Caribbean Escape with the Tycoon Page 2

  Vance blinked, momentarily confused, but before he could reply and tell her he wasn’t coming on to her, she had turned on her heels and disappeared.

  Way to go, Kingston. How obtuse to be offering to buy a guest a drink, given that she was engaged and that she had presumed he was married. From the look on her face, it was obvious that she considered him a creep. Shaking his head, Vance headed inside and pressed the elevator button for the ship’s upper level—Deck Thirteen. He glanced at the time on his phone. The cruise director would soon be announcing the emergency assembly drill. All the passengers would be called to make their way to their assigned deck to undergo the required safety routine in the event of an emergency. And soon after that, the ship would set sail.

  He had enough time to have a quick talk with Mariah and Adrien and then relax with a glass of wine at the Mercury Bar on Deck Ten. No, he would head to the bar first. Mariah would probably be wondering what was taking him so long, but until she texted, he was just going to take advantage of having some time to himself.

  * * *

  As the elevator opened on Deck Eight, Vance caught a flash of auburn hair among a group of people walking down the hall. He felt his pulse jack up. And then another flash of fuchsia above snug-fitting white jeans. It was her. He smiled apologetically when he realized that several elderly women were waiting for him to move to the back of the elevator so they could enter.

  Moments later, Vance leaned back in a lounging chair in the Mercury Bar, savoring one of the ship’s premium wines. It would kick off his week-long holiday after an intense nine months taking over Zodiac Cruises, his parents’ company. Even though he had initially balked when his mother had mentioned plans for a special cruise to formally hand over the reins of the company to him, Vance was looking forward to finally having some time to unwind.

  Nine months ago, the life Vance had known and enjoyed had shattered. His father had had a heart attack after a family dinner. Before he had taken his last breaths, he had managed to tell his family that he loved them.

  Vance swallowed hard. The man who had spent so much time away from home—and had relinquished parenting to build his business—had looked at him with piercing clarity for a few moments and rasped, “I’m sorry, son. For everything I said or didn’t say to you. For not being there for you as you were growing up. I... I wanted to build the company for my family. Now I leave it in your hands... Will you take it on, son?”

  Vance had felt a sharp twinge in his own chest at his father’s words, and he had instinctively realized that he needed to forgive his father. The wall he had constructed around his heart over the years, brick by brick, had to give. But something had lodged in Vance’s throat, preventing him from expressing any feelings, and when his father passed seconds later, Vance was flooded by guilt that he had not given his father the satisfaction of knowing that he had forgiven him—or at least that he would try to forgive him—and that he would carry on with the company.

  That was what his dad had always wanted, to have him working alongside him, learning the ropes and eventually taking over when he decided to retire. But Vance had balked from the beginning, always feeling a disconnect with the man who had barely been around in his youth.

  And how could the concrete barrier around his heart even begin to give after decades of reinforcement? His father’s quickly uttered words to him as he approached the end of his life were too little and too late.

  Getting involved in the company had been the furthest thing from Vance’s mind. In high school, when his father had urged him—on one of his rare home visits—to do his community service hours at Zodiac Cruises’ headquarters, Vance had declined, preferring to volunteer at a nearby art gallery. His time there had reinforced his interest in the art world, and the sketches he had shown his father to prove his intentions to pursue art at university had met with barely concealed scorn.

  “You’ve got to be joking.” His father’s sharp laugh as he had tossed Vance’s scrapbook aside dismissively had struck him as if he had lunged a fist into his chest. Vance still remembered how he had wobbled backward a couple of steps, slack-jawed and speechless.

  “Are you telling me you’d rather be a starving artist?” His father’s eyes, resembling gray storm clouds, had bored into Vance. “Don’t be a fool.” And then he had abruptly left, telling his wife that he had lost his appetite and wasn’t going to stay for dinner.

  Vance winced at the memory. His father had been harsh with him, but Vance had refused to buckle and eventually graduated with a master of fine arts degree, receiving the highest honors and a substantial monetary prize from the department. His mother had been at his graduation ceremony, and the look of pride in her glistening eyes had moved him, but her effusive words of praise and congratulations could not make up for the fact that his father had not bothered to show up.

  Within a few months, a prestigious art gallery in Toronto’s historic Distillery District had hired Vance as assistant curator, and his work there, along with his travels, had kept him quite occupied, with very little time to visit his mother save for the occasional Sunday dinner.

  The dinner that had proven to be his father’s last had turned out to be the same as previous occasions—the atmosphere tinged with tension, stilted conversation and a formality that was never present when he was alone with his mother. Seeing his father—whom he had always categorized as tough and uncompromising—reduced to such a vulnerable and conciliatory state had been a shock. His father’s deathbed request had immobilized him, and Vance had barely had time to process the request before his father passed.

  Vance took a gulp of wine. He had never wanted to get involved in the family business, but the irony was that after the funeral, Vance had spent every waking moment trying to prove himself worthy of following in his father’s footsteps. For his mother’s sake, he had tried to convince himself repeatedly. He was doing it for her, to keep the business running as smoothly as possible. And maybe to assuage the guilt that had surfaced knowing he hadn’t given his father the satisfaction of a positive response to his last request as he had taken his last breaths.

