Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 128211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
“Some things just aren’t meant to last.”
I frowned, the urge to reach for him nearly strong enough to make me forget where we were, who we were… and who was watching.
“Em…” He croaked my name, jaw clicking. “You gotta stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
He didn’t get the chance to answer. Gisella bounded out onto the patio like a bunny rabbit, smiling ear to ear as she threw her arms around Finn’s neck and leaped onto his back.
“Bebé,” she sang, kissing all over his neck.
Acid burned my throat as I cleared it, managing a smile at Gisella before I excused myself and rejoined the group inside.
My stomach never did settle that night.
Neither did my mind.
POST-PRODUCTION CONFESSIONAL
CLOSE QUARTERS
SEASON 4
GISELLA DÍAZ: DECKHAND/STEWARDESS
PRODUCER
Can you start by saying your name, where you’re from, and what you do?
GISELLA
I’m Gisella Díaz, I’m from Barcelona, and I’ve been in yachting for two years now. I work as deck crew, but I help on interior when needed.
PRODUCER
Do you prefer deck or interior?
GISELLA
Deck. No question. I’d rather scrub teak than cater to a billionaire telling me his drink is exactly two degrees too warm. I don’t mind laundry, though. It’s therapeutic sometimes.
PRODUCER
Let’s talk about that first charter. How did you feel about the guests?
Gisella smirks, shrugs.
GISELLA
Oh, they weren’t so bad. Benedict was only mildly insufferable, and Brielle only looked like she wanted to murder me for about ten seconds when her hair got wet on the jet ski. I don’t know. They were a little difficult, I guess, but it’s rare to have charter guests who aren’t. And honestly? That was the happiest I was all season.
PRODUCER
Why’s that?
GISELLA
Because back then, I thought the worst thing I’d deal with was a tech mogul making me inflate the giant slide, or an Instagram model making me risk going overboard to get her the perfect shot.
Gisella shakes head, pauses for a moment.
GISELLA
I was on a yacht in the Mediterranean with my boyfriend, making good money, catching a nice tan, and having fun. I thought, this is it — this is what they mean when they say you’re living the dream.
PRODUCER
And that changed?
GISELLA
Yeah. Because back then, I thought my biggest problem was going to be the guests.
PRODUCER
And what was?
GISELLA
The chief stew.
I was excited the next morning as we braced to welcome our next charter guests.
For approximately twenty minutes.
Then, I found out Leah was sick.
I was on my way up to the deck, tightening my ponytail as I swung through the crew mess to see what Finn had laid out for breakfast. When I saw fresh croissants, I moaned, snatching one to have with my coffee.
I was, surprisingly, not hungover — not that I was in tip-top shape, either, but I’d had worse mornings, for sure.
Unfortunately, that was not the case for Leah.
I heard the retching from the cabin she shared with Bernard even over the gentle hum of the washers and dryers going. Bernard slipped out of their cabin with a grimace, shaking his head at me. “It’s an absolute crime scene in there.”
“Hungover?” I guessed.
“Possibly, but she swears blind she isn’t. Says she didn’t drink enough for it to be the booze.”
I tried to remember everyone’s consumption from the night before, and had to admit I didn’t recall her slamming down shots the way the guys had. She’d only had one glass of wine with dinner, too.
But if it wasn’t the alcohol, then that likely meant…
“Fuck,” I cursed under my breath.
“Food poisoning,” Bernard finished the thought for me, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. “She did have a whole bloody plate of oysters.”
I winced as another violent retch echoed from the bathroom, then closed my eyes with a sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose.
This was not good.
“I’ll check on her,” I said. “Go grab a coffee, then can you start on cabins?”
“It would be my pleasure, m’lady.”
He gave an exaggerated bow at the waist, one hand pressed over his stomach like a royal guard. It pulled a reluctant smile from me.
“You alright?” he asked, his voice softening.
I tilted my head, one brow arched at his searching gaze. “Peachy. Why?”
“Just checking on my chief.”
“Uh-huh. More like fishing for gossip. Spill. What have you heard?”
He flicked imaginary long hair over his shoulder, despite the fact his was cropped close to his beautiful head. “Only that you and ol’ Cheffy in there used to knock boots.”
Bernard stuck his tongue in his cheek as he inspected his nails, then flashed me a wicked grin.
“It’s true, isn’t it?”
I didn’t know if I wanted to scream, cry, or yeet myself off the top deck — but in my delirium, all I managed was a groan muffled behind a grin. “It was a long time ago.”
“Right. So long ago that rooming with his new girlfriend isn’t awkward in the slightest.”
“Cabins, Bernard.”
He snickered. “Yes, yes, all work, no play.” He gave my shoulder a quick squeeze on the way past. “It’s going to be alright,” he said, nodding toward where Leah was.