Jack & Jilted (2 page)

“I know,” Kenneth replied, and his voice did sound miserable. “But my hands are tied.”

“You’re leaving? Just like that? With no notice?” Jack clamped down on the spurt of anger that shot through his system. “Well, what is it? Something medical? You in some kind of trouble?”

“You could say that,” Kenneth said. “I’ve found out my girlfriend’s pregnant.”

“Oh,” Jack said, temporarily deflated. That had to be a bit of a shock—Jack didn’t even realize Kenneth had a girlfriend, much less one he was serious enough about to have a kid with. “Well, that doesn’t mean you should quit your job. If anything, I’d think you’d want to continue as chef in the meantime—”

“I have a new job lined up,” Kenneth said. “In a restaurant.”

Now Jack was more surprised than angry. “On land?”

“Listen, I’m not thrilled with it, either,” Kenneth answered defensively. “But I’m crazy about her, and she needs me. So I’m staying.”

There was a note of staunch loyalty in his voice, and Jack sighed. “Damn it. Well…congratulations,” he said belatedly. “But you are leaving me in a jam. I mean, she’s not in labor this second or anything.” He felt petty bringing it up, so he stopped himself from elaborating further. “We’ll make do. Besides, honeymooning couples won’t care about the food anyway, right? That’s not what they’re here for.” At least he hoped that was true. The last thing he could afford at the moment was an unhappy customer demanding a refund.

“Um, there is one more thing.”

Now Jack’s back prickled with prescience. “Oh, man, what else?”

“I hope they don’t want massages, either,” Kenneth said, and if possible, his voice sounded even more apologetic.

It took Jack a second to figure out what Kenneth was saying. The honeymoon cruises did offer massages, which was why he’d hired a woman who was willing to be maid and masseuse. Hmm…

“Helen?” Jack said, flabbergasted. “Your girlfriend is my masseuse?”

“The morning sickness is killing her, man,” Kenneth said. “There’s no way she can work on a boat now when just looking at a glass of milk makes her want to hurl.”

“You have got to be kidding me!” Jack shouted. “My gourmet chef and my personal masseuse are both ditching me right before a weeklong, four-star, private cruise. At this rate, we’re going to be demoted to one star. We’re going to be the floating equivalent of the No-Tell Motel!”

“We didn’t mean for this to happen,” Kenneth protested.

Jack bit back a swear. “I know, I know,” he said. “And I am happy for you guys, as long as you’re happy. I…right now is not a good time for us to have customers refusing final payments or demanding deposit refunds, if you know what I mean.”

“I’ll put feelers out,” Kenneth said, contrite. “I’ll find you another chef by the time you get back from this cruise. And I’ll have Helen look for another masseuse.”

“That’d be a help,” Jack said, although considering the meagerness of his current financial state, he knew that finding people of quality willing to work for peanuts was going to be tough. He was lucky because Kenneth and Helen both loved the ocean—or at least they had before all of this.

There was a buzzing on his phone, and he saw another call was waiting. “I’ve got to go,” he said to Kenneth and switched over in the middle of yet another Kenneth apology. “McCullough Charters. How can I help you?”

“My name is Chloe Winton,” a woman’s voice said in a tone that would’ve been businesslike if it weren’t for a note of something else, possibly something sad. “My…fiancé and I were scheduled to take a cruise this week.”

There it was again—the tickle down his spine that signaled rough waters ahead. “Yes, Mrs. Winton,” he said, putting on his very best customer-service voice. “We’re looking forward to seeing you. We’re scheduled to depart at six-thirty, but since it’s a private charter we can leave whenever you prefer. Is there anything special you wanted?”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to cancel.”

Cancel. Crap. That would mean repaying the deposit, and no more money forthcoming. And he had bills that were already written against the deposit check. “May I ask why?” he said, racking his brain for a way to salvage the deal. “Perhaps there’s something I can help you with?”

There was a pause on the line. “It’s no longer a honeymoon, for one thing. The groom sent a note to me at the chapel saying he couldn’t go through with it.”

