Love Lost and Found (2 page)

Chapter Two

Today she wasn’t going to take any crap from Captain A-hole Atkinson. Staring over
the head of her boss and the well-stacked minion he’d taken to having tail him all
the time, Felicity sought a glimpse of the ocean out the window behind him. Better.
She disliked the way the bulk of the ship disrupted the glorious view of Port Vila,
but really, there wasn’t much to complain about. Vanuatu was a tropical island paradise,
and gazing at turquoise water was way better than having to watch Captain Atkinson’s
face pout through his pep talk.

“He really shouldn’t pick such massive bodyguards—makes his short-man syndrome more
obvious,” she whispered to her neighbor.

“Careful,” the cruise director hissed back.

Bugger. Felicity almost bit her tongue, literally, as the cruise director glared at
her. Professional reproach poured off him, his body stiff, his lip even stiffer. Bugger
again.

Must. Remember. New cruise director. Is. An. Ass.

Darius Miller was about as far from her friend and the ship’s previous cruise director,
Michaela Western, as it was possible to be. Gangly. Uptight. A complete slave to authority.

Felicity sighed. Working for Adventurer Cruises was supposed to be as relaxing for
her as it was for the passengers. Sure, it wasn’t exactly a holiday, but it wasn’t
massively taxing, and when Michaela had been around at least Felicity had been able
to blow off a little steam by providing snarky commentary about all and sundry on
board. Damn Michaela for falling in love with investment billionaire Dylan Johns,
leaving to take on the world at the head office,
and
having beautiful green-eyed babies.

Felicity sighed again. The new cruise director was no eye candy, and he was
not
a fan of her witty repartee.

Fool.

Her eyes flicked back to the water, and the visual of Port Vila Harbor settled her.
At least the ocean was still her friend. The only friend she felt any lasting affinity
with now. The sigh deepened. When she woke from a rock climbing accident with her
boss almost five months ago, it was a white, anonymous world she surfaced into. They’d
been out of town, which explained the emptiness to start with, but when she got back
home, no one was familiar, not at work, in her apartment building, or in her life.
Worse, the five years she lost threw her back to just after her ex Brendon cheated
on her, told all their friends, and laughed about it in her face. Bastard.

Searching for clues about her five-year-older self, she’d found plenty of meetings
in her diary, especially with her boss. But when the IT department gave her access
to her e-mail and forgotten passwords, there’d been nothing untoward in her communication
with the head of Biogena, Richard McCarthy, so any thoughts of a romance between them
were quashed. Seems she’d simply been a complete workaholic.

The captain’s voice droned on. “Impeccable attention to detail, make everyone feel
welcome…” She sighed and the cruise director frowned at her again. He was never going
to win the welcome prize on board the
Pacific Empress
, that was for sure. Though welcome was
not
how she’d felt when she dragged her sore, sorry ass back to the Biogena head office
in San Francisco either. There’d been a few phone calls to check in on her, but those
were stiff, the platitudes carefully constructed rather than easy, heartfelt well-wishes.
Seems she’d been a loner as well as a workaholic. The two certainly went together.

She’d started a journal on the advice of her counselor, and, looking back at it every
so often in her stateroom on board, couldn’t believe how lonely and lost she’d been.
It had been all she could do not to cry herself to sleep every night. “Give yourself
time,” the hospital counselor had told her, but it felt wrong to waste time waiting
for…something. Between feeling lost and lonely at work and heartbroken about a breakup
that had happened five years ago, there didn’t seem to be much worth sticking around
for in San Francisco.

Maybe her five-years-older self would have pushed the hospital staff more vigorously
to let her sneak into the ICU, see her comatose climbing companion, and check if she
felt anything for him. Maybe she would have at least stayed to wait for him to wake
and explain why he’d decided rock climbing upstate was a good two-person team-building
exercise. Would have tried harder to slot back into a life where everyone told her
she’d been part of a dedicated and geektastic biotech team. But she wasn’t her five-years-older
self. Post-accident Felicity felt as if she had been recently lied to, cheated on,
and taken from, and all she wanted to do was to lick her wounds, get happy, and work
on getting her memory back. Preferably as far away from her lonely-ass old life as
possible.

