Billionaire on Board

by Dasha G. Logan

  During the ride to the port I had been enlightened about the actual route we were going to take. Myrtle was too big for most yacht marinas so she was forced to stop in a big port from time to time to refuel. Our first stop would therefore be in A Coruña in three and a half days, where we would only stay for a few hours to get fresh fuel and fresh water. Barcelona would be reached within a week.

  I unwisely commented those would be really long trips without stopping in between. But, lo, Myrtle had a range of 3500 nautical miles and could even cross the Atlantic, I was proudly informed by her proprietor.

  She never had crossed the Atlantic on her own power though, because when she crossed, she travelled on a semi-submersible vessel used for mega yacht transports all over the world. She was far too precious to be exposed to such a strenuous trip!

  Oh dear…

  Well, after Barcelona we would make shorter trips, travelling over night to Saint-Tropez, where we would spend two days, then to Porto Cervo, Sardinia, in another overnight trip, where we would remain for another two days. After Sardinia it would be Capri for three days, then one day in Portofino, then off to Monte Carlo for a few nights of gambling, then Antibes for two more days, then Ibiza and lastly Palma de Mallorca. From there, so I was told, we would fly to Hamburg on the Gulfstream, I would be provided with any drug I demanded, and Ryan would continue to London.

  When I heard I was to be flown home in a tiny aircraft I nearly aborted my mission, but in the end my will to show Mr. Corvera-Fabergé where, as the Germans put it, 'the hammer hangs', was even stronger than the fear of imminent death by plane crash. The Gulfstream would survive one last flight with me aboard, afterwards it could explode in mid-air, as far as I was concerned.

  No, not really. But you get the sentiment.

  As soon as we had gone aboard, the gangway was pulled up and a tugboat pulled Myrtle into the main fairway from where she was allowed to travel without assistance.

  "Come on, let me give you the tour." Ryan took me by the hand.

  I shied away. "I can walk on my own, thank you."

  "As you wish." I could see him roll his eyes even through the back of his head. "We start in the bowels."

  He pointed out the staff cabins and the engine room because those areas where off limits to me.

  We walked a little further and reached the garage. It hosted the notorious black Bugatti and a black Mercedes S Class.

  "I can only fit small cars in here," Ryan explained.

  Small cars? Where were the small cars?

  "I could have brought my Smart."

  "You could. I didn't know you had a car."

  "I do."

  "If you can call it a car."

  "It is a car. It does all the things a car must do."

  To be honest, I would choose the Bugatti over my Smart any day but I was too proud to admit it.

  The garage was really a very tight affair and it turned out to be a also lift. The cars would come out on deck and could be driven off the Myrtle, either from the rear or from the side.

  "Good Lord, I'd never considered the logistics before."

  "In some ports she can be moored stern first, in others she has to pull up along the berth."

  "I understand. It's a matter of size again."

  "Yes."

  "Isn't it always?"

  "I wouldn't know."

  Oh, he knew. Believe me, he knew.

  We walked all the way to the top deck and I was introduced to the convertible pool area. Convertible meant it had a glass roof that could be opened or closed according to the weather. The pool was nearly thirty feet long and it had a "contra flow" and a jacuzzi section. The captain's bridge loomed above the area in the direction of the bow whereas the chopper was perched on its own little heliport next to the tenders, far away by the stern. We climbed up to the bridge where I met Sam, the chief engineer, and Ruud, the Dutch first officer. There was also a tall, dark-skinned and capable looking woman, Linda, who was Sam's wife but also our first mate. Finally, I met Dan, who incorporated in himself the chopper pilot, the chauffeur and some sort of general factotum. Oh, and I saw the four gorillas - the armed security.

  Once I had been presented I was commanded downstairs again to see the suites.

  The master suite was a giant affair with a giant bed and a wonderfully equipped bathroom. It even had its own jacuzzi and a gym — if the master did not wish to use the gym by the convertible pool area. The furniture were kept very simple but of the best quality and they were mostly made of white painted wood

  "I made a lot of it myself." Ryan knocked against a shelf. "It's not so easy, these things need to be seaworthy."

