Christmas on the Cruise Ship: The Traveling Calvert Sisters, #3

By Tori Ross

Samantha Calvert is tired of her hospitality job at a chain hotel. When a man visits her hotel and tells her he owns a cruise ship company in need of a temporary cruise director, she jumps at the chance to spend the holiday at sea. But running a cruise ship isn't so easy with a twisted ankle and a flasher running amok.

Cooper Rax isn't used to being bossed around by a strong woman that gives as well as she takes. He's arrogant, patronizing, and doesn't take direction well. Even worse, he's infuriatingly handsome, and Samantha can't help but feel there's more to him than meets the eye.

When the ship gets stranded in Jamaica, Cooper and Samantha have to work together to keep the guests happy...and it will be a true Christmas miracle if they can get along.

 

Christmas on the Cruise Ship is book 3 in The Traveling Calvert Sisters series and can be read as a standalone. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tori Ross
• Release date: May 21, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215751039

Tori Ross

Tori Ross writes romantic comedy and erotic superhero romance. When she's not writing, she runs a podcast called The Smutty Book Lady and Friends and can be seen reading any genre of books. She lives in Missouri with her family and a very high-maintenance dog.

Book preview

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Christmas on the Cruise Ship

Tori Ross

Copyright © 2022 by Tori Ross

All rights reserved.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

All characters are 18+

Printed in the United States

Cover by GetCovers

Contents

1.Opportunity Knocks

2.Square Off

3.Gray Bells

4.Beach Time

5.Casino Night

6.Not Jealous at All

7.Jamaican Me Crazy

8.Ugliest Christmas Sweater Wins

9.Bow Chicka Wah Wah

10.Aftermath

11.Revelations

12.Facing the Music

13.Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About Author

Opportunity Knocks

T his is completely unacceptable, young lady, the elderly man croaks, tapping his room keycard against the mahogany counter.

I guess I should be excited that he called me young.. At thirty-three and unmarried, my mother thinks I’m a spinster, destined to die alone in my apartment and eaten by my neighbor’s cat. Then again, the man in front of me is in his eighties. He’d probably call my mother a young lady.

He grinds his yellowing teeth, and a lock of gray hair falls over his forehead. He sweeps it back with age-spotted hands and pushes his gold-frame glasses up the bridge of his nose.

I’m so sorry about your guest experience, Mr. Blathe. That’s not what we strive for. Please allow me to make it right.

He sniffs and examines the nametag on my white button-down shirt. My fingers itch to move my pink tie over the nametag so he can’t report me to corporate, and I grip the counter below my keyboard to control my hands. Not that I’ve done anything to earn being reported. After almost ten years in this business, I can usually pick out the ones that like to escalate things quickly.

Another man about his age stands behind him, looking at his watch and holding a briefcase. I nod to the man. Sir, I apologize for the wait. I’ll be with you in just a moment.

Are you trying to get rid of me? Mr. Blathe asks, looking at my nametag again. Listen, Samantha, I want my money back for the entire stay.

Mr. Blathe, you’ve stayed in our hotel for almost two weeks. I’m very sorry that a party below you woke you last night at nine in the evening, and I’ll be happy to reimburse you for the cost of last night’s stay. However, I’ll need corporate approval to waive the entire two weeks, I explain, rummaging under my counter for a non-existent piece of paper. There are a few forms you’ll need to fill out and send certified mail to our office in Portland. Now, where are those things?

Maybe it’s the threat of him having to go through the trouble of a formal complaint, or maybe he doesn’t want to fill out forms and pay for postage. He pushes himself off the counter and steps back until he almost bumps into the man behind him. Mr. Blathe’s face reddens, and his hands clench into fists. He bites his teeth together until I worry they’ll crack. All I need is the cost of a guest’s dentures or dental implants taken out of my modest paycheck.

I’ll throw in a voucher for our breakfast buffet and have our sommelier bring you a lovely bottle of the dinner red you’ve been enjoying in our dining room. I smile, hoping he’ll bite.

