Half Empty (First Wives, #2)(41)

“She said, ‘Am I supposed to know that name?’ At first I thought she was pulling my chain.”

Trina watched Wade’s expression when he told his mother the story.

“I wasn’t interested in pulling a chain, I was hungry.”

Wade laughed.

They were lost in the memory and smiling at each other when Vicki said, “Well, that’s nice. I suppose it’s good for you.”

“It sucked for my ego,” he said. “Here I was, trying to impress her, and nothin’.”

“Yet here we are,” Trina said.

Wade inched his hand on her waist in the slightest touch.

“That’s sweet.” Vicki broke the spell. “So what is it that you do?”

Trina held her breath. Revealing who she was sparked an entire conversation she’d just as soon avoid.

“Trina is—”

“A flight attendant,” she interrupted Wade, placing a hand on his arm, hoping he’d get the hint. “Was . . . I’m in the process of building a business around attendants for private charters.”

“That sounds very ambitious. Are you looking for investors for this start-up company?”

“No. I have that figured out.” Which was true if she actually went through with it.

“Uh-huh.” Vicki glanced at her son, doubt on her face flashing for only a second before her smile returned.

That’s when Trina realized the fuel behind Vicki’s fire.

“So you’re technically unemployed right now.”

“I have a pretty good savings,” Trina told her.

Wade laughed under his breath.

“Well, good for you. There needs to be more women in business. Depending upon a man can often be disappointing.”

“Mama.”

“Present company excluded, of course.”

She glanced out the kitchen window, toward the back of the house. “Looks like some of the help have arrived, I should get to work.”

“Can I do anything?” Trina offered.

“Oh, no. I’ve got it, hon. You take care of you. Take all the time you need to change before the party.”

Oh, God . . . I’m not wearing the right outfit. “I didn’t bring . . .”

Vicki backpedaled. “You’re fine.”

“I came from New York.”

Vicki narrowed her eyes. “You live in New York?” She made the state sound like a disease.

“No. I live close to Houston . . . where I have the right outfit, but I didn’t have time to stop by—”

Wade squeezed her waist with his hand.

“Darlin’, you’re fine. Don’t think another thing about it. You’ll blend right in. Don’t worry.”

Sure.

Right.

Don’t worry.





Chapter Sixteen



There should be a special license one needed to drive on the streets of Manhattan. One Avery never wanted to obtain. She ditched the car at the first available parking garage and shouldered her oversize mom bag. New York was one of the safest cities in the world, in her opinion. It might not feel that safe if she announced the fact her purse was loaded with some pretty pricey stuff. But to the average person watching her walk by, she was just another smartly dressed woman on a mission.

Outside the garage, she checked her phone for the direction of the building she needed and started to walk. Fall was sneaking into the air but not strong enough for big coats or fur-lined hats. With a brisk pace, she traveled several blocks through a crush of New Yorkers and tourists alike.

She found the address and ducked inside the building through glass doors. Braum Auctions specialized in items many of the larger houses didn’t. Since Avery liked the idea of finding the perfect platform to sell the different mediums of collectables, she was willing to do the legwork.

Avery marched up to the reception area as she removed her designer sunglasses from her face. The perfectly polished woman behind the desk greeted her with a painted-on smile. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, I’m here to see Mr. Levin, I’m Avery Grant.”

“Miss Grant, welcome. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

Avery decided to look at the art on the walls instead of sitting. Offices like this one reminded her of her father’s. Whenever she had been summoned to his office, he kept her waiting in the lobby for hours as a form of intimidation. By the age of thirteen, the time spent in high-rise lobbies no longer brought sweaty palms and itchy anxiety. No, she recognized her father’s tactics and didn’t show up for her monthly meetings until the very end of his day. Her antics frustrated him even more than whatever offense he was mad at her for to begin with. Her rebellion started at thirteen and didn’t end until after she married Bernie. Needless to say, her father was frustrated for a good many years.

“Miss Grant?”

Avery turned to find exactly what she expected, a balding, middle-aged, five-foot-seven man in a three-piece suit and a smile. She reached out her hand. “Mr. Levin?”

Men looked at her. It was something she’d grown used to the minute she put on a bra. Mr. Levin wasn’t any different. She pretended not to notice.

“Come on in.” He turned and walked them past the reception desk. “How was your drive into the city?”