  "Where do I sleep?"

  "Left or right. As you prefer."

  "I know there's more than one bedroom on this little barge. I want my own. You know I do."

  Ryan sighed in exasperation. "Fine. I'll have one of the girls make up a bed. Why don't you choose your suite yourself?"

  He showed me all the suites available and I settled on the smallest which was also the furthest from his own.

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes, it's cozy. I like it."

  "Fine."

  Just then one of the Filipino housekeepers came by in her white apron, beaming as she beheld me.

  "Hello Marguerita, this is Jude, she wants to stay in here. Could you please make up a bed for her?"

  "Of course, Mr. Ryan, I will do it right away! Welcome Miss Jude. How good we have a nice young lady aboard. On the old yacht none of them stayed for long. It is just not good!"

  "Thank you." I shook her hand.

  "And thank you for your insights, Marguerita," Ryan mumbled when she was gone.

  "What was the old yacht?"

  "The Sirius Black. I had her for a few years."

  "Like the Harry Potter character."

  "Yes."

  "Where's she now?"

  "My sister Camille and her husband bought her. It's a modern yacht. We'll see her in Porto Cervo. She's only forty metres."

  "Only."

  "Yes, only, compared to Myrtle. Will you make peace, please?"

  "I'm completely peaceful."

  "You know exactly what I mean."

  "Will you throw me overboard if I don't?"

  We both had to laugh. "I might… Come on, I show you the dining room."

  "No, we're going to pass Blankenese soon, it's really Hamburg's most beautiful area, an old fishermen's village by the river. I always love to look at it from the water. I so rarely get the chance."

  "Fine, then we go on deck. But we'll have lunch inside afterwards."

  "Fine."

  "Wait." He leaned forward and wanted to kiss me but I slipped away and hurried towards the stairs.

  Two

  Ryan had to work after lunch and I gladly withdrew into my cabin. It possessed a small balcony and I could already picture myself sitting there in a mediterranean sunset, busily and effectively working on my thesis.

  Yeah right. Knowing myself, I would end up reading romance novels on my Kindle app.

  My luggage was there and I began to unpack.

  My mother had been most thorough. There were my best summer clothes and shoes, two evening dresses, a few warm pullovers and my little leather jacket, plenty of underwear (the better stuff), three bikinis, my jewellery box, pyjamas, my cosmetics and my pill with a post-it attached to it. "Be good!" She had also included a greeting-card she had most likely found in one of my drawers.

  It said: 'My darling Popps. I hope you don't mind my participation in Ryan's scheme but I thought you really deserved some time away. You started to look a little caged. Daddy has remitted 3000 euros into your account, but for emergency use only. Not for shoes!!! Call us often!!! Your Mummy Mo.'

  I was so touched and so hormonally challenged, I started to cry.

  Marguerita scratched on the door about an hour later.

  I had dozed off under the influence of Ibuprofen and I felt a little dizzy too. It usually takes me a whi
le to adjust to the sea.

  I opened the door and she carried in a tray with tea and cake on it.

  "Mr. Ryan says you must be fed all the time or you will not be nice to him."

  "How kind of you. What a lovely cake!"

  "Mr. Ryan bids me to tell you, the dinner is at eight o'clock."

  "Wonderful. Thank you."

  At eight I went up to the dining room. Ryan was on the telephone, discussing stock values with somebody possibly across the Atlantic.

  "I have to go," he said when he spotted me.

  "Good evening," I said more lightly than I felt.

  "Hey. Would you like some wine?"

  "No, only water for me tonight, I really had too much to drink in the last few days."

  "Oh, alright."

  The dinner was salad, steak and lobster and it was excellent.

  "I'll get fat if it goes on like this."

  "You're free to use the pool and the gym."

  "I guess I will."

