Nathan pushed through the swinging doors to the kitchen. One of the waitresses jerked her head up and glanced at him with a worried expression.
“Have you seen Nell?” he asked. Nell was his marketing manager. Actually, she was his niece. Just a dozen years his junior—Nathan’s sister, his only sibling, was eight years older than Nathan—Nell was fresh out of college. But she was the best he could afford for the inn on a shoestring budget. And he had an important job that he needed Nell to do.
“No, sir. I haven’t seen her.” The waitress smiled wanly at him and nodded before hurrying off.
Nathan glanced around at the empty dining room and buffet area.
The chef wasn’t at his station. Neither was the under-chef.
Nell, who usually met him each morning to sit down and review the front desk reports, wasn’t present, either.
“Hello!” he called out. He had a right to be upset. Was he the only one concerned about keeping the inn up and running?
Two years ago, it had been a miracle when he’d managed to assemble a group of investors to buy the sprawling resort complex at auction. The previous owner had bought it from Nathan’s father after he’d squandered his inheritance. Between the two of them, they’d run the place into the ground.
Prescott was Nathan’s family name. Prescott Inn had been started by his grandfather. Nathan had a lot of work ahead to bring it back to the stable business that it was in his grandfather’s day. But first he had to keep it open through Christmas.
“Hello?” he called once more.
No one answered him.
Was something wrong?
Cocking his ear, he pushed open the kitchen door and heard the telltale sound of a television news show coming from the direction of the bar. Following the trail, Nathan headed past the near-empty breakfast lounge and walked into the bar alcove beside the lower-level portion of the great stone fireplace. There was a slight chill in late November, but he’d told the staff to wait before ordering the wood for the fireplace, as the price of wood was astronomical.
There was his kitchen staff, standing around the wall-mounted television set intended for guests. The morning chef, the morning under-chef, and one of his waitresses.
And Nell.
“What’s going on?” he asked quietly.
“Oh!” Nell started. The two chefs in their clogs and white uniforms cast their eyes down sheepishly and quickly headed back toward the kitchen.
“Look what’s happened, Uncle Nathan,” Nell said, pointing at the television. “It’s a real disaster!”
“No, this is the disaster.” Nathan crossed his arms. “Our inn. By the way, how is your marketing assignment going? It’s almost Christmas and we have to figure out how to fill the rooms for the holiday. The investors are going to ask me tomorrow for specifics, and I want to give them some results from the plan we discussed.”
Nell stared at him as if not comprehending. Then she turned back to the television. “Didn’t you work on a cruise ship once, Uncle?”
“A... Why?” Blinking, Nathan followed her gaze. On the television screen, he saw what appeared to be a bird’s-eye view of a large ship lying tilted at an angle—half sunk—in a postcard-perfect, azure-blue sea.
He blinked in disbelief. “Is that a cruise ship?”
“Yes, it is. Last night it hit a reef in the Caribbean and flooded. They had to evacuate almost eight thousand people in the darkness. Can you imagine? It’s horrible. All those people facing that trauma.”
Emilie! Does she still work on a cruise ship?
He swallowed, staring at the television screen. Nothing seemed to be happening now, from what he could see. “Is everyone safely off?”
Nell tilted her head at him. “They think so, but they’re not sure. What was the name of the ship you were on, Uncle? You were on one for several months, right?”
Yes, he’d been a staff accountant on the Empress Caribbean. But it had been longer than several months—just over a year. “Doesn’t matter,” he murmured. He’d left that job two Christmases ago, when he’d bought Prescott Inn. He rarely spoke of his onboard experience to anyone.
“What ship is that?” he asked Nell, gesturing toward the television. He squinted at the screen, but the shot from the news station’s helicopter was too far away for him to see the name on the side. But the red-and-blue logo looked awfully familiar.
“Um, they said it’s the Empress Caribbean. What’s wrong?” Nell blinked and then stepped toward him. He must have gone pale. He certainly felt light-headed. “Oh, Uncle. Is that where you worked? The Empress Caribbean?”
He dragged in a breath, not wanting to answer her.
He swallowed instead, staring at the television screen. What if Emilie still works on board? Fear coursed through his blood.
A Coast Guard ship was parked near the vessel. His mind flashed back to the safety drills he’d practiced with the crew and passengers. One per week. Nathan hadn’t technically been part of the crew—his job had been to prepare a report on how the company could cut onboard costs. Ironic, considering the situation he found himself in now.
A newscaster in the background droned on about the specifications of the ship. Year launched, tonnage, number of crew, passenger capacity. Nathan could have recited all that himself.
“When will they know if everyone got off all right?” he asked Nell.
“They didn’t say.” Nell stared at him in curiosity. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” His stomach felt as if it was turning inside out as he took out his phone to check his messages.
Nothing. No calls or texts.
Emilie’s contact number was still in his phone, but she hadn’t called him. She’d never called him in the two years since he’d left the ship. He didn’t even know why he kept her name in his phone.
She’d left him, and it had been years since he’d last seen her. Ironically, again, she’d accused him of choosing the inn over her.
She’d been wrong. And it had hurt.
He swallowed, not wanting to think about those days. There was no reason to expect she would ever call him again, even in an emergency. He needed to focus on his inn’s survival, which should be his top concern.
“Uncle,” Nell said gently. “They’re reporting that, so far, there are no major casualties.”
“That’s a relief.”
“Are you sure you don’t have any friends there?”
He stiffened. He’d purposely never spoken of the year he’d spent at sea as an accountant—never mind the show skater he’d fallen in love with and had wanted to marry.
It had been insanity on his part, and he was no longer insane.
Two curious faces stared back at him—Nell’s and the waitress’s. Nathan just shook his head at them. “No. That wasn’t my ship.”
Still, he was irritated with himself for opening this can of worms with his staff in the first place. Wishing to deflect any further questions, he asked sharply, “Nell, I’d like that update on the competitive analysis of other resorts I asked for. How far have you progressed?”
“Um...” Nell said. “About