Chapter Three
There were reasons why Lori’s caseload was lighter than that of the average divorce attorney to the rich and famous. She spent very little time in front of judges hashing anything out. Her practice was built on prenuptial agreements and premeditated divorces. These took up over half of her calendar and added to her retirement plan faster than any divorce lawyer could have dreamed.
When cases like Trina Mendez-Petrov’s took a significant turn for the worse, she had ample time to deal with them and enough professional clout to obtain the required court delays with her current inbox of clients.
Lori stood poised, with massive sunglasses covering her eyes, a wide-brimmed hat covering her head, and her chin held high in the lobby of the Mandarin Oriental Hotel in Barcelona. The hotel dripped opulence and sophistication. It screamed money, and lots of it. Attendants stood everywhere, their uniforms crisp, their smiles painted on. Fresh flower arrangements featured exotic plants Lori couldn’t name. Looking past the sleek lines and gold trim of the decor, she watched the glass doors leading outside as one of many limousines stopped in the valet turnaround.
Wearing a white jumpsuit few women could pull off, Shannon Redding, the ex-wife of Paul Wentworth, the current governor of the state of California, climbed out of the back of the limo and donned sunglasses similar to Lori’s. She said something to one of the bellmen, who placed a soft black bag onto a cart, and preceded her luggage into the lobby.
They hugged. “Hello, Shannon.”
“It’s good to see you.”
Lori tilted her sunglasses. “I’m glad you could make it.”
“Two years is long enough to sulk.” Shannon said the right thing, but Lori could see a shadow still lurking in the woman’s smile.
Someone behind Shannon called out, “Lori?”
Lori placed a hand on Shannon’s arm and moved past her. “You’re early.”
Avery wore her hair in a ponytail and smiled like she’d enjoyed her in-flight drinks. “My mother was driving me crazy, so I caught an earlier flight.”
Lori turned toward Shannon and made the introductions.
“Shannon, this is Avery.”
Shannon’s poised and practiced smile met Avery’s grin. The two couldn’t be more different and still have so much in common.
The women knew they were both Alliance brides, but the details would only be spoken of in private.
“Is our fourth party here?” Shannon asked as they walked toward the elevators.
“She is.”
They kept the small talk to conversation about their flights and lack of sleep until they entered the double doors of the penthouse suite.
Lori tipped the bellmen and closed the door behind them.
She removed her sunglasses and hat, tossing them on the foyer table.
Avery pointed a finger in Shannon’s direction. “You’re the governor’s wife.”
Shannon placed her purse on the table and sat. “Ex-wife, but yes. Paul Wentworth was my husband.”
Avery’s jaw dropped. “An Alliance husband?”
“Guilty. And who was your husband?”
“Bernie Fields.”
Shannon looked up as if searching her memory for some recollection. “Hedge funds?”
Avery smiled. “Not to mention his trust fund. But yes, that’s Bernie.”
Shannon smiled. “I can’t picture you with him.”
“He wanted tall and blonde.”
“And beautiful, I assume.”
Avery’s grin grew wider. “Thank you.”
“I thought I heard voices.”
Lori turned as Trina walked from one of the bedrooms.
Shannon sucked in air and Avery blew out a breath. “Katrina Petrov?”
“Call me Trina,” she corrected Avery.
Shannon moved her stare to Lori. “When you said you had a client that could use some friends in the know, you weren’t kidding.”
Trina’s disaster of a life had been front-page news in as many as a dozen countries.
Avery stood and crossed the living room space to the open kitchen. “I think we’re going to need liquor.”
Shannon extended her hand to Trina. “Shannon Redding.”
“Trina Petrov.”
“You’re keeping his name?”
“For now.”
Trina looked the grieving widow. Sullen eyes, the spark all but gone. At first the media had painted her as a young bride in the thick of tragedy. Then, somewhere right after Fedor’s funeral and before Alice’s, fingers started pointing, and Trina was the center of gossip. She’d come from nowhere to marry a rich man, into an oil-rich family, and suddenly all the people holding the money were dead. Never mind Alice’s condition wasn’t new or that Fedor took his own life . . . Trina found blame placed on her shoulders, just as she’d predicted.
“I’m so sorry,” Shannon said.
Avery popped the cork from a bottle of red. “I’m Avery Grant. I didn’t take Bernie’s name from the get-go.”
Lori helped Avery with the glasses and took a seat beside Shannon. “I need to play lawyer for just a few minutes, then I promise to play something else for the rest of the week.”