  And to do the job properly, it meant that he had had to temporarily give up the lifestyle he had previously enjoyed, which his father had not approved of. And his job at the art gallery.

  It had been too late to make a vow to his father, but not too late for Vance to carry out his promise to himself.

  So for the last nine months, Vance had worked twelve-hour days at headquarters in Toronto and had undertaken several cruises, mentored by every department head of Zodiac Cruises. He had been surprised at how much he had enjoyed learning the workings of the business, and he had started to think of ways that he could put his art and history background to good use in the company...

  His mother had planned this cruise to officially acknowledge Vance in his new position. “Your father wanted this, remember?” she had reminded him several times when he had claimed that he didn’t have time. “His dream was to pass the reins as president of Zodiac Cruises over to you himself one day...”

  Vance felt a fresh stab of grief and the familiar swirl of guilt in his gut. What had he really known about his father’s dreams? His feelings toward his father were so convoluted. He was sure that he had felt every possible emotion when it came to his dad: bitterness, disappointment, abandonment, even hate in his adolescent years. He had never understood the man...a man who had chosen work over family.

  What’s done is done, he told himself. He had another drink of his wine and willed the memory of his father’s last moments to vanish. As soon as that image had dissipated, green-hazel eyes flashed in Vance’s memory. Why did his thoughts keep returning to her? For nine months, he had stayed clear of women, focused entirely on the company. He hadn’t agreed to take a break and go on this cruise with the notion of resuming his past lifestyle...

  And yet he had impulsively told her he’d like to buy her a drink.
What the hell had he been thinking? And he had completely ignored the clear fact that she was engaged. Vance scowled. It was obvious that his playboy habits hadn’t been completely extinguished...

  He couldn’t help wondering what her fiancé was like. Did he run his fingers through that blaze of hair? Did it get wild and tangled when they—?

  Taking a deep breath, Vance forced the image out of his mind. He should have never agreed to this cruise. It was frivolous, considering the projects that needed his attention back at Zodiac headquarters...

  Vance rolled his neck to one side and then the other. Maybe after the emergency drill, he’d relax in his private whirlpool. He felt tense around his shoulders, and the warm jets would be a welcome relief... A bit later on, he’d either order room service for dinner or they could dine at one of the specialty restaurants if Mariah preferred.

  And then they would proceed to the Milky Way Theater, where the ship’s troupe of dancers and singers would be performing a medley of songs from the ’60s to the ’80s. Classic hits from iconic singers. It was a great first-night show, and he would be giving a brief welcome to the audience before it started.

  And maybe the Sagittarian might not be there to distract him...

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHANELLE STOOD BY the railing on Deck Eleven, her gaze shifting from the lapping waters of the bay to the magenta-and-gold sunset as the Tampa Bay skyline receded in the distance. She had decided against joining the cruise director and other staff and the probable swarm of guests at the Sail Away party on Deck Twelve after the emergency drill. She wasn’t in the mood to mingle just yet...

  Chanelle closed her eyes, letting the repetitive sound of the waves soothe her. Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft giggle in a far-off corner. Two darkened forms exchanged a kiss and wandered off hand in hand. She sighed. Could she not have picked a holiday where she wouldn’t be reminded at every turn of her failed relationship?

  She bit her lip. Much as she had wanted to blame Parker for not being sensitive enough to her work commitments, she had had to face the truth: that she had invested more time and energy in her job and not enough with him.

  “I’ve met somebody at the gym...” He had dropped the bombshell seven months ago. And he’d told her he would be back the next day to get his things. Everything but the engagement ring he had given her.

  If all had worked out with Parker, she might have been planning her wedding now, or even enjoying her honeymoon...instead of cruising alone, Chanelle mused, taking a deep breath.

  But it hadn’t worked out, and she had to admit—if she were to be totally honest—that she was relieved.

  Not that she had felt that way at first.

  Hurt and feeling betrayed, she had wanted to analyze what had gone wrong with their relationship and had checked out the self-help section of a local bookstore. One title had immediately caught her eye, as Parker had often accused her of being overly sensitive. And soon after delving into the book, Chanelle had discovered that she had many of the traits that the book identified...some that she had been aware of and some—she had realized in wonder—that she had exhibited even in childhood.

  She’d also learned things she hadn’t known: that highly sensitive people had nervous systems that were more easily activated by sensory stimuli. Which had explained why certain smells were unbearable, or why intense sunlight or loud music or people could be so jarring...and why her skin couldn’t tolerate certain fabrics. No lace or wool for her! Or most synthetic materials. All this had illuminated her as to why she’d ended up with a skin rash or migraine at times...

  Chanelle had learned that highly sensitive people—or HSPs—processed their experiences and feelings with greater depth and emotional intensity.

  Given such sensitivities—not only physical, but emotional also—was it any wonder that her line of work had pushed her coping mechanisms to the max? And that Parker hadn’t been able to cope? The book had outlined how challenging it could be for others to understand and empathize with an HSP. It was challenging enough for an HSP to deal with their sensitivities, and relationships could present even greater testing grounds...

