I thought I heard Finn chuckle.
I angled my chin, just enough to glance at him out of the corner of my eye.
The prick was smiling.
“Right,” Captain Gary said, tapping the papers in his hands on the table to level them. “Let’s get this party started, aye? Our first primary guest is Alistair Sinclair. A self-made tech mogul in his early 40s, Alistair made his fortune in cryptocurrency and AI start-ups. He loves the finer things in life and is expecting nothing less than six-star service.”
“No pressure,” I muttered under my breath.
“He’s traveling with his wife, Theodora, who is a model and influencer. She would like candid photos taken of her as much as possible.” Captain Gary paused, looking up at Palmer. “Think that’s something you and the deck crew could handle when we’re anchored or cruising?”
“Take photos of a hot babe in her swimsuit? Jeez, you’re really asking a lot of me here, Cap.”
Captain Gary grinned but chose not to comment. “Alistair also has his best friend, Benedict, and wife, Brielle, with him, as well as his older brother, Max.”
“Since the guests are like gods in the crypto sector,” I read off the page, arching a brow at that sentence as my fellow crewmates snickered. “They would like a ‘Roman Empire Bacchanal’ on night two, complete with gold togas, laurel crowns, and lots of high-end wine.”
“Looks like Theodora will only eat organic, gluten-free, dairy-free, andhigh vibrationalfood,’” Finn read. “She also prefers no leafy greens, no red meat, is not a fan of poultry or soy, and despises raw fish.” He scrubbed a hand over his short beard, tilting his head to the side as he re-read that last part. “Delightful. Love an easy first charter.”
Captain Gary chuckled. “I have full faith you can pull it off, Cheffy.”
Palmer took over then, reading off more of the guests’ demands while on board. Although I’d already seen all of the requests, it wasn’t hard to play up my anxiety for the cameras trained on us now. These weren’t just regular charter guests. They weren’t going to nap on the sundeck and go to bed after dinner. These guests were specifically chosen to bring us drama in one way or another, and with a primary who thought of himself as a god and a girlfriend who apparently only wanted to eat witchy berries — they were not taking it easy on us with this first charter.
Captain wrapped up the preference sheet meeting with me still in a daze, fingers absentmindedly playing with my piercings as I stared at all the requests and ran through a mental list to make sure I had everything I needed to pull off what they wanted. I’d asked the provisioner not just for the party supplies to get the theme right for the Roman Empire Bacchanal, but I’dalso hired a local sommelier to come aboard with an expensive and exclusive selection of wine.
I knew Alistair’s type before even setting eyes on him. He loved the power that came with being rich. He wanted to feel like he got to experience things in life that no one else did. It was my job to make him feel like this yacht charter was worth bragging about.
This was it. My first time at bat as chief stew.
I bit back a smile as that realization hit me. I’d worked so hard for this opportunity, years of literal sweat and tears under my belt to get me here. I didn’t care if the charter guests asked for specific colored M&Ms or gold-painted pony rides on the beach — whatever they wanted, I was going to make it happen.
I was going to prove myself worthy of this title — and of my father’s respect.
“What the hell am I going to cook for this girl?”
I blinked, realizing that Captain Gary and Palmer had already left the crew mess and it was just Finn and me left at the table. He was staring at the preference sheets just like I was, shaking his head as he looked through what Theodora couldn’t eat.
“Macaroni and cheese?” I suggested.
“Cute, but she said no dairy, remember? Or gluten.”
“Gluten-free macaroni,” I said, snapping my fingers. “And vegan butter.”
Finn rolled his lips together against a smile, and my stomach lurched at how familiar that grin was even after going two years of my life without seeing it. I’d blocked him on social media after realizing I couldn’t survive a night drinking without making a fool of myself in his DMs.
I’d had to quit him cold turkey, and even now, I didn’t feel clean sitting this close to my former addiction.
“Could you imagine? I just slather some gluten-free pasta with a heap oforganicbutter and call it a day?”
I smirked. “Garnished with a sprig of parsley for aesthetic.”
“Sounds like a Michelin-Star meal.”
I tapped the preference sheet. “What about a salad?”
“No leafy greens,” he reminded me.
“Fine. A nice, juicy steak?”