Then at the bow of the ship, tucked behind a hidden bulkhead door, were the staff quarters where single beds were squished into half-sized rooms. Valerie was lucky enough to have her own quarters. She even had access to a private bathroom. Those were the perks of being the only engineer aboardThe Valentine.
“I always hate this part,” Jess muttered under her breath. “I feel like a court jester about to be told to juggle flaming torches.”
Valerie chuckled, then zipped her lips when a man in his late twenties stepped off the gangway. He wore expensive Prada glasses and a salmon-pink linen shirt, unbuttoned just enough to show steely pecs. He barely looked at anyone as he stepped onto the deck and was talking over his shoulder to another guy, who looked like just another pompous version of Kyle. “We can take the jet skis to the party tonight, and if the Amalfi guys show up, we’re absolutely not losing to them this time.”
“Welcome,” Luke said, walking toward Kyle to greet him. He stuck his hand out, which Kyle seemed to take reluctantly. “It’s a pleasure to have you on board.”
“My sister is on her way,” Kyle said. “She likes to make an entrance.”
Valerie imagined a woman with glossy brown hair stepping out of a limousine in slow motion, a Montecristi straw hat clutched in one hand, while a Hermès Birkin sat at the crease of her arm. Then a hand to help her up the gangway, because a woman like Adrienne couldn’t possibly be expected to navigate a slight incline on her own.
She nearly rolled her eyes at the thought.
“Here she comes,” Jess murmured out of the corner of her mouth, so softly that only Valerie could hear. “Miss Royalty herself. I won’t be surprised if she asks us to curtsey.”
“I’ll flat-out refuse,” Valerie muttered under her breath.
“You can’t. Adrienne’s probably never heard the word no in her life. She might fire you, and don’t you need this job?” Jess asked.
Valerie inwardly groaned. Jess knew all about Valerie’s plan to save every cent of her offshore salary to build a home in Sitka. And not just any house, but one on the water. The architectural plans lived permanently in her head. Her house would have a steep-pitched roof, wide floor-to-ceiling windows to drink in the endless grey light, and a wraparound deck. And it wasn’t just for her. She’d also planned a single-story cottage with wide doorways and heated floors tucked into the spruce trees at the back of the lot where her parents, Mick and Hattie, and her mother’s full-time nurse, Beatrice, would live.
“How cute,” Adrienne said when she stepped aboard.
Luke introduced each one of them, and Valerie, who had her gaze on her feet, couldn’t help herself. Her eyes were drawn up to the woman’s cheekbones, then to her long, slender neck, then they flicked down to her long legs, which were gorgeously framed by a micro-mini shift dress the color of the sun.
“Everyone’s standing there to greet us,” Adrienne added, smiling like she was addressing a cute puppy, which felt patronizing enough for Valerie to snap her gaze away. Then she snapped back to Adrienne, because she really couldn’t help it. Adrienne then sauntered across the deck to where Kyle and the two influencers were already making themselves at home on the oversized ivory-colored modular sofa that Martha had scattered earlier with a dozen silk throw pillows.
“When do we depart?” Adrienne asked, glancing toward Luke.
Luke stepped forward and clapped his hands together. His smile was so goofy Valerie wondered if he was drunk. “We’ll be casting off as soon as the harbor captain clears our departure window, which should be in the next ten minutes, Miss Vale.”
“Great,” Adrienne said, smiling. She looked so dazzling Valerie averted her eyes the same way she would if she stared up at the sun for too long. “I’ll be in my room for a quick outfit change.” She turned and headed toward the rooms.
Valerie didn’t think about it twice; she followed her.
The introductions were done, and she had a few more maintenance histories to document in the PMS before the boat departed. Her interaction with the guests was thankfully limited to mechanical emergencies and tech support. If Adrienne needed the Wi-Fi reset or her room AC dropped by two degrees, Valerie was the one to call. Guests never did these things themselves. But she sure as hell didn’t have to pour champagne or offer to unpack their bags. That was Maggie and Martha’s territory.
The next moment, Valerie’s foot caught on the lip of the deck seam, and suddenly her world was tipping. Her hands flew out automatically to catch the teak when a flash of yellow blurred in her peripheral vision.
“Watch where you’re going!” Adrienne said sharply. Her fingers locked around Valerie’s elbow with an iron grip and hauled Valerie back upright.
Phew! Valerie was still standing, but it felt like she’d been knocked sideways. She refused to imagine the humiliation if she had gone toppling forward. Maybe she had lost her senses because Adrienne was wearing a perfume so floral it smelled like an overgrown English garden in mid-July. And now she was about to hyperventilate, but that was probably because Adrienne’s hand skimmed Valerie’s backside once she let go of her elbow. Or had she imagined that?
“It’s probably best if we don’t lose our engineer to a fall, don’t you think?” Adrienne added. Her words sounded kind of empathetic, but that tone—fuck, that tone grated on Valerie’s skin like coarse sandpaper. “You don’t want to ruin the weekend for us, do you?”
Valerie shook her head as if she’d done something wrong. But accidentally tripping over a seam she’d stepped over a million times just because her head was a little in the clouds was not an act of wrongdoing. Adrienne didn’t seem to think so. “No,” she said, then forced a smile that hurt her cheeks. “The last thing I want is to ruin your weekend.”
Chapter Two
Adrienne found it surprisingly hard to relax, which was concerning since this entire weekend with her brother and two of their mutual friends was supposed to be relaxing. She was currently draped across a Frette towel on a massive ivory sun pad that stretched across most of the aft deck. Kyle and Wade were inside somewhere setting up the PlayStation, and beside her was her longtime friend Nicki.
“Take a photo of me,” Nicki said, pushing her phone with its fuchsia pink leopard print case toward Adrienne. “I want to post it to Instagram.”
Adrienne could think of nothing worse than peeling her shoulder blades off the warm towel to play Instagram influencer assistant. But Nicki had spent all of last week following Adrienne through boutiques in Milan, crouching on cobblestone sidewalks in Bergamo to get the right angle. She’d even nearly gotten clipped by a Vespa when retaking photos outside a café because Adrienne’s espresso cup had a smudge on the side.
It was only right that she returned the favor.
“Suck in your stomach,” Adrienne teased, though it was a total lie. Nicki’s stomach was flatter than a calm sea, and she had lovely defined obliques, which Adrienne knew were from the twenty minutes of side planks she did every day. She was wearing a matching crochet bikini in a shade of neon tangerine that made her legs look incredibly bronze. At the comment, Nicki pulled in her gut and thrust out her chest before she stared stoically at Costa Smeralda’s jagged, sun-bleached cliffs. Sherarely smiled in photos because she didn’t like how much gum she showed. And when she did, she refused to show her teeth.