“Ouch,” Jack said before he could stop himself.

“Yeah, something like that,” she responded, and the business tone dropped for a minute, leaving her sounding rueful and very vulnerable. “So I don’t think it’s anything you can help with. I’ve got plenty of relatives giving me plenty of advice,” she added with a laugh that sounded less than happy.

He could picture it now—this poor lady, stranded at the altar, surrounded by a bunch of family busybodies. And what kind of guy would leave a woman on her wedding day? If he knew it wasn’t going to work, then he knew it months ago. Why put her through the wringer in front of all her friends and family?

“Well, he’s the one who paid the deposit,” Jack mused, remembering vaguely. “He’s paying for the whole thing—I’ve got a postdated check.”

“That’s right,” she said, sounding puzzled. “I was paying for some wedding stuff in exchange.”

“It’s not your fault the wedding was canceled. You showed up,” Jack said with certainty. “So why should you cancel the cruise? Why miss out on it because he’s being a butt head?”

That got a startled laugh out of her. “I don’t know that I’m in a honeymoon state of mind,” she said.

“Ever been out on the open ocean at night?” Jack said, getting into the swing of it—and not only to save the sale. “It’s the most peaceful thing in the world. The lapping of the waves, the breeze, the way everything looks and smells. It’s pure freedom.”

“Sounds like heaven,” she admitted.

“And,” he said, “it’s miles from everyone who has any sort of advice to give. You don’t even get cell phone reception most of the time.”

“Really?” Now he heard it—the hint of a smile in her voice.

“I’ll admit it. I don’t want to lose the fare,” Jack said candidly. “But I also think you’ve had a rotten day and you’re probably going to be in for it for a while. If you stay in town, odds are good you’ll bump into a bunch of well-meaning people who have no idea what to say to you, and the awkwardness is going to make it worse.”

“Not to mention at some point I’ll run into the butt head,” she muttered, and now Jack laughed.

“Exactly. Who needs that? Come on the cruise. Leave all your stress on shore. Take the week off.”

A long pause, and Jack wondered absently if he was being cruel—if he were making things worse. He’d never met this woman, but she sounded like a nice person, and he probably would’ve told her to do the same thing even if she were booked with a different charter ship. Still, he knew that his take on what should be done and most land-bound people’s view on how to act tended to be radically different.

“Wouldn’t I just be running away?” she finally asked. Her voice sounded sad but hopeful. As if she were begging him to come up with a reason for her to go along with his plan.

“Generals do it all the time. So do top executives. You’re not running away. You know what you’re doing? Repeat after me—you’re regrouping.”

“I’m regrouping,” she echoed dutifully.

“You’ve been through a lot. You deserve a week away from all the pressure. To heal and get your head on right,” Jack said, and in that moment he meant it sincerely. Even if he didn’t see a dime, this kid needed all the help she could get.

“I’m regrouping,” she said again and let out a surprised giggle. “Nobody’s going to understand.”

“So who needs to?” Jack scoffed. “Honey, you have only one person to answer to and that’s you.”

“That is true,” she said. “Could you give me directions to your boat?”

“Sure,” he replied enthusiastically and proceeded to tell her how to get to the Corona Bay docks, giving her the code and location for his boat’s slip. “Drive careful now and let me know if you have any problems.”

“Thanks,” she said, then laughed. “I’m sorry…who am I talking to?”

Jack smacked his forehead with his palm. “Duh, sorry. I’m the owner and operator of the yacht you’ll be sailing on tonight. I’m Jack McCullough.”

“Captain Jack?” she asked with the suggestion of another giggle.

“Okay, in light of all you’ve been through, I’ll let you get away with that one,” he said with mock severity, “but no Captain Jack jokes, jibes or references. You have no idea how much flak I’ve caught since Pirates of the Caribbean.”

“Then what should I call you?”

“Just Jack,” he said. “Wait. No Will Grace jokes, either. You can call me whatever you want as long as it’s not ‘Captain Jack’ or ‘Just Jack.’ Call me ‘hey, you’ if you feel like it.”

