Half Empty (First Wives, #2)(7)
Once she managed to grasp the handle of her suitcase, her purse slid off her shoulder, and her phone took a nosedive to the cement floor.
“Shoot.” She fumbled while tossing her bag over the side of the metal conveyor belt, nearly taking out the woman on her left. Trina bent down to retrieve her phone and cussed.
The image of a call in progress was distorted by the cracks that now spiderwebbed all over her screen. Trina put it back to her ear right as Avery called her a name.
“I dropped my phone.”
The woman Trina had nearly taken out now pushed around Trina to grab her luggage. Trina shuffled to the side, once again attempting to multitask.
“What are you doing?”
“I told you I’m in baggage claim.”
“You sound like a hot mess.”
“I am a hot mess. And now my phone is toast.”
“Okay, okay . . . call me when you have a plane booked so I can pick you up from the airport.”
With an irritated grunt, Trina turned the phone off completely and shoved it in her purse.
The humidity of Miami slapped her once she breached the doors. She scanned men in dark suits holding signs with last names, looking for hers.
Petrov stood out like a beacon.
“I’m Trina,” she told the driver she’d ordered with her service.
He was short, dark . . . and spoke with a thick Cuban accent. “Mrs. Petrov.”
“Trina’s fine, thank you.” No more Mrs. Anything, thank you very much.
With a nod, he took the handle of her rolling bag and led their way out of the airport.
“What do you mean my room isn’t available?” Trina stood at the check-in counter and stared at the registration clerk.
“There was a mix-up. Our guest that is staying on the penthouse floor has the suites for tonight.”
“One guest has the whole floor?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Must have a big family.” Which ultimately meant noise.
“We do have a junior suite available a few floors down.”
Trina glanced around the crowded lobby. She normally didn’t book a massive suite for just herself, but she thought the quiet of an executive floor would give her what she needed to work off some of the jet lag that was already setting in. Since money wasn’t an object . . . why not?
“If that’s all you have.”
The clerk smiled and went through the motions of processing her credit card and activating a key.
“We are truly sorry for the inconvenience. We’ll be giving you the junior suite for a regular room price for your trouble.”
“It’s not an issue.”
Once settled in her room, Trina kicked off her shoes, washed the miles off her skin with a shower, and fell face-first on the bed. Thirty minutes into what was meant to be a four-hour nap in an effort to get back to a normal sleeping pattern, an infant in the next room howled.
And jet lag officially started kicking her butt.
Wade Thomas kicked his boots up on the coffee table while his personal assistant, Ike, put on Wade’s hat. It wasn’t really Wade’s, but it was one exactly like it, which they used when they split up at the end of a tour.
“A few more hours at that gym of yours and you’ll really be able to be my double.”
Ike turned to the mirror and lowered the brim of the Stetson to hide his eyes. “No amount of bulk can hide the fact you’re prettier than me.”
Wade chuckled. “You mean you’re uglier.”
“Women like rugged.”
“You keep telling yourself that.”
Ike turned back around and stood taller. “Well?”
“Looks about right to me. Jeb, what do you think?” Wade asked his personal bodyguard, standing at the door.
“I won’t let anyone close enough to tell the difference.”
Folding his hands behind his head, Wade made himself comfortable.
“Enjoy the flight home, boys.”
“You have the charter booked for tomorrow night. You sure you don’t want me to have the hotel car take you to the airport?”
“Plain yellow taxi is less conspicuous.”
Ike didn’t look convinced.
“Hey, it worked last time.” And the time before that, and the time before that. Wade’s idea of having his assistant dress like him, and having the posse escort Ike out the front doors of hotels so that Wade could catch some peace, had been a welcome change. Eventually his mob of fans would catch on. But in a metropolitan city like Miami, he was less likely to be discovered.
Both men looked him up and down, as if they were forgetting something.
“Go.” Wade made a shooing motion with his hands.
Once he had the penthouse to himself, he studied the street below from his perch. It took a bit of time, but eventually a stretch limousine pulled away from the covered turnaround, while several cars followed it in a rush.
His cell phone rang.
“Looks like we’ve drawn their attention.”
Wade felt a fifty-pound weight lift from his shoulders. “Text me when you’re on the plane.”
“Will do.”
Alone at last. Seemed he wanted that more and more in the past couple of years, and it wasn’t easy to get. He’d turned in his privacy for fame. Something he knew came with the bill, but he had yet to get used to it.