Avery nudged her, grinning.
“I brought you all here for different reasons, you’ve all signed confidentiality agreements and understand that everything we speak of is in the strictest confidence.”
“We know, Counselor.” Avery was the snarky one in the group.
“With so much secrecy around your actual married life, Sam and I thought it would be helpful if you have a friend or two you can confide in when times get hard.”
Trina tried to grin but failed.
“I’ve brought Shannon because she’s two years postdivorce and has probably the highest profile of all of you. I know it seems as if everyone is talking about you, Trina, but Shannon can attest that it could be worse and it will get better.”
Shannon lifted her glass before taking a sip.
“I brought Avery to remind you both about the excitement you once had entering into your arranged marriages.”
“Whoop-whoop,” Avery exclaimed before drinking.
“And Avery might think it’s all fun and games, but there are some pitfalls to look out for.”
Lori’s comment was met by Avery rolling her eyes. “You worry too much,” Avery said.
“How long have you been divorced?” Shannon asked.
“Little over a month.”
“How long has it been since you’ve had sex?”
Avery’s smile fell. “Too long!”
“Who did you date before you married Bernie?” Lori asked.
“A long string of assholes, sadly.”
“So you’re a bad judge of character?” Shannon’s question sounded almost like a statement.
“I wouldn’t say that. I just don’t think there are that many good guys out there.”
Shannon shrugged. “You have a point there.”
That wasn’t something Lori could argue and win. It had been so long since she’d met a man worthy of a second cup of coffee, let alone anything more. “Finding a guy who isn’t using you for your money, or who doesn’t think you’re after his, isn’t easy,” Lori reminded her.
Avery lifted her glass. “I don’t want to find the guy, just a guy. Why should men be the only ones out there playing?”
Trina sat there during their conversation with a small smile and took it in without saying a word.
“That guy isn’t easy to find,” Shannon informed Avery.
“Don’t tell me you have a hard time getting laid.” If Avery’s colorful language offended the others, it didn’t show on their faces.
“Oh, I can find a man for that. But one that won’t go to the tabloids when it falls apart . . . not so much.”
“You were married to a Republican governor. So does that cross off every Democrat?” Trina asked with a hint of a grin.
“Almost.”
Lori sat back and sipped her wine.
“So is that why we’re going on the cruise? The Mediterranean doesn’t have Republicans or Democrats?” Avery asked.
“That, and there aren’t many who will know who Bernie Fields is, or care that you’re his ex-wife,” Lori said.
“What about Fedor? I don’t think I’ll escape the media’s scrutiny about his suicide, even here.”
“We aren’t here to escape your life, or his suicide,” Lori told her. “We’re here to pull ourselves together without the distractions of our daily lives. Which is why we’re going on a cruise. New ports every day. If the media is about, chances are they aren’t going to row after a cruise ship to follow us. You speak three languages, Trina, and can blend. You need a break and you’re far too young for those frown lines on your face,” Lori said.
“Three languages, really?” Avery was obviously impressed.
“English, Russian, and Spanish. Which makes Italian a little easier to grasp.”
“Good thing we’re going to Rome,” Avery said.
“This week is about finding a way to move forward after your marriage, figuring out where you need to go from here, and what path you will need to take. Maybe even discover what kind of man should come along for the ride.”
Avery opened her mouth to speak, then closed it with a laugh.
Lori lifted her glass. “A week to get this First Wives Club off the ground.”
“First Wives? Wasn’t there a movie with that title?” Avery asked.
Trina grinned. “Yeah, but those women were all older, with husbands that left them for younger women.”
“But we’re the young ones,” said Avery.
“And rich,” Shannon added.
Avery narrowed her gaze in Lori’s direction and questioned, “Rich?”
“What are you looking at me like that for? I arrived in a private plane, you guys schlepped in first class.”
Trina laughed for the first time since Lori had walked into the Petrov estate. Lori wasn’t sure if it was the liquor or the company . . . or the combination of both. But already her plan to wipe the frown from Trina’s face was working. “No one schleps in first class,” Trina said.
“So you’re young and rich . . . but you’ve never been married,” Avery proclaimed.
Lori lifted her chin higher. “How I wish that were true.”
All three of them lowered their glasses in shock.
“Wait, you’re divorced? Alliance?” Shannon asked.
“Yes, divorced, but not through Alliance. I made the fatal mistake of marrying for love.”
