Half Empty (First Wives, #2)(17)

Trina looked at her damaged phone. “We’ll come back tomorrow, then.”

“Tell you what, leave it with me, and by the time you come and pick it up, I’ll have all the information transferred over. I just need you to fill out a few things.”

“You sure?” Trina asked.

“My sister will bring it tonight when she closes the shop.”

Trina filled out a few forms and paid the man for her new phone and told him they’d be back.

“Now what?” Trina asked as they stood under the eaves of the shop and managed to keep some of the rain at bay.

Across the street was an open-air bar, one where the walls were sheets of plastic and the patrons were already well ahead of Wade and Trina. “Happy hour?” he asked.

“Might as well.”

They ordered the house recommendation. Something rum infused that tasted a bit fruity for his liking. A three-piece reggae band was playing in the corner. Their music was loud enough to keep whispered conversations outside, but soft enough to talk somewhat normally inside.

“I assume this is nothing like what you sing?” Trina asked him.

“No, ma’am. But it’s nice.”

“Ma’am makes me feel old.”

He’d heard that before. “It’s not meant that way.”

“I know. I’ve heard it a lot since I moved to Texas. Which fits, since I feel like I’ve aged ten years in the past year.”

That last part was said without her looking up from her drink. Although he didn’t want to bring up her past, he couldn’t help but ask a few questions.

“Did your late husband move you to Texas?”

“No, no . . . we lived in New York.”

“The city?” She didn’t seem like a Manhattan kind of woman.

“The Hamptons.” She smiled. “Sounds snooty, but it was rather nice.”

He sipped his drink, decided he’d switch to something less sugary on the next round. “So how did Texas happen?”

He wasn’t sure at first if she was going to answer. But then she squared her shoulders as if drawing up the courage to open up.

“Oil.”

He blinked.

She squeezed her eyes closed. “I suppose now that you’ve heard my last name a few times, it’s only a matter of time before you look me up.”

“Petrov is unique and hard to miss when someone is checking your credit card information.”

She shifted, took a drink. “There’s this little oil company . . . Everson Oil.”

Wade laughed. He couldn’t help himself. “That’s not little, sweetheart.”

“Right. Well, I somehow ended up inheriting a third of the company.”

It took a lot to shock Wade, but her words did the job. He looked her over again. She wasn’t wearing anything terribly fancy. No flashy jewelry or anything else to give away her wealth. He blew out a long, slow whistle.

“I know. So, yeah. I moved to Texas. Most of the last year, I’ve been learning about the alternative fuel side of the company. Which is really interesting, if not a little ironic, considering fossil fuel is our bread and butter.”

“Do you like the work?”

She laughed. “I don’t think you can call it work. Most of the time I’m shadowing people on the management team for different divisions to learn what their functions are. It isn’t like I have any real job, or boss. When I said I was going to Italy for an extended vacation, there wasn’t one person who suggested I was needed.”

“Oh.”

“They’re probably happy I’m not hovering over them.”

“So it’s not fulfilling.”

“I think it could be. I’m on the board, and my vote actually counts, so I felt the need to learn as much as I can. I’ll continue to when I get back.”

He didn’t see her at a desk. “Why bother, if you don’t like it?”

She took another drink, sat back in her chair. “What else am I going to do all day? It isn’t like I can go back to my old life. I’ll never work as a flight attendant again, or any service job. I don’t need to work for money . . . what does that leave?”

“Philanthropy.”

“Right, and the ambassador of goodwill to the less fortunate. But I’m nobody. People just want the check, they don’t want me cheering them on to fulfill their dreams. Besides, I’m too young for long days on the golf course or the opera house, where philanthropic individuals congregate and network.”

He opened his mouth, only to have her cut him off.

“Not to mention the fact that because I’m young, the wives of the men who play in the same taxable income that I have automatically assume I’m gunning for their husbands.”

“That can’t be true.”

Trina gave him that you’ve got to be kidding look again. “I have attended several events since moving to Texas. Fundraisers for kids, causes for cancer, Everson Oil holiday parties where whole pigs are roasting on an open fire for what seems like days. Every single one of them is bursting with men in their sixties and their wives, who look twenty years younger. Not one time was I left beside a married man to have a conversation about anything without someone dodging in and taking that person away. Even if I wanted to impart some of my wisdom learned while watching the staff at Everson, I’ve never had the chance.”