  We did not talk much over dinner. Ryan kept glancing at me with a gigantic question mark in his eyes and it pleased me to see he had become a little more skeptical.

  After dessert I got up and declared I was going to tuck in, dead tired as I was.

  "Any chance I get to do it?"

  "No."

  "Okay, sleep tight."

  I escaped to my cabin and locked the door. I asked myself what had got into me to accept the invitation to such a trip. Seriously!

  Outside, the landscape had changed. Myrtle was in the North-German Bay and approached the open sea. The coast was several miles away already. I curled up on the bed and looked out of the window until the sun had set in a cloudy horizon and there were no more lights.

  I changed into my pyjamas and huddled myself into the outrageously large duvet.

  I do not know why, maybe it was the painkillers, maybe it was the hormones, but in my heart I think it was the spirit of good old nanny Myrtle, who, against all expectations, rocked me into a happy, dreamless sleep.

  Three

  The second day passed without any earthshaking events. The sun was back again and I spent the day working on my thesis while Ryan worked on his money. He had probably decided to give me a day of rest and contemplation.

  But he had his suspicions and he confronted me on the evening of the third day.

  We had finished dinner but I still had half a glass of Bordeaux in front of me so I remained at the table.

  Suddenly, he looked me straight in the eyes. "Are you on your period?"

  "No."

  "Yes, you are."

  "What, have you searched my dustbin?"

  "No, but I'm not stupid."

  I glowered at him.

  He continued."If that's why you don't want to—"

  "No, it's not."

  "Because I don't—"

  "I said, it's not."

  "I see, then why?"

  I could not believe my ears. "You really don't know?"

  "No. Well, yes, because I didn't ask you, but your mother had been so positive about you wanting to come, I saw nothing wrong in it."

  "My mother assumed you were my boyfriend of almost a year."

  He had nothing to say to that.

  "You treated me like your property."

  "I didn't mean to. I'm really sorry. But normally, women… they don't—"

  "Refuse you? Wow, I'm ashamed of my species. — Listen, I don't know how your female friends see it but for me it's not only a physical thing. I want to feel considered. Is that too much to ask?"

  "No." He crossed his arms. "So you came with me out of pure spite? To show me?"

  "No, I didn't. I came to write my thesis on deck, to be spoiled by your staff 24/7, to swim in the sea and to visit beautiful places. Just like you said."

  "Right, you have me there."

  "Okay, well, I think I'll go to bed now."

  "Hold on a second. Listen… is this… is our situation, do you mean it to stay like this forever?"

  I lowered my eyes. "Honestly, Ryan, I don't know." I got up. "Good night."

  "So, you wouldn't mind if I sought company elsewhere?"

  "No."

  Only as much as I minded being hit with a meat cleaver.

  "I see. I don't think I will though."

  "Uh-uh. Well, good night."

  "Good night."

  I ran into my cabin and hurled myself onto the bed.

  I was so badly in love I did not know what to do.

  Four

  Two days after leaving A Coruña I woke up and my body informed me it was back to normal again and wanted to have sex with Ryan immediately. I told it it had missed last week's events and it should hold its horses. It refused to listen.

  Fortunately Ryan had resigned himself to his fate after six days without action and we had embarked on some weird kind of friendship. We had told each other the stories of our lives, hung about on deck and dedicated ourselves to work. The rest of the time we ate, drank and slept. At least I did.

  By the time we reached Barcelona, I was so horny, I hardly noticed the sites we visited or the food I ate, I had to focus too strongly on not jumping Ryan's bones. When Dan drove us back to Myrtle in the S Class, I bit into the flesh of my cheek to stop myself from confessing my desire.

  The next day we were in Saint-Tropez.

  I got off Myrtle first thing in the morning to get away from Ryan and I shopped the life out of me. I did not buy anything expensive, only about three coral necklaces, two pairs of espadrilles, a fourth and a fifth bikini and several lipsticks. I went to the beach in the afternoon and did some swimming.

