Page 12 of Devoured By You
Despite the air-conditioned car, sweat dampened the back of my shirt, and tingles plagued my chest. Breathe. Everything would work out. It had to.
I exited the car outside the welcome area for our VIP sailors. John Simmonds, the ship’s captain, strode toward me as I entered through a set of sliding double doors. His beaming smile should have calmed me down. It had the opposite effect. John had probably thought he’d won the fucking lottery when he’d landed this gig. A brand-new ship with all the bells and whistles of modern technology was probably a seafarer’s wet dream. He didn’t have a one-point-five-billion-dollar target on his back.
I was the unlucky sucker with that label.
“John.” I shook his outstretched hand, exuding the confidence expected of the CEO of the company. “Forty-eight hours until we sail. How’s she looking?”
“One or two issues I’d like to discuss with you.”
And the hits just keep on coming.
“Like what?”
John cocked his head. “Come on, let me show you around.”
I’d toured the ship many times, watching with fascination as she transformed through the various stages to the opulent finished product I’d envisaged. The executive committee had poured over every minute detail, tweaking and changing things until we, as a collective, had agreed we’d created a magnificent ship.
An adult-only ship, Serenity stood twenty decks tall and had the capacity for eight thousand passengers and four thousand crew members. On board were thirty gourmet restaurants and eleven themed bars. Each night, three Broadway-standard shows would play to packed theaters. As far as rooms went, there were twelve sumptuous penthouses, and three decks of VIP accommodations that I’d named the Kingcaid Royalty suites. There were two swimming pools, an enormous gym and spa, and a VIP-only sundeck with personal cabanas, an open bar, and Michelin-starred food on demand.
Four and a half years of hard work had brought me to this place, and I’d never felt sicker in my entire life.
What made matters worse was my elder brother, Nolen, choosing the maiden voyage for his long-awaited honeymoon. Nine months ago, he’d married the love of his life, Marlowe, when their little girl was two months old. Neither had wanted to leave her at that age, hence their delayed honeymoon. I could have done without the added pressure, though.
At least my parents hadn’t descended on me. Now that would have been pressure.
John led me into the Crown restaurant, the jewel in our gastronomy offerings. The restaurant was aft, with huge picture windows that would give diners a magnificent view of the wake as the boat cut through the water. The place was a hive of activity, all fixated on an enormous hole in the ceiling.
“What the fuck is this?” I hissed.
“We had a leak. A burst pipe. They’re working on it now.”
“Extensive damage?”
“Not too bad. Just poor timing.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “It’ll be fine.”
As a singular event, this wasn’t a big deal. But it was the way the problems kept piling up that was getting to me. Only last week, I’d received an email that informed me the entire badge-scanning system had gone down, meaning our passengers wouldn’t be able to access anything on board, including their cabins. The outage had only taken a few hours to fix, but if that happened while at sea, our customer satisfaction scores would plummet. The entire future of this highly expensive venture rested on a spectacular first outing. I needed all passengers, but especially those with a large reach, to get off this ship and gush to their followers about how fabulous it was. Word of mouth based on personal experience was far more powerful than the slickest marketing campaign.
We left the team fixing the leak and continued our tour. We ended on the top deck, where the VIP area was located. Passengers who booked one of our suites received a different wristband from everyone else, giving them exclusive access to this part of the ship. As we approached, the door was open. I pulled it shut, but the locking mechanism failed to activate. Great. One more fucking problem I could do without.
“Get maintenance on this, will you?”
“Will do.”
John made a call, and a few minutes later, a maintenance crew arrived. We continued our tour, but the mushrooming issues were a constant thorn, spearing my liver. The logical side of my brain knew that complications were unavoidable, but that didn’t stop me from striving for perfection. I couldn’t help taking everything personally, despite having a large team who were all there to support me. It was in my nature to own every obstacle and to berate myself when those obstacles proved troublesome.
We didn’t come across any more concerns, and after speaking to as many of the crew members as I could, I said goodbye to John and left the ship, making my way back to my car.
“Home, please,” I instructed my driver.
Home was a twenty-million-dollar estate on Indian Creek Island, also known as “Billionaire Bunker.” A three-hundred-acre oasis with each of the forty homes enjoying unrivaled waterfront access. I liked the privacy of it, away from the frenzy of Miami Beach.
After my driver dropped me off, I walked straight into the bedroom and let my bag fall to the floor beside the bed. I flopped onto the mattress and knitted my hands behind my head, staring up at the pristine white ceiling for a few seconds before closing my eyes. The moment I did, Jill’s luminous, intelligent hazel eyes looked back at me. Eyes I could stare into for hours, a full, plush mouth I could kiss for days, the knockout body I’d never tire of. God, what a woman. If she were here now, I’d christen this bed, the huge walk-in shower, the hot tub, the fucking dining room table, the kitchen countertop. I’d bang that incredible woman on every single hard and soft surface in this house until my dick ached and she was wrung out from all the orgasms I gave her.
What the hell am I thinking?
She was a onetime deal. A dalliance. A way to quash the boredom and extinguish the voices in my head that made me want to puke out of sheer panic over this damn ship. I was thirty-one, and I’d never been on a second date. I was married to my career. There weren’t spare hours in the day to nurture a relationship, especially now, with everything riding on this launch.
Maybe the attraction was the fact that she’d admitted she was married to her career, too. Kindred souls who recognized they weren’t cut out for monogamy.