Page 23 of Billionaire's Desire
She drags in a metal cart I had not noticed before. On it, there are covered dishes.
“I was going to come down for dinner.”
“Oh,” she explains, straightening up, “We are bringing dinner to the clients for the rest of the week. It is a way for us to monitor food after the… uhm… incident.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Has this ever happened before?”
She looks a little confused by my question so I add, “The food poisoning,” to clarify.
“Oh. Not that I have heard of. But this is my first time serving for a yacht.”
That is an opening for me to ask so many other questions so I take advantage of the opportunity.
“I have been meaning to ask you…”
She shifts from foot to foot, “Okay, go ahead.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry?” she inquires.
“I mean,” I take a seat on the edge of the bed. “I mean, what are you doing working on a yacht? You just told me that it was your first time serving on a yacht.”
“Oh,” she visibly relaxed, “I got the job from an employment agency.”
Not much, but she does not look like she is going to expand on that, and I would rather not pry.
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
I am aware that she is serving more than one guest and I have kept her in my cabin for a lot longer than is actually necessary.
“What’s for dinner tonight?”
“Well,” she lifts the lids off the tray, “To start you off, there is a bottle of Dom Perignon, compliments of the Wheelers as an apology for what happened yesterday.”
“Do you know what happened? I heard that almost everyone got sick.”
“That is still under investigation.”
And because I cannot help myself, I inquire, “Were you? Were you sick, I mean?”
The thought of her feeling the way I did last night sets off a pang in my chest. I know we haven’t always been on the best of terms, but I am suddenly overwhelmed by this need to know that she was alright.
“Actually, no. I missed dinner.”
“Why?”
I am hoping it had nothing to do with the water spill.
She looks away, “I had the night off and decided to sleep in.”
She is obviously lying but I don’t push her.
