ocean. His untucked, white linen shirt rippled in the breeze, threatening to lift to reveal his hard, tan body. He turned at the sound of me setting down the ice bucket and strode toward me.
“It’s almost nine,” he said, pulling the bottle from the ice and removing the foil and the cork. There was no point telling him I’d do it. Something had shifted. He’d asked me to join him as the Avery Walker who wasn’t a stewardess and that’s who I was in that moment.
As we stood silently in the dark, the low, orange light from the external lamps and the heat left over from the day making the outside feel like the inside, Hayden released the cork like a professional and poured two glasses.
He handed me a flute and raised his own. “To you, Avery Walker.”