  Her relationship with Parker hadn’t passed the test. Neither one of them had been solely to blame, though. She had been too focused on her work—there was no denying that—but Parker could have at least been honest with her and broken things off before getting involved with someone else. That would have been the decent thing to do.

  And it had been this last thought that had finally convinced Chanelle that Parker hadn’t been the right man for her. After the initial shock and sting of betrayal, Chanelle had accepted the fact that Parker was not the guy she was meant to have a happy-ever-after with.

  He had betrayed her trust. She deserved better.

  This realization had come before the acknowledgment that she had burned out on her job. And her parents, who were on the other side of the globe on an extended trip to visit relatives in Australia, hadn’t been there to comfort her for either her breakup with Parker or her lingering emotional distress after a traumatic case involving two siblings and their neglectful parents. Meredith, Chanelle’s employer, had kindly advised her to consider a leave even months before this particular case, having observed the classic signs of burnout becoming more prevalent in Chanelle. But Chanelle had insisted she was fine, telling herself that she needed her work more than ever after Parker had left...

  She had been wrong, of course. She should have heeded Meredith’s advice from the beginning. Chanelle sighed. After consulting with her doctor, Chanelle had taken a leave, “to be assessed on a regular basis.” This was not a sign of weakness, her doctor had asserted gently, but a step toward ensuring her emotional well-being. Having a job that dealt with the trauma of others required particular diligence in maintaining physical and emotional health and balance in one’s own life.

  Enough! Chanelle was tired of thinking of the circumstances that had brought her here. And she needed to keep Parker out of her thoughts. She didn’t want him on this cruise with her. She was over him.

  She had tucked the engagement ring he had left her in her purse months ago and had slipped it on her finger momentarily, wondering what she was going to do with it. And then, before she could put it back in her purse, she had become distracted by the incident with the child and his distracted father.

  Perhaps what she really hadn’t gotten over was the fact that another man had dumped her. The first one had been her biological father. Her mother had revealed the story to her when she had felt Chanelle was ready. His name was Trevor, and upon hearing that his girlfriend Katie—Chanelle’s mother—was pregnant, he had promptly broken up with her, claiming the baby wasn’t his. He had accepted a job out of town right after college graduation and never returned, leaving Katie heartbroken. Fortunately, Chanelle’s grandparents hadn’t abandoned Katie, and Chanelle had grown up missing a father in her formative years, but living with a set of grandparents who cherished her.

  She had just turned twelve when her mother married a furniture dealer called Martin, and although Chanelle had initially been reluctant to trust him—there had been a couple of men Katie had dated before him who had caused Chanelle some anxiety—Martin’s easy and joking manner and obvious devotion to her mother eventually won her over. Chanelle’s faith in men had been temporarily restored, but now she had to admit to herself that Parker’s decision to break up had stirred up a flurry of latent feelings that could be associated with her father’s rejection of her. Her social work and psychology studies had not been for nothing, she thought, her mood darkening as she watched the swirling waters from the deck.

  Two men had abandoned her. One, her father, who hadn’t even wanted to acknowledge that he’d had anything to do with her conception. Who had chosen to run away from his responsibilities to her and her mother. And Parker, who had left her for another woman. Both had run away from the promise of what was t
o come—the birth of a baby and the birth of a marriage, respectively. Neither the baby nor the marriage had been given a chance...

  Chanelle’s work had helped take her mind off the latter. She had pushed herself to the limit, convincing herself that the children she was protecting, or rescuing from a parent or parents who were unfit, depended on her. And she had no intention of abandoning them.

  She had tried to be a superwoman, she realized, and had driven herself into a state of burnout. And she was having a hard time coming to terms with not being able to do her job.

  Who am I? She shook her head and gripped the deck railing. Her job had been everything to her. What do I do now?

  Chanelle squeezed her eyes tightly at the prickly sensation behind her lids but wasn’t able to stop a few tears from slipping down her cheeks.

  “Hey, there...”

  Chanelle didn’t need to make the quarter turn to see who the approaching footsteps belonged to.

  The distracted father/playboy.

  “I can’t have anyone on my ship looking so sad.” He stopped a couple of feet away from her.

  Had she heard correctly? My ship? No, it couldn’t be...

  Chanelle quickly wiped her eyes. How embarrassing that he had seen her in such a state. She looked beyond him, expecting to see his wife.

  “Has something happened on board to upset you?”

  Why did he care? And what could she possibly tell him?

  “I—I’m okay,” she managed, her voice wavering.

  His eyes swooped down on her and narrowed. “No, you’re not.”

  She stared at him, startled by his directness. Something thudded in her chest. “It’s not something I feel comfortable discussing with—”

  “A total stranger?” He raised an eyebrow. “Look, you don’t need to discuss anything with me. But now that I’m here, I’d like to set the record straight.” He took a step closer. “I wasn’t trying to come on to you earlier...and seeing someone in tears on a cruise concerns me.”