A sharp knockingon my office door woke me from a dead sleep. I sat straight up and reached for my crutches, lying on the floor beside my inflatable mattress. The boat's rocking often made standing hard, but years in the Royal Australian Navy gave me my sea legs.
Sea legs.
I chuckled and pulled on the robe slung over the back of my desk chair.
The knocking grew more insistent. “Mr. Rafferty? Are you in there? We need to talk.”
I clutched the hand grips of the crutches tighter. I knew that voice. That was Heather Ballein, the Flamingo Cove Harbormaster and a grade-A stickler for the rules.
“Just a moment,” I said, crutching over to the door and opening it. “What can I do for you?”
Harbormaster Ballein was a woman whose very presence commanded respect. At 65, she was a petite battle axe that ran the Flamingo Cove Marina with an iron fist. Her sharp gray eyes assessed my missing left leg. I mentally cursed for not putting on my prosthetic before answering the door, but that took time, and I thought there might be an emergency on board.
The Harbormaster adjusted her glasses with professionalism and a hint of regret. “You may want to sit down for this,” she said with a clipped tone.
I frowned and gripped the crutches tighter. “I’d rather stand if it’s all the same.”
“Ahem,” she coughed. “This is a delicate matter, but were you aware of the video cameras around the marina.”
My stomach sank at her pronouncement.Shit. “I am aware of cameras in the marina. But you sound as if you’d like to discuss a particular camera.”
“Yes,” she coughed again and tried to look me in the eye. She managed to stare at my nose. “The one trained on the entrance to the marina’s outdoor shower. Are you aware?—”
“Get to the point, Ms. Ballein. I am aware of the outcome of that shower.”
“Well, Mr. Rafferty,” she said, pulling a piece of yellow paper out of her bag. “Pursuant to clause seventeen in your docking contract, the moral turpitude of your actions last night means we can sever the contract and give you 30 days to vacate the premises.”
I snatched the paper from her hand. “Great. See ya.” I slammed the door in her face.
You’d think a shower would have made me feel better, but it didn’t. It only made me remember the ramifications of my impulsive actions the night before. What the hell was I thinking having sex with a stranger in an outdoor shower?
I knew the answer to that.I wasn’t thinking.
If I had, I might have considered the consequences.
I bought Pegleg Pete’s Pirate Extravaganza out of bankruptcy after an incident involving real pirates. Moving operations to Flamingo Cove from Treasure Island was a sound business move, as more customers flocked to the cruise. But I wasn’t sure where else we could go if we had to move again. Not to mention the advertising I’d have to do to alert potential customers to the new location.
My nine o’clock appointment promised to help with that.
My phone rang. I saw Father’s caller ID flash on the screen and inwardly groaned. I was not in the mood to deal with his bullshit today. His calls had become more persistent, but I dreaded facing his emissary if I didn't respond.
“Hello, Father,” I answered.
“Son, why have you been avoiding my calls?” He demanded.
“Hmm, it’s a mystery.”
“Don’t start with that sarcastic attitude with me. Every time I talk to you, I feel like I’m talking to your mother.”
“That is not the insult you think it is,” I said. “What do you want?”
“Your answer.”
“I told you, I have a job.”
“This is ridiculous,” my father grumbled. I could vividly imagine him in his sleek, modern office, adorned with photographs of himself in the company of renowned figures, many of whom were the heads of their own countries. The polished trophies and prestigious awards would be meticulously displayed on his shelves. However, conspicuously absent was any evidence of his remaining family.
“You need to come to your senses and take the job I offered you,” he continued.
