Sophie shot Grant a nervous glance and he interrupted. “Um, Rog? Sophie is not a passenger. She … well actually, she’s looking for a job on the ship. We, um, met outside our PO’s office, and I thought there might be an opening for a server on your cruise now that I’m doing navigation?”
“Madsen, what did I tell you about my business? About this ship?”
Grant cleared his throat. “Err, ‘It ain’t no fucking halfway house’?”
Sophie tried not to laugh as Roger confirmed, “Damn straight. You think just because you saved that kid’s life you’re now my goddamn human resources department?”
What was this about Grant saving a kid’s life? Sophie wanted details, but before she could open her mouth, Grant responded.
“No, sir. I thought it might be good for business to have a beautiful woman serving drinks on your cruises, that’s all.”
Oh God, the Adonis had just called her beautiful! Sophie couldn’t hide her pleasure, and there was a satisfied twinkle in Grant’s eye as he watched her react to his comment.
Roger caught their subtle flirting and gazed at Grant with a newfound respect. She was one hot chick, and the fact that she’d served time made her even more mysterious. He glanced back and forth from one parolee to another, considering whether or not to hire the broad.
“You ever worked as a server before?” he asked.
She paused. “Sort of. I used to serve meals at a homeless shelter.”
Roger raised his eyebrows. “Madsen, you brought me Mother Fucking Teresa?”
“Hardly,” Sophie scoffed. “I doubt Mother Teresa was a convicted felon.”
“True that,” Roger agreed. “So, what other work experience do you have?”
“Um, not the kind that will be much help on a boat, I’m afraid.” She wondered if she should be truthful. After Grant gave her an encouraging nod, she confessed, “I don’t have much job experience because I was in school for a long time, um, studying to become a psychologist.”
Rog’s eyes bugged out. “A psychologist?” A huge grin erupted on his face. “You got yourself one smart chick here, Madsen. She’s waaaay out of your league, sailor boy.”
Grant was too absorbed in Sophie’s apparent discomfort to take umbrage at his boss’ insult. He held his breath, eagerly anticipating the conclusion of this job interview/interrogation.
Still grinning, Roger mused, “Hmm, a psychologist. Can you hook Madsen up with some sleep medication then? The boy doesn’t sleep real well.”
This last jab did not sit well with Grant, and his mouth dropped open in protest. “I can’t sleep because of your snoring! It would wake a man from a coma!”
“Oh, it’s not that bad!” Roger argued.
“I was a psychologist, not a psychiatrist,” Sophie jumped in. “I did not prescribe meds. I did therapy.” She blushed as she concluded, “It doesn’t matter now, anyway. I lost my license when I went to prison.”
Grant watched shame and disappointment color her cheeks. She had experienced many recent losses too, just like him: career, family, and dignity, to name a few. Attempting to lighten the mood, Roger countered dubiously, “I don’t know about having a shrink around all the time. Are you analyzing me right now?”
Sophie rolled her eyes. She had despised telling people her profession because they would invariably make some inane comment about their own mental health, or in Roger’s case, their apparent mental illness.
“How original,” Sophie snidely remarked. “No, I’m not analyzing you. It would take a whole team of shrinks to figure out your crazy ass, and I simply don’t have the time or energy.”
Taken aback, Roger scrutinized her carefully.
“Wow, that’s the first time I’ve seen him speechless,” Grant observed. “Nice work, Sophie.”
He turned to his boss. “You’ve made her suffer long enough, sir. Are you giving her the job or what?”
Roger exhaled slowly, rubbing his hand across his bald head. After a few agonizing moments in which Grant and Sophie exchanged anxious glances, the boss finally relented. “Shift starts in thirty minutes. Eleven to eight.”
“Oh!” Sophie replied worriedly. “Thank you so much, Roger, but is it okay if I start tomorrow? I have an appointment I have to attend today at noon.”
“What kind of appointment?” he asked suspiciously.
Finding Grant staring curiously at her as well, Sophie gulped. “Therapy. My PO is forcing me to see a psychologist once a week.”
“A shrink gotta go see another shrink, huh?” Roger scratched his chin. “Are you gonna be late to work every Wednesday then?”
“Oh, no, sir, I can ask for an earlier appointment in the future. It’s just too late to reschedule it now, and I have to make my session or I’m going back to prison.”
Roger turned to Grant. “Did your PO force you to go to therapy too? You never mentioned that before.”
Grant looked down and jammed his hands into his jean pockets, murmuring, “No, no therapy for me.”
Sophie considered that Jerry must think she was a total nut job to single her out for treatment. “You’re lucky then,” she said.
Turning to Roger, Sophie uneasily inquired, “Could you please contact Officer Jerry Stone by five today and tell him you hired me?” She rummaged around in her handbag until she located Jerry’s business card. Roger took it grumpily.
“Be here at ten-thirty tomorrow so you can complete some paperwork,” he ordered. Roger narrowed his eyes. “If she screws up one smidgen, Madsen, I’m blaming you.” With this warning, he abruptly turned and left the couple standing on the deck.
They stared at each other awkwardly until Sophie leaned back on the railing, taking in the spotless deck and gleaming metal of the ship. “So, um, what’s the pay like for this job?”
“For somebody who used to be a doctor, it’s not great,” Grant admitted, stepping closer to her. “But it can be temporary to keep Officer Stone off your back while you look for something better. And I figure you can get lots of tips as a server.”
“Oh? And why do you think I’d get lots of tips?”
Her question had its desired effect, and once again he looked nervous, stammering, “Uh, well, you know, um, you’re quite attractive …”
She grinned. “I’m just giving you a hard time.” Waves of relief coursed through Sophie, knowing she would not have to beg her father for a job. She leaned closer to Grant, catching a whiff of his bergamot scent, and her eyes flashed with mischief. “I bet the ladies tipped you very well when you were a server. They probably were all clamoring for the hot waiter.”
A crimson blush crept up his neck. Grant swallowed and inched toward Sophie, feeling the urge to gather her in his arms once again.
Staring into his blue-green eyes, which reflected the same hue as the river at the moment, Sophie felt a deep sense of intrigue. Yet the reality of obligations and cautions also filled her mind, and she broke their gaze. “I better go,” she said. “I have my stupid therapy appointment.”