Page 6 of The Butler

“Not a true yachty then, huh?” he asked.

We laughed at the inside joke. “Not really. More here for the adventure. And the money,” I quickly added.

The copter pilot was hovering over the giant letterHpainted on the ship’s helipad below. Three deckhands were dressed in their whites and waiting for us to set down. I knew it must be for the first officer. Stewards or deckies never got the royal treatment of a lineup.

“I hope to see you around,” Jake said. His examination of my body made me think he might be telling the truth.Uh-oh!

“Deklyn!” I heard the high-pitched squeal of the yacht’s queen. Starr ran up and hugged me enthusiastically as the other deckhands watched. I doubted any of them were jealous that I was hugging it out with such a gorgeous creature since I knew most of them were also gay. Starr always stocked the crew bunks with the hottest of gay boys. She knew Mr. Carrington’s preferences. From food to wine and especially to men.

“They’re staring at you,” she whispered in my ear. “Dammit! Another cruise and Starr gets no dick.”

I pulled away and took her in. She was smoking hot as usual. For a woman, she was tall. Perhaps an inch or so shy of 6 feet. “Damn, girl! You look as fine as hen’s teeth.”

“What?” she asked. “Please don’t give me that down-home country bullshit on this cruise.”

“Why? Is Troy here already?” I asked. We all knew about the boss’s Midwest boyfriend and his aw-shucks personality. Starr was convinced it was an act. I didn’t give a rat’s ass because he looked like a piece of heaven to me even if he was far too young for my liking. He could down-home-country my ass anytime he wanted. We all knew Troy had to be a bottom though, because Mr. C. was all top and liked his boys young, smooth, and tight.

“Corn Pone won’t be here,” Starr remarked. “Can you believe Mr. C. got dumped?”

“No fucking way,” I said. We walked across the helipad and down the steps to the teak deck where I removed my shoes. Shoes were never allowed on Mr. C.’s decks unless they were ship approved and part of a uniform.

“Troy ended up being a total asshole. Thank God he isn’t coming,” she said. “It’ll be weird being on board with Mr. C. and him single, dontcha think?”

Starr was correct. Weirdanduncomfortable. Lincoln Carrington was a tall drink of water. The finest and tastiest water that was available on our blue marble that we call Earth. The previous times I’d worked on Action found me drooling over him most days. Mr. C. was around forty, I guessed. He was at least 6 feet 2 inches, lean yet muscular, with crystal-blue eyes, and dishwater-blond hair that crowned a face usually only seen on sculptures in museums. As a deckhand on the prior trips, I would only interact with him if he was walking around the exterior areas of the vessel. We deckhands avoided being in the salon areas of the boat unless invited. At two hundred feet long, Action had plenty of space to not be seen.

“What happened?” I asked, knowing that Starr was always in the know. She had connections and had been lead stew on Action for five years.

“Brock Mann happened.” She hooked her arm with mine and we walked through the main salon and down the interior stairs to the crew mess. My thoughts were imagining Troy and Brock Mann, Hollywood super-hunk, fucking.

“Brock Mann as inhe was juston the last cruise,Brock?” I asked. Mr. C.’s buddy had come onto his boat and stole his boy. That was some serious shit there.

“Yep. And they’d been hooking up and Mr. C. didn’t know about it.”

“That sucks,” I said, sliding into the giant booth where the crew took turns eating. “I like Mr. C. He deserved better.”

Starr had a suspicious smirk on her face. The corners of her mouth turned up slightly, barely concealing her perfect veneers. “I’m glad to hear you say that.”

I’d been on the receiving end of that look before so my eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why?”

“Remember your text?” she asked. “You agreed you owed me, right?”

“Bitch! What are you up to?” I was worried that I had galley duty for two weeks, or worse, laundry.

“We had to let Mr. C.’s butler go,” she began. “He’d been stealing shit from the main suite.”

“That sucks, but how does this involve me, Starr? I don’t rip people off.”

“I know that, sweetie. That’s why you will be Mr. C.’s butler on this trip.”

Her words took a moment to absorb into my brain. “No way!” I said.

“Dek, you have to. I couldn’t find anyone on such short notice,” she pleaded. “Mr. C. wasn’t expected back on board Action for another couple of months, but I hear he’s not dealing with the whole breakup thing very well and needs some quiet time.”

“I’m not qualified,” I said.

“You’re the best interior worker I know. Why you busted your ass on deck never made sense to me anyway.”

“But, Starr. A butler? What the fuck does a butler even do?” I asked. “I’m not a fancy guy like that. Bowing and shit or laying out people’s clothes. What the fuck?”

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