“Good morning, Stevens, and stop calling me boss.” I walked down the starboard side toward the stern, running my hand along the chrome railing. The ship was spotless. I paid my crew well, so it had better be. I paid them for the skill and their discretion. This week’s excursion would challenge both.
“What should I call you? Captain?” Stevens chuckled.
“Well, considering I don’t drive the ship, Captain wouldn’t be appropriate.” I scowled in his direction. He shuddered and got serious.
Stevens was a former head steward and event planner who came highly recommended. He was good at his job because he wasn’t intimidated by anyone, including me. I needed a former yachty to help bring my vision to life.
“So, a quick rundown.” He sat on one of the blue-and-white-striped couches, lining the sun deck. I looked down to the diving platform. “The guest list has been completed. Itinerary has been finalized. I’ll do another confirmation of the excursions two days out from embarkation. Funny, both outings have called me to confirm. They can’t wait for the infamous Zachariah Webber to dawn their steps.”
“They will be disappointed.”
“I told them that, they are still holding out hope.” Steven laughed. “Poor shmucks.”
I glared in his direction.
“Sorry, Boss.” His eyes got wide. “I mean Mr. Webber.”
“You can call me Zach, you know.” I sat in the chair opposite him.
“Okay, Mr. Webber, what questions can I answer for you?” He smirked.
“Let me take a look at the guest list.”
Instead of a piece of paper, he handed me a notebook. He’d learned early on I hated screens and loose pieces of paper. Plus, the guest list wasn’t just a list of names. It was a carefully curated group of people with extensive background checks and vetted by the BDSM community. You couldn’t just walk onto my boat. You had to be recommended and then lay your soul to bare and then maybe you would get an invite.
I had offered some personal invitations, but most of the guests were new to me. A good mix of Dominants and submissives, traveling as solos who would interact to make the first-ever BDSM yacht club an exclusive and luxurious fantasy vacation on the high seas.
I flipped through the familiar names and skimmed their bios to get more acquainted with those I didn’t know.
“Can I get you anything, Mr. Webber?”
I looked up at the steward who was speaking. She held my gaze for a second before averting her eyes.
“Where’s Carol?” I asked.
“I’m right here.” She came sauntering in with a coffee in one hand and plate of fresh-cut fruit in the other. She set the tray on the little table next to me and then stood between myself and the steward. “And, Claudia, is it?” Carol stepped forward and the girl squeaked and stepped back.
“I believe in your training I explained what your duties were and I do specifically recall mentioning doing Mr. Webber was not part of them.”
“Carol.”
She held up her hand.
“Please retire to your quarter and pack your things. Your contract with us ends today.”
“But…”
While I couldn’t see her face, something in her expression shut Claudia up and she scurried away.
“Was that necessary?” I asked and skimmed a few more guest profiles.
“Have to make an example of someone.” She shrugged.
“Pay her for the week.”
“Yes, sir.” She grinned and headed back inside to check on the rest of the staff.
“That woman scares me,” Steven chimed in.
