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)
PRODUCER
Wonderful, Ember. Okay… let’s jump into the first episode.
EMBER
Let’s do it.
PRODUCER
What were you feeling as you walked up to Sinking Sun for the first time?
EMBER
When I see Sinking Sun for the first time, all I can think is how excited I am. There’s something so exhilarating about the start of a new season — all fresh with possibilities. The sun is shining, the breeze is cool and pleasant, and I have eight weeks of fun to look forward to. I mean… we’re in freaking Italy. It’s gorgeous here. I know it’ll be hard work, sure — but yachting is a blast. It’s why I chose it as my career. Well, that and the money, of course.
PRODUCER
How did it feel to be reconnected with Captain Gary?
EMBER
Walking onto the boat and finding Captain Gary in the bridge makes my heart soar. He’s by far my favorite captain I’ve worked with. He’s just so goofy and fun while also being stern enough to run a tight ship. I’m ecstatic to show him my chops as chief stew. This is my opportunity to solidify my new role, and I’m ready to take it.
PRODUCER
And how did you feel when Finn showed up?
Ember swallows, drinks water, smiles weakly.
EMBER
I don’t suppose there’s a next question option.
PRODUCER
Take your time.
EMBER
I never thought I’d see Finn Pearson again.
Long pause. Ember shifts in her chair, stares at shoes, lifts gaze back to producer.
EMBER
And I think we all know how I felt about it, don’t you?
It was the worst-timed wedgie of my life.
Not only was it as hot as Satan’s armpit, making sweat slide down my spine and into that lovely place where my underwear had decided to get real cozy with my backside, but I was also surrounded by cameras.
Therefore, there was no picking of this wedgie. I had no choice but to plaster on a smile and endure it.
One camera captured my profile at a distance, the man holding the behemoth of equipment following my every step. Another was down the dock at the foot of the gangway that led to the yacht I’d call home for the next eight weeks. Even though that lens was twenty yards away at the moment, I knew it was zoomed in, knew it was likely capturing every bead of sweat collecting at my hairline.
This was Close Quarters, after all — a reality TV show about the people just crazy enough to work the long, manic hours required to run charter yachts.
I’d heard of the show before they asked me to be on it, but I’d never watched a single episode — partly because I didn’t really have time to watch television, and partly because I had a feeling it would piss me off at the way it misrepresented my career. But before I would agree to their offer, I knew I needed to watch at least one season of the show.
And that was all it took for me to know I was right.
The yachting seasons they showed on Close Quarters were shorter than what a crew would usually work, and each member was hand-picked by producers with the intention of stirring the pot once everyone was on board. It was common for the stars of the show to have worked together in the past, to have some previous drama from other seasons, or to be the complete opposite of one another in a way that would drive them mad. There were stewardesses with zero experience, green deck hands who did more damage than assisting when docking, and chefs with tempers and a short fuse.
These people typically had three things in common: they were young, hot, and willing to play right into the hands of whatever producer was pulling their puppet strings.
It was all drama, from the guests who came on board to the crew nights out — which, I knew now that I’d signed a contract, were a requirement. You had to go out if you agreed to be on this show, whether you wanted to or not. The only exception was if you were ill.
So, yeah — I knew that lens was zoomed in on me.
And I swore I felt the breeze whispering to me that I’d made a mistake.
I smiled wide despite that feeling, shaking it off and squinting even through the dark frames of my sunglasses as I took in the impossibly blue water of the Gulf of Naples. There was nothing like this feeling, the possibility and excitement of a new season in a beautiful part of the world most were never lucky enough to see in real life. Even with the unfamiliarity of the show aspect, I was still thrilled.
Nine charters of hard work lay ahead of me — but those weeks would also be the kind of chaotic fun that only comes with living the life of a yachtie.