Mr. Blathe bites his lip and nods, looking at the clock behind me as he thinks about the offer. The man behind him smiles a kind, grandfatherly smile at me, and I take a deep breath. The man behind Mr. Blathe will be kind to me if I can only appease the surly guest in front of me first.

Appeasement has been my life lately, and it seems like it’s getting worse.

I’ve been working at the same chain hotel in Indianapolis since graduating from Indiana University with a degree in hospitality management. Most of my classmates have headed for bigger cities, running posh hotels in London and New York. I prefer to be within a short drive of my close-knit family back home in Alton, Illinois so I can get a home-cooked meal any time I’m lonely on a weekend.

But lately, I’ve felt like something was missing. Adventure. Something new and exciting. I can see it in the dull brown eyes and pale skin reflecting back at me from my computer monitor.

I like my job, for the most part. I just need something to look forward to in the way people look forward to a week of vacation to Curacao or Mexico. Maybe it’s the itch of being in my early thirties and not much adventure to show for it, but I feel like a snake must feel when it has extra unshed skin. Tight. Constricted.

I accept, Mr. Blathe says, jolting me out of my thoughts of running away to Europe on a whim or even sitting in my apartment’s courtyard on a sunny day with nothing to do. I want two bottles, though. He holds up two fingers about an inch from my face like his words weren’t enough for me to understand.

I smile and nod. Of course, Mr. Blathe. I’ll happily send those up to your room within the hour. Can I do anything else for you this morning?

No, thank you, blondie.

It’s my pleasure to help you, sir. I hope you have a… I begin, but he’s already around the corner and heading toward the brass elevators. Lovely day.

I square my shoulders back and paste a smile on my face for the next guest. The elderly man with the briefcase steps to the counter and places the case on the ledge in front of my computer screen. Impressive, he mumbles under his breath while he fishes through his suit jacket pockets, presumably for his credit card I need to scan. Something about him reminds me of the neighbor man that taught me and my sister, Ava, how to whittle back in Illinois, and I have the sudden urge to hug him.

I’m sorry about your wait. How may I help you?

He gently places his wallet on the counter in front of us. You can do two things for me, he says, tilting his head to the side. He rifles through his wallet and hands me his Florida driver’s license and a Visa card that looks like it’s been well-used. First, you can check me into my room. I’m Walter Hibbing, and I’m here for the earnings convention.

Of course, sir, I say, typing his name into the search bar of our reservation system. What was the second thing I can help you with?

Well, Samantha, he says, squinting at my name tag like Mr. Blathe did moments ago. You can take a break for a week and come work for me.

That’s a new one, and I sigh with relief that he didn’t want some skeezy favor I get asked for more than I like to admit. I can’t tell you the number of times I ask a male guest if I can help them and get propositioned to come up to their room to blow them. I beg your pardon?

Do me a favor and get out your phone.

I’m not really supposed to use my phone at the front desk, sir. Company policy forbids it.

Even more impressive. A rule follower, he says under his breath, and I turn my head to hear better. Fine. He taps on my computer monitor. Use the desktop and search Hibbing Cruise Line. Go ahead, he nods. I won’t complain to your manager. Besides, you should be able to look up a travel site on a hotel computer without your IT department flagging it. You’re helping a guest.

I quickly pull up Google as he asks and move my cursor to the search bar, typing in the requested search option. What am I looking for?

Are you on the page?

Yes, I say, looking at a well-created website with a picture of a cruise ship on a sparkling ocean.

Go to the careers link and scroll down to cruise director.

I pause for a moment. Cruise director? Isn’t that a high-level position?

It is, Ms. Calvert, he nods, referencing my last name on the name tag that not many guests his age use. They prefer sweetie, honey, or my first name if they think they’re being especially respectful and progressive.

I stare at him a moment, and he graciously waits for me to think. Why would you offer me that high of a job without knowing me or interviewing me?

I just did.

What? Interview me?

You handled that awful man with such class and hospitality. Your soft skills are impeccable, and you even kept your tone even and calm, like you weren’t rattled. Then, you didn’t take it out on me since I was the next guest in line. That’s not a skill everyone has.

I do get rattled.

Ah, yes! But you don’t show it, he says, his index finger in the air. "That’s what I need in a cruise