Avery picked up the bottle and topped off her glass. “Looks like we all have some secrets to spill this week.”
“I would never have guessed you’d taken the plunge.”
Lori met Avery’s eyes. “It isn’t something I plan on repeating.” The image of her long-ago ex scratched at her memory. She’d fallen hard and early, and the experience gave her a hardened, jaded edge to make her a kick-ass divorce attorney who happily helped Alliance arrange fake marriages for a price. Unfortunately, after years of witnessing the cycle of love, marriage . . . failure, it was difficult to start anything in her own life without seeing the end before the second orgasm.
Lori shook her personal thoughts from her head and lifted her glass. “To the First Wives . . . divorced or widowed.”
“Cheers!”
Lori’s bags were in her room before she opened the door. “Wow,” she sighed. The pictures didn’t do the space justice.
Anytime one scored over eight hundred square feet of cruise ship cabin space, you knew they were paying dearly for it. Lori’s room as well as the First Wives’ rooms were centered around a private pool, private dining room, and exclusive lounge that could only be accessed by the ultimate of first-class passengers. Some considered cruising a vacation for the budget minded, but among the patrons in this section of the ship, budget wasn’t in their vocabulary. While the butler service was way over-the-top, Lori wasn’t about to complain. She’d researched the cruise ship and their accommodations extensively to assure their privacy and high-end lodgings. Alliance spared no expense. No matter what level of socialization the women wanted, they could get it on board the outsize floating city.
She went to the balcony door and pushed it open. From behind the small dividing wall, she heard Trina. “What a view.”
Lori peeked around the partition. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Barcelona buzzed from beyond the ship while passengers funneled on board.
“This balcony is bigger than my college dorm room,” Trina said.
“I’m glad you like it.”
A soft knock on the open door behind her captured Lori’s attention. A short Filipino man dressed in a formal black-and-white uniform stood smiling. “Ms. Cumberland?”
She nodded. “That’s me.”
“I’m Datu, I’ll be your butler while onboard.” He stepped inside the room, placed his hand on her luggage. “I understand you’re here with a few of your friends?”
“That’s right.” She gave Datu the names of the others.
“Most wonderful. I’ll see to unpacking your things. Might I suggest you enjoy our cocktail of the day with your companions before we set sail? Perhaps you can plan your evening. I’m happy to make any reservations on your behalf, or bring you anything you might need.”
“Thank you, Datu. That would be wonderful.” She pointed to her laptop case. “Please leave that case out so I can get some work done.”
Datu narrowed his eyes. “Work, Miss?”
“Sadly. No worries, I plan on playing quite a bit.”
“Wonderful.” Datu opened her suitcase as she moved past him.
“Oh, Datu?”
He turned. “What is your cocktail of the day?”
“It’s called rebellious fish. One of my favorites.”
“What’s in it?” The question no sooner left her lips than she waved off any answer he might have. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”
With her room key tucked into a small clutch, Lori made her way to the exclusive bar.
She found Avery already flirting with two young male passengers, her glass half-full.
“There you are.” Avery had managed to don a pair of tight shorts and a tank top destined to give the tops of her breasts a tan before they left port.
“It’s been less than thirty minutes since we checked in,” Lori told her.
Avery offered a flirty smile at the bartender, as if the two guys talking to her weren’t enough. “She’ll have one of these. It’s a rebel something.”
“Let me go out on a limb and say you know a thing or two about being a rebel,” said the man to Avery’s right, who had a thick Italian accent and equally thick hair.
“Why would you guess that?”
“I’m Lori,” she chuckled and introduced herself.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Lori, this is Mr. Married, and this is Mr. Engaged.”
Lori lifted an amused eyebrow.
Mr. Married lifted both palms in the air as if apologizing. And Mr. Engaged, the one who nailed Avery as a rebel, flirted with his eyes. “We will have to find you Mr. Single, Miss Rebel.”
“It’s a big ship, and I’m going to need more than one.” Avery sipped her drink.
The bartender put Lori’s colorful drink on the bar and moved away.
“So that’s how it is?” Mr. Engaged said.
Avery played with the straw using the tip on her tongue. “Yep. At least two for me and one for each of my friends.”
“That didn’t take you two long,” Shannon said as she joined them. Trina walked beside her with large sunglasses hiding her eyes. Those sunglasses had become a shield in the past month, whether to keep the media from recognizing her or to hide the pain in her eyes, Lori wasn’t sure. She made it a goal to see those glasses gone by the end of the week. Or at the very least, put away when the sun wasn’t shining on Trina’s face.