The cruise ship ad jumped out of the paper one morning and everything else fell into
place. She had some money saved, so she could afford to keep her apartment in case
she discovered her five-years-older self wasn’t such a sourpuss and her old life was
worth throwing herself back into. And the one bunch of memories she
did
have left was of being homeschooled on a boat. Being in the middle of the wide blue
ocean was kinda close to that, and it was sure as hell as far from San Fran as she
could think of. Taking a job with a little more focus on adventure and relaxation
would keep her fed, watered, and
hopefully
a little lighter. And maybe it would release some of the fresh grief she felt over
her parents’ deaths six years ago.

Zero family and zero friends. Yep, it was time to move on. At least until she remembered
what she really wanted.

As the sun dipped on deck, she lowered her lashes and imagined herself out in the
Pacific Ocean, swimming up to a deserted beach where a chilled cocktail waiter was
ready to slake her thirst.
Ahhh. Better.
She could almost taste the
caipirinha
on her imaginary waiter’s lips. This sigh was louder than she’d meant it to be and
Felicity had to bite her cheek to stop a snort escaping. Hoping no one noticed, she
looked up—into the icy eyes of the captain.

“Ms. Williams? You’ll be looking after Mr. McCashin today. He flew in to Port Vila
this morning to join us.”

“What? Who?” Felicity practically stomped on her foot in an attempt to make sure she
didn’t push it further into her mouth.

The captain paused and smirked at the assembled heads of department. “Why indeed,
Ms. Williams. Report back to the bridge at ten hundred sharp. Dismissed.”

So much for not taking any crap from the captain today. Felicity looked around for
a friendly face and spied George, the cruise’s choreographer. Thank goodness for small
mercies. Felicity bulged her eyes at him, nodding to a deserted corner of the ship’s
bridge where they’d been assembled for the briefing. She dawdled after they were released,
letting the room empty before she launched on George.

“I know, I know,” she said to his raised eyebrow. “But he just goes on…”

George put up his hand to stop her. “I know, darling. Your trouble is that you’re
smarter than him by about a million miles and he knows it. Don’t make yourself into
an easy target. Move on up or—”

“Or shut up. I know. You’re right.”

George raised the other eyebrow. “Michaela got off the ship while she had the chance.
There’s nothing stopping you from doing the same. I’m destined to be here forever,
old dancing hack that I am, and anyhoo, the captain’s a little afraid of me.” He threw
up a hand in a mock swoon.

Felicity laughed. The notion of anyone being afraid of George was too perfect. He
might crack his whip over the dancers he worked with on board, but George was about
as fierce as a gerbil otherwise. “He’s afraid that he’ll lose you and then his precious
ship’s reputation will be in tatters, you mean,” she said.

“Quite.”

George didn’t press her about furthering her career and she was grateful. “So? What?
Who? Why me?” she asked.

George sucked air through his teeth. “Babysitting. Mr. Richard McCashypants, potential
investor. Because you’re perky and charming, unlike our new cruise director, and for
all his faults, Captain Atkinson knows it,” George answered succinctly.

“Richard McCashypants. Hey, you’re worse than me.” Felicity giggled.

“It’s McCashin, which is almost as bad.” George smirked. “You’re to make him feel”—George
wafted an arm in the air in a pseudo ballet move—“involved. Inspired.”

“And generous,” Felicity added.

“Exactly. See, our captain isn’t as stupid as he sometimes pretends. Get McCashypants
to cough up whatever it is he’s promised to invest and Atkinson will be so pleased
with the pat on the back he gets from head office he’ll leave you alone for months.”

Felicity chewed on a strand of blond hair that had escaped its tight ponytail.

“And you can start by stopping that. He won’t be wooed by split ends, sweetness.”

Her hair was not the feature she was most proud of, despite her mother once calling
it charmingly carefree. Felicity groaned. “It’s a mess, isn’t it?”

“Not a mess, darling. More of a…I don’t want to call it a nest, buuut…”

The groan turned into something altogether more despondent. “Crap. It’s the wind and
the desalinated water in the showers and the lack of conditioner.”

“McCashypants isn’t going to be looking at your hair.” George took her by the hands.
“He’ll take one look at your smile and your other”—George flicked his eyes up and
down her body—“assets, and you’ll have him eating out of your hand. Maybe feed him
grapes rather than mango though, darling. Much less messy.”