  When I got back to Myrtle at around six o'clock, Ryan was waiting for me by the gangway.

  "Fancy eating out tonight? Pernod and mussels? We can take the Bug."

  "Sure. Why not?"

  "You got a real tan, you know?"

  "Cool!" I dashed into my cabin to change.

  An hour later I sat in the Bugatti's passenger seat and my heart pounded like a jack-hammer. Ryan was sitting on my left. He had said he only ever really got to drive the Bug in Europe, so he had not opted for a left-hand version.

  We would emerge on the stern deck.

  Fortunately we had moored Myrtle in the marina's restricted area and there were no bystanders. I had learnt in Barcelona and A Coruña what crowds our old nanny could draw and how to hide from the eager cameras of tourists and locals both. Seeing a Bugatti Veyron rising up from her bowels would have been quite the sensation.

  It is strange, really, when you are actually on the yacht, in the Bugatti, you do not see it like anything out the ordinary anymore. Humans adapt to their surroundings with astonishing velocity. To me, by now, Myrtle was simply our good-humoured boat and the Bug was only the Bug who lived next to the S Class in the garage.

  But when we were up on deck and Ryan turned on the ignition, when the vibrations raged through me like a thunderstorm, I lost my cool and grinned like a complete idiot.

  The Bug roared, deep and saturated, as we drove along the coastal road. The Mediterranean was of a splendid blue and the flowers were so absurdly colourful, I briefly wondered whether the 'Commune de Saint-Tropez' had genetically manipulated them to please the eyes of their well-to-do clientele.

  The restaurant was called "Le Papidou" and it lay in a small cove. The Bug did not attract much attention on its minuscule parking lot, because it was joined by two Lamborghinis, three Ferraris, a Rolls Royce, several Mercedes and a Porsche.

  Every female guest in the restaurant, except me, was a model. Or had been in younger days. I felt like a dwarf.

  I threw suspicious glances at all of them, suspecting them of having, well— of having been 'driven in the Bugatti' too.

  At least they could not have been driven in my Bug, because my Bug was a new one and the old one had moved in with Gus the yacht designer, where it probably continued its career as a bird-carrier. But still, I was provisionally jealous of them all.

  We did have mus
sels but only I had the Pernod. Ryan had one glass of white wine and that was it (the Bug demands its sacrifices). I discovered he spoke excellent French and the longer I watched him eat his mussels, the more I wanted to go back to Myrtle and have him try his French on my mussel too. But until now he had done nothing to redeem himself. The Julia Roberts movie options lay wide open to him, but he had not chosen to bring any of them into action, hence I would refrain from bringing myself into action or from lying wide open to him respectively.

  I was not going to be his holiday plaything no matter how much I wanted to be.

  We arrived home at Myrtle's (as I put it) when it was already close to midnight.

  There was still a lot of life at the waterfront but our part of the marina was calm. Dan came out to bring the Bugatti to bed while Ryan and I stood on the quay for a little longer.

  "I won't be here tomorrow. I have to meet a business partner in Marseille. Dan's going to take me in the S Class. If you want to go anywhere, you can take the Bug. I'll tell the boys you may have it."

  "Really? Wow, I'm honoured."

  "Yes, but let Sam or Angelo help you drive it out."

  "Sure, if I dare."

  "I'm sure you will. It's well insured."

  "You're not one of those guys who are panicky about their cars, huh?"

  "I'm one of those guys who are panicky about their boats. You're treating Myrtle well, so I trust you."

  "I like her very much. She's a gentle and loving creature."

  "She is, isn't she?"

  "Yes."

  Five second silence.

  When did we last have one of those? There was the bland face too! Help!

  Suddenly I was in his arms and he kissed me and I kissed him back. Only the sound of the garage trap closing six feet behind me rescued me.

  I wrestled myself out of his embrace.

  "No. Don't. Leave me alone!" I stammered and fled across the gangway.