Dylan:It’s a memoir about my bad behavior and vices. And I’ve got plenty of material already.
My mobile pinged again, but this time it was an email from Owen, the American real estate developer I was in talks with. The man who, without his knowledge, held the future of my company in his hands. I had offered a very generous sum for Owen’s resort properties in Asia and the South Pacific. For the past year, he would tell me he was ready to negotiate but then would change his mind at the last minute. I reviewed his note, but boredom set in, and I decided to research my chief stew instead.
What are you doing, Rowan?
I reasoned that I was researching in the best interests of my business and carried on. Ravi had forwarded Andrew’s bio as well as the signed nondisclosure agreement. Andrew was thirty, born and raised in Atlanta, with a hospitality degree from a local community college. After graduating, he’d worked as an assistant manager at local hotel for five years, then as manager of guest services for another two until a year ago. Since then, he’d been traveling as a personal assistant and steward on yachts around the world – all with glowing references. Well, for the past year anyway. There wasn’t a supervisor reference from his job in Atlanta. Strange.
Then I perused Andrew’s social media profiles. There were tagged pictures of glamorous destinations, including his work on yachts, smiling with groups of friends, his hometown of Atlanta and family members. No girlfriend or boyfriend in recent photos, from what I could gather.Not that it’s any of my business.
A knock at the door intruded my thoughts. I quickly deleted my browsing history.
“Come in.”
Andrew appeared in the doorway, carrying a black tray with a delicate white teacup and a pot to match. The smell of my favorite black tea wafted over me as well as an earthier scent of pine and leather, which I quickly realized came from the man standing in front of me, the man I’d been researching without cause. Suddenly my spacious office was far too small for the two of us - and my guilty conscience.
“Would you like me to pour, Mr. Carter?” Andrew asked politely, the soft drawl of his American accent breaking me out of my anxious thoughts.
No, step away from me before I do something stupid like flirt with you.I gazed up at wide chocolate-brown eyes framed with the thickest, inkiest lashes I’d ever seen. “I think I can manage to pour a cup of tea on my own, Andrew, but thank you.”
“Is there anything else I can get for you, sir?”
The honorific title never sounded so good – or bad, in this case. A vision of Andrew on his knees, calling me sir in that deep voice and servicing me in a wholly dirty way jolted my body. My naughty sidetrack had me staring at Andrew’s face until I realized he was looking back at me like I’d lost my mind. Maybe I had. Maybe my uncle was right. Or maybe I needed more blood pressure meds.
“For God’s sake, please address me as Rowan. I’m only eight years older than you, and this isn’t Downtown Abbey.”
Andrew’s low chuckle caused the hair on my body to stand on end.Oh, no. This was bad.
“That’s a relief. I’d never fit into Mrs. Hughes’s dress, never mind trying that Scottish accent.”
“It’s all in the tongue,” I blurted out. “The accent, I mean. You need to roll your tongue. Not that you need practice rolling your tongue. Or anything to do with tongues. Sorry, I don’t know why I said that. Please ignore my inane rambling. I appear to be having some sort of word vomit episode.”
Good lord, if Forbes magazine could listen to me now, they’d be laughing their arses off.Smooth, Rowan, smooth.
“If there’s nothing else…?” Andrew’s mouth twitched, probably in an effort not to laugh, and his amused gaze made my breath catch.Fuck, where’s my inhaler?
“There’s one item you could assist me with.” I paused as I rubbed a hand over my jaw. “If you could please close the door.”
Andrew quickly shut the door behind him and stood in front of my desk.
“My best friend, Dylan Aylmer, is boarding today. You’ve read through his preference sheet by now. I’d like you to pay him extra special attention. He doesn’t drink alcohol, and I want to ensure the other guests respect his preferences and privacy. I would ask you to keep an eye on him and let me know if he seems distressed in any way.”
“Of course. Does he want to go on excursions with the other guests, or does he like to stay on board?”
“Feel him out.” I regretted the words the moment they left my mouth. “I mean, feel free to discuss the options with him.” The room was stifling despite the air-conditioning, and tiny beads of sweat began to roll down my back under my shirt. Andrew’s eyes continued to survey mine, and I couldn’t look away.
Andrew smiled and nodded. “I’ll do that, sir. I mean, Rowan.”
“Thank you very much, Andrew. I’ll let you get back to preparing for our guests’ arrival.”
With a nod, Andrew turned and left the room. All the tension in the air dissipated, and I finally let out my breath and reached for the teapot, my hand shaking ever so slightly. I carefully poured a generous cup and took a cautious sip, inhaling the deep aroma and letting it calm my senses. There was so much at stake on this charter.
I would do well to remember that my friend’s well-being was my top priority, along with my business deal. And this ridiculous curiosity about Andrew was just that – and best left alone.
THREE
ANDREW
Standing in line beside George and the rest of the crew on the bridge deck aft, I held a tray of champagne-filled glasses, save all but one, my jaw aching with the strain of maintaining a polite smile. We’d anchored near Grenada, and Rowan’s guests were currently struggling to get out of the tender given the high winds and choppy water. I could hear shouts and bouts of swearing as the guests finally made it on board and stepped into view. The door to the lounge suddenly opened, and Rowan appeared, relaxed in a white linen outfit and bare feet. I had a hard time looking anywhere but at him, and I wished like hell I could down a glass of champagne myself.I’m fucked up from jet lag.