PRODUCER
Sounds like it’s going to be a tough one.
PALMER
For sure. And there’s nothing like a high-tension charter to test a team of crew members already on edge.
PRODUCER
On edge? It seems like everyone is doing great after yesterday. The beach day off was a hit, right?
Palmer scrubs a hand over his jaw, shaking his head.
PALMER
You’re really going to pretend like you didn’t see, huh?
PRODUCER
What do you mean? Did something happen last night?
Palmer laughs, stands.
PALMER
Good call. Save it for the reunion.
Palmer exits.
If the weather outside was gloomy, then the mood onSinking Sunwas an outright hurricane.
Rain pelted the harbor like bullets from a gun, wind whipping so hard the deck crew had no choice but to bring everything inside or hide it away in the locker. Inside, the air was thick with nerves, exhaustion, and whatever invisible toxin made an entire crew collectively want to throw themselves overboard.
We’d been docked for thirty-six hours.
Thirty-six hours of non-stop complaining from our current charter guests — a group of middle-aged tech investors who looked like they’d just rolled out of a cigar lounge and brought their sugar baby starter packs with them. Their girlfriends were runway hot, chronically bored, and wore their distaste for the men who paid for this little adventure like diamond necklaces, bright and brazen and impossible to ignore.
The primary’s girlfriend, Jewel, had gotten so blitzed at our make-shift wine tasting last night that she’d openly admitted that she and the other girls were hoping to pick up guys at the beach. Not that her boyfriend, Robbie, or any of his friendsnoticed — they were too busy yelling over each other about how the weather was “ruining the vibe” and asking Captain, “Is it really even that bad? This boat would be fine out there. It just seems a little windy.”
We’d somehow survived the first night and got them drunk enough that they slept in. Finn made brunch a whole ordeal, and Bernard and I made sure service was nice and slow-paced. But the dishes were clear now, and the weather still sucked.
It was only 1 PM.
“Okay,” I said to the interior team, hoping the calmness in my tone would wash over them and bring them both down a notch. They looked two seconds from quitting on me, and it was up to me to find a way to keep them motivated and hanging on. “Let’s recap. We’ve already done a spa day, a wine tasting, a trivia night, and the most traumatic game of charades I’ve ever endured. What else can we pull out of our magic hats here?”
“Group therapy?” Bernard offered. “Because I’m quite sure Robbie is on with his best mate’s girl. And the oldest cat, Derrick? Yeah. He most certainly has zero interest in the blonde bombshell he’s been toting around. In fact, I’d bet my tip that it’s our primary he fancies.”
I arched a brow. “While I don’t doubt you, I hardly want to test those theories while we’re stuck on board with them. Even a superyacht feels small with that kind of drama.” I turned to Leah.
“I say we let them loose in the galley and call it a team-building exercise,” she suggested, stacking folded napkins with the aggression of someone one straw away from a breakdown. “Let Finn handle them for a while.”
“Because I’m sure he’d love that,” I muttered.
“Where is the deck crew?” Bernard crossed his arms. “If Cameron is napping again, I swear on my life…”
“Focus, team.” I clapped my hands together, forcing a smile at one of the girlfriends as she passed us. Her name was Tempany and she asked if we’d make her a Miami Vice. Once I assured her we’d get it done right away, I turned back to Leah and Bernard. “Look, I know this isn’t fun. But we’re an all-star crew. We can handle this. Come on — think. We just have to make it through today and then this nightmare is over. What can we do to ensure that our tip isn’t completely invisible tomorrow?”
Bernard sighed, but tilted his head in thought. And then Leah snapped her fingers. “Casino night?”