The laugh bubbled out of her as though she’d released the cork of a champagne bottle
and, at the same moment, a shaft of sunlight reflected through the glass and filled
the world with gold. “What on earth do I care about my hair? Look where we are,” she
said and George smiled.

“That’s my girl. Although when you’re done with Cashypants we’ll make you up a hot
oil treatment. It’s only olive oil, but with a dash of argan goodness. It’ll make
your locks lush, my love. Don’t tell anyone else, or they’ll all want a go.” He patted
her on the shoulder and sashayed out the door.

At least a hot oil treatment would make her feel as though she was being pampered,
sort of. The quieter pace of the cruise ship job was supposed to be relaxing, invigorating,
and memory-enhancing, but with Captain A-hole on the warpath, she was finding it anything
but. Closing her eyes, she searched, as she did every day, for something that might
have walked quietly into her memory overnight. Nothing. The last five years were still
locked in the white-walled, soundproof box.

“You’d better be a stress-free win, Cashypants,” she muttered. “I’m not sure I have
the patience for anyone too pushy today.” Maybe he’d be an easy touch, some nice old
bloke who just needed a quick flutter of the eyelashes to whip out his wallet and
support Adventurer Cruises, buy a couple hundred shares or whatever Captain A-hole
was hoping for. George was right—if she could woo this guy, life was going to get
a whole lot better. “We better make sure you look presentable, then,” she told herself
and trot-ran back to her stateroom.

“Nooo.” Standing in front of the mirror, she took in the mess—no, George was right,
the
nest
that was her hair. Not to mention the red flush that made her freckles look more
spotty than sun-kissed. With the entire contents of her cosmetics bag strewn on the
bed, she almost gave up, then caught sight of the picture of her parents she had beside
her bed and straightened. She could do this. Today was just one day in the rest of
her life. “Moisturizer is almost the same as conditioner,” she told herself hopefully
and grabbed the bottle.

“Not perfect, but better,” she admitted ten minutes later. The facial moisturizer
she’d combed through her hair wasn’t exactly meant for the job, but it’d done the
trick and her hair now sat in a calmer topknot, the ends only curling out around the
edges rather than threatening to conduct electricity for the whole ship. The same
moisturizer smoothed her face, too, and she no longer looked as flustered as a teenage
prom virgin. In fact, she didn’t look half bad. The dark navy of her uniform shirt
accentuated the primrose blue of her eyes, and with her hair all pulled back her cheekbones
stood out as they were supposed to. “As long as he doesn’t make me laugh, we’re sorted,”
she told her reflection, trying not to let the sight of her wonky eyetooth dismay
her. “He might be into vamp chicks anyway.”

Tucking her shirt tighter into her uniform slacks, she burst out the door and trot-ran
up the three flights of stairs and two corridors back toward the upper decks.

“In trouble again?” Jeremy, the head of security who shared Felicity’s love of smart
retorts, leaned on the railing just next to the doors to the bridge. She looked into
his smoky gray eyes and wondered whether today might be the day she followed up on
his advances.

“Not yet. I’m escorting a VIP today. Cashypants is due any minute.”

Jeremy flicked his dimples into action with a half grin. “Maybe you’ll finally have
that drink with me after.”

She smiled. Surely one drink wouldn’t hurt.

Another woman walked past and Jeremy’s eyes darted to her, just for a second. But
that was long enough to remind Felicity what men like him did.
You don’t need new memories like the ones he’ll provide.
The golden gossip grapevine had provided her with plenty of evidence that Jeremy
was a player with a neon, flashing, capital
P
. And “player” equaled “cheater” in her books.
Once burned, always careful with matches
had become one of her many mottoes. “Thanks, but I’ll be busy with Cashypants.”

He shrugged and as always, Felicity wondered if she was doing herself a disservice
writing off every man as a repeat of Brendon. She was always talking up the exploits
of others, or she had until Michaela left, but hadn’t taken up any offers of gossip-worthy
romance herself since she’d been on board. It wasn’t as though she didn’t crave a
hot body in her bed now and then, but with Brendon’s malicious face still popping
in to ruin her dreams every so often, new woman or not, she wasn’t quite ready to
let down her guard. Certainly not with someone who was going to be on board to remind
her of her mistake each and every day, someone she couldn’t hide from, and someone
who, if she was honest, didn’t create the fairy-tale sparks that would make her want
to throw her well-honed caution to the wind.