“An animal the size of a horse with a giant horn sticking out its head? That’s scary.”
“Did you just call me a giant animal?”
“Obviously you’re not the size of a horse. More like a wee little pony. And I think you’ve got two horns instead of one. Point is you’re fecking scary.”
I stared at him, momentarily distracted by the reappearance of that smile. Really, his face was quite different when he smiled like that. I wasn’t sure what to make of it.
Finally, our taxi arrived. When it stopped beside us, he opened the back door and gestured for me to climb in. He was a jerk, that much was clear, but at least he was a jerk with an ounce of etiquette. I couldn’t say the same for most of the jerks I’d encountered.
When Ollie scooted into the back seat after me, he leaned forward to speak to the driver, and his knee knocked against mine. I pulled away, sliding as far from him as I could. I felt his eyes on me but kept my gaze out the window. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of noticing.
But my resolve lasted for all of ten seconds. “Will you quit staring at me?” I said when I turned to him and he didn’t look away.
“Not until you tell me what your favorite snack is,” he said.
Insufferable.He didn’t even have the courtesy topretendhe hadn’t been staring.
The cab lurched forward to weave into traffic. At my yelp of surprise, Ollie laughed. The sound, warm and full, seemed to leap out of him. I was tempted to poke him in the ribs just so I could hear it again.
“It’s pizza rolls,” I said. “And in case you were wondering, I don’t like you.” When he laughed again, I turned to face the window, not wanting him to see the smile I was fighting to bite back at the sound of it.
“Still not sure about you,” he replied. “Could go either way.”
7
Present day, February, three and a half months left of charter season
As it turns out, trying to ignore Ollie while sharing a tiny cabin on a superyacht has its complications. For one, my willpower is constantly under siege. At every turn Ollie is there. Rolling from the bottom bunk in the morning and blinking the sleep from his eyes, hair stuck up charmingly on one side. Right out of the shower, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist, chest dripping wet, water gleaming on those broad shoulders. Some mornings it takes everything I have not to tell him to shut up and yank him into bed with me.
And then there’s the fact that as theSerendipity’s chef, he’s just as insufferable and arrogant as I remember. I last only two charters managing polite work-related conversation with him before he annoys the ever-loving shit out of me, and I lose it in the galley.
“I’m not going to the fecking beach picnic,” Ollie says. A steady thud punctuates his words as he hammers away at bloody beef cheekson the counter. “I’ll cook whatever they want, but I’m not getting in the tender and spending all day in the sun like some beachfront hibachi chef.”
I know I’ve got an attitude, but Ollie’s takes the cake. I glare at him from the opposite side of the counter, perching my feet on the bottom rung of a stool I’ve pulled up to it. In front of me is the trusty yellow legal pad that keeps the interior of this ship running efficiently.
I put pen to paper and mutter loud enough for Ollie to hear as I write, “Tell guests Chef doesn’t know how to grill and is an inflexible asshole.”
“Piss off, Nina. You know the food’ll be better if you let me cook it in the galley.”
“Then justpretendto grill it. Cook it here, for all I care. As long as theythinkyou grilled it on that beach, that’s all that matters.”
“How am I supposed topretendto grill it, Nina? It’ll be a little obvious when the grill doesn’t have flames and isn’t smoking.”
Why does he have to be so impossible? Inflexible? “I don’t carehowyou do it. Grill them. Pretend to grill them. Grill some and put on a big show of it, and we’ll switch them out for the ones you cooked on board. But youwillgo to that beach, stand in front of that fucking grill, and put on whatever Irish charm you have left.”
“Tell them I can’t do it, Neen. Who the hell wants grilled beef cheeks at a fecking beach picnic? I’m not a circus monkey.”
“Correct. You’re a yacht monkey. The pay is much better. It’s what they want, so it’s what you’ll do. Go cry it out like a big man-baby, then get your ass on that beach. Either you get on the tender yourself or I’ll have RJ fireman-carry you onto it.”
“This is fecking ridiculous,” Ollie huffs, and I know I’ve won this fight. He stomps across the galley to the sink with the meat tenderizerin hand, looking like he’d really like to use it on the next person who gets in his way.
“Damn, that was intense,” Nekesa says from behind me.
I’d forgotten we had an audience. I turn to find Nekesa and Alyssa staring at me as they polish silverware.
“There had better not be a single water spot on those forks,” I say before turning back to the legal pad to finish writing out the list of all the things we need for the beach picnic. I’ll ignore Nekesa, and Alyssa,andOllie, if that’s what it’ll take to get through this charter.
Ollie’s cursing fades to a light muttering by the time Britt skips into the galley. She hops onto the counter and winds one of her curls around a finger. “I’m sensing... drama.”