“Well, thanks, ‘hey, you,’” she said softly. “I guess I’ll see you this evening.”

“You got it,” he replied, and they both hung up.

Jack sighed, putting his cell phone away. He glanced around the deck of his yacht—the Rascal. It wasn’t new and it wasn’t superfancy, but the wood gleamed, and it was sturdier and faster than it looked. It was his dream—his life. He’d sacrificed a lot to get it and was sacrificing a lot more to keep it.

Which made him wonder, obliquely, about what he’d just done.

Did I, moments ago, convince a heartbroken, jilted bride to come out on a cruise with me?

Yes. Yes, he had.

Did I do it for the money?

He paced a little at that one. He did want to help her. But yeah, he’d done it for the money. Now the reality of what he’d pulled off hit him.

Besides making you sort of slimy, it also means you’re going to have a weepy, emotional basket case on your hands for the next six days and seven nights.

Jack closed his eyes. It had seemed like the perfect solution at the time. She was in trouble, he was offering her a breather. It would also get him some cash—and he had no problem taking money from the schmuck who had stood her up in the first place. And she’d sounded sweet, if sad. He doubted she’d become completely unglued once they set out.

But if she did, what then? What if she decided she hated all men and made his life a living hell for the next week? Or what if she cried all over him?

Too late now, he counseled himself, still feeling troubled.

Then it hit him. She was going to be leaving the comfort, albeit nosy comfort, of her family. Instead choosing to enjoy the four-star luxuries of her private cruise. Except for the fact that they’d lost their private chef, their masseuse and their maid.

So what exactly was she going to be enjoying, besides enduring her troubles alone?

“Oh, hell,” Jack muttered to himself. Rough waters ahead, his gut had told him. He would have to find out a way to navigate them because he’d gone too far to turn back now.

CHLOE STOOD IN FRONT of the yacht, her rolling bag handle gripped tightly in her right hand. It had been awkward walking over the planked decking in the low heels she’d worn with her soft-pink traveling suit. If she’d been with Gerald, he’d have pulled the luggage for her.

Don’t think about Gerald.

She closed her eyes for a second. Not thinking about Gerald was impossible, especially in light of the fact that she was now on the brink of what should’ve been their honeymoon. And the fact that she was doing this alone seemed impossible, as well as everything else in the foreseeable future.

“Hi, there,” she heard a voice say and she opened her eyes.

For a second, the man in front of her almost didn’t register. She’d been with Gerald for four and a half years, and while she appreciated other men, she had never been hit by the looks of one the way she was right now. For the past six months, unless the man was either a caterer, floral arranger or hotel manager, she had not even noted his existence.

That was all changing.

The man had dark, walnut-colored hair, worn long enough to be unkempt, curling at the collar of his T-shirt. His eyes were a beautiful golden-green, lit almost ethereally by the setting sun. He had a broad, easy smile, and his whole demeanor was friendly and laid-back.

“Hey, you,” she ventured, thinking of the captain’s joke: Call me “hey, you” if you want to.

He chuckled, and she could see the muscles bunch and release beneath his shirt. To her surprise, her mouth went temporarily dry.

You haven’t had sex in six months, she excused herself. And you’ve just been through an emotional trauma. This is just chemical, a way to self-medicate and feel better.

Except she didn’t feel better—although she was feeling and that was a nice change from numbness.

“You must be Chloe Winton,” he said. “Can I take your bag?”

“Thanks,” she said, relinquishing it to him. He gestured to her to walk up the thin walkway that connected the yacht to the dock, and she realized if she took the step, then she was deliberately leaving behind all that had happened today. She should be yelling at Gerald right now, she told herself. She should be calling a lawyer about the house, as one of her uncles had recommended. She should…

She shook her head, then lifted her chin. “I’m regrouping,” she said softly, so softly she doubted Jack heard her. She’d been murmuring the two words like a mantra since she’d gotten off the phone with him. With that, she took a step on the unsteady plank. And promptly bobbled.