Man Overboard

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Gillian

Day 1

I walked into the King Neptune penthouse suite aboard the Infinity Voyager cruise ship, took one look around the luxurious stateroom, threw out my arms, and spun in a circle like a little kid.

“Can you believe this?” Brady Collins, my fiancé’s close friend and best man, walked past me to admire the view from the balcony that overlooked the ship’s bow and busy Port Everglades Cruise Terminal.

“Lyle is the best boyfriend in the whole world.” I pressed my hands over my heart, overwhelmed by the grandiosity of the accommodations and my guy’s generosity. “I told him my fantasy wedding was a ceremony on a cruise ship followed by a honeymoon in a tropical paradise. He totally made that happen.”

“Where is Lyle?” Two horizontal lines appeared between Brady’s furrowed brows. He was a sweetheart, but opposite in every way from Lyle.

Lyle Gartner was a blond, blue-eyed billionaire who drove a banana-yellow Lamborghini Aventador SVJ Roadster and only wore clothes designed by David Beckham. Brady Collins had dark brown eyes, darker brown unruly curls, drove a ten-year-old gray Ford F-150, and favored denim.

Lyle worked on the fortieth floor of a New York City skyscraper. Brady worked in the dirt. Literally.

He was a second-generation groundskeeper for the Gartner family. His father had retired last year, and when Lyle’s father, my future father-in-law, offered Brady the position of head gardener, he accepted.

“He offered to pick up Genevive at the airport.” I sighed. More thoughtfulness.

Lyle deplored wading through what he called the everyday muckety-muck of Joe Q. Public–traffic jams, public queues, fast food drive-thrus, and the like. He knew how excited I was to board the ship and see our love nest for the next six nights and seven days so he’d insisted I go ahead with Brady while he met Genny’s private jet at the Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood International Airport.

“They’d better hurry.” Brady checked his watch. “All passengers have to be on board no fewer than two hours before the scheduled departure time.”

Another difference between the two men. Brady was by the book, a stringent rule follower. Lyle made his own rules.

“There’s plenty of time,” I assured him, heading for a wide curving staircase that led to the second floor of our suite. “I’m going to peek at the master bedroom. There are two guestrooms on this level for you and Gen. She’ll probably want the one with the walk-out to the side-facing balcony.”

I liked Brady. He was sweet. But he was so responsible. So common sense. So practical. So reliable.

Those were all admirable traits, and up until three months ago when I started dating Lyle, I’d been an even bigger Goody Two-shoes. I think that’s why Lyle’s mother hired me as her executive assistant.

Obsessive attention to detail.

The ability to fade into the background and remain unobtrusive.

A perfect attendance streak that went back to elementary school.

Out-of-the-box problem-solving skills that enabled me to locate a real unicorn for the birthday party of an oil tycoon’s two-year-old toddler, among other miracles.

I was a pleasantly plumb Plain Jane, grateful to exist on the fringe of society, until I met Lyle and he swept me off my feet.

Now I was hours way from being Mrs. Lyle J. Gartner the Third. I wouldn’t be a wallflower anymore. No more deferring to spoiled debutantes and entitled matrons. I’d be joining the ranks of those society women.

Except I had no intentions of becoming a bitch and treating people poorly. Still, I was having some trouble shifting from hired help to lady of the manor. Lyle chided me for helping the housekeeper carry in groceries when the delivery service dropped off the twice-weekly order, but even worse, according to my fiancé, was giving up our table at Gio’s Ristorante a few weeks ago.

In my defense, the couple I insisted take our reservation were celebrating their golden anniversary and given the number of medical devices between them, didn’t look like they could afford to wait half an hour for another table.

Lyle treated me like a queen, but I was still getting used to the crown and scepter, figuratively speaking.

After a jaw-dropping tour of the master bedroom–complete with sunken tub, Swarovski-encrusted fixtures in the marble bathroom, private sundeck with oversized Jacuzzi, a bed big enough for six, and a crystal chandelier–I skipped back to the living room, expecting to find Lyle and Genevive.

“They aren’t here yet?” A niggle of concern popped up through my excitement like a weed sprouting in a sidewalk crack.

Brady was hunched over his cell phone. He jerked upright at my question.

“Can you shoot him a text?” I strolled around the plush gray sofa and dropped onto the seat, admiring the bottle of Cristal chilling in a silver ice bucket. Nearby, a spread with caviar, foie gras, cheese, and fruit so perfect it looked fake awaited our pleasure.

“Uh, Gillian…” Brady stuttered in an ominously low voice. “Lyle already sent me a text.”

“Great.” I plucked a grape off the silver platter, forcing myself to wait for Lyle and Gen. “I assume the limo driver is caught in traffic.”

“Er, not exactly.” He walked over to the sofa grouping like he was approaching his execution. “There’s no easy way to say this.”

No! They’d been in an accident!

“Oh, God. What hospital are they at?” I jumped up, panic making my heart skip a beat.

“Huh?” Confusion pulled his face into a pucker that eased when he caught onto my assumption. “They’re fine.”

“Then what, Brady?” I curled my fingers into the fabric of his blue short sleeve polo and looked up into his big brown eyes.

Sad eyes.

Compassionate eyes.

“He’s not coming. They aren’t coming,” he clarified.

“What do you mean?” My voice was a tremulous whisper. I felt my fairy tale castle begin to crumble around me. The room spun around us like we were trapped in the eye of a hurricane.

“I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve this.” His eyes were like pools of melted milk chocolate and I was drowning.

“What?” I couldn’t squeeze another word through my taut vocal cords.

“He and Genevive are flying to Vegas.” Brady gulped. “They’re getting married at the Elvis Wedding Chapel.”