“The rooms are phenomenal,” Shannon told Lori.
“I can’t imagine we’ll spend much time in them,” Avery said.
Lori finally sipped her cocktail. Rum, she thought . . . and a bunch of other stuff. It went down way too smooth.
Avery did another round of introductions, keeping with the theme of Mr. Married and Mr. Engaged. Something told Lori that she’d never remember the men as anything other than that. More drinks were ordered, and before she knew it, her shoulders started to relax.
This might be a working vacation, but Lori was determined to enjoy herself.
When Mrs. Married and Miss Engaged found their men, the eye flirting ended and resulted in Avery looking around the deck in search of a fresh catch. The space slowly filled up as passengers made it from their rooms to the bar. Two kids, both boys, ran past them en route to the pool in the center of the deck.
“You look familiar,” Mrs. Married told Trina.
Both Lori and Shannon tensed.
“My first time in Barcelona, so I doubt we’ve met.”
“You’re American, right?”
The married and engaged party of four was from Sicily. All of them spoke English.
“Oh my God, Shannon, I almost forgot. We were supposed to meet those French guys on the main pool deck when we pulled out of port.”
Shannon caught on quickly. “Oh, that’s right.” She put her arm through Trina’s and turned her away from the Italians. “Lovely meeting you. I’m sure we’ll see you again.”
Lori held back to sign for the bar tab.
One of the Italians muttered something about the French before they took their drinks to another part of the lounge.
By now, the barkeep was elbow deep with orders. With tractor-beam eyes, she watched the man in hopes of gaining his attention.
“The death stare usually works faster.” Lori felt her lips peeling back in a smile before pivoting her head toward the amused male voice.
She took him in from the ground up. Slacks, not jeans or shorts like many of the men milling about on deck. Trim waist that bloomed into thick shoulders covered by a pullover, three-button shirt. Arms that spent some time holding something other than a pen flexed under the short sleeves and made her wish he was sunbathing by the pool instead of standing at the bar. Strong jaw, freshly shaven, could only be described as chiseled, or maybe that was the faded scar that slid along his left cheek, a little more than an inch long. His eyes were dark with thick lashes most women would pay to have. His chestnut hair was a little long, and not as well cut as the rest of him. She thought, briefly, that his hair didn’t fit. Then she shook off her odd thoughts and realized she was staring.
Lori forced herself to look away only to find the bartender on the other side helping out a gaggle of early twentysomethings wearing as little as possible.
“The key to the death stare is never letting your eyes wander away,” Lori said, and when it appeared the bartender was turning around, she lifted her hand in the air.
He didn’t see her.
“I messed you up, my apologies.” He pushed in closer, their shoulders brushed against the other’s.
“I can have him put your drink on my room.” The realization that he was hitting on her created a swirl of chaos inside her. Lori’s job was to acclimate the First Wives into their new single life, not trying to get lucky on her weeklong cruise.
Lori turned to find him watching from a good five inches above her head. She liked them tall. “That would be rude of me, seeing as I don’t even know your name.”
He extended his hand, his palm warmed hers with a spark. “Mr. Single.”
Lori hesitated and then laughed. “You were listening.”
“Three beautiful women show up at the bar, and men watch.”
Lori cocked her head. “There were four of us.”
“Three beautiful and one captivating.” He squeezed her palm before letting go.
Her cheeks warmed. “Are you a salesman, Mr. Single?”
“I can be.”
She looked him up and down, made sure he knew she was sizing him up this time. “Personal trainer?”
“Every day but Sunday.” He met her eyes with a full kilowatt of charm.
He was joking, but she liked the flirty banter. “What’s wrong with working out on Sunday?”
“Nothing. I prefer to take my workouts outside of the gym on Sunday.” He had a decent tan, so she assumed that meant the beach, or maybe a hiking trip. “What about you? Professional model?”
Lori rolled her eyes. “Really? Your lines were better a minute ago.”
“You’re right. You seem much too put together for such a flighty profession. Doctor?”
Lori played along, mainly to avoid him asking the next question and suggesting lawyer. Because for some strange reason, announcing she was a divorce attorney while on the cruise with three of her female clients didn’t feel right. Besides, the less this stranger knew about her, the better. “You guessed it. Doctor.”
“Of?” He didn’t believe her.
“Anthropology.”
He snickered.
“What, I could be. Especially in a bar on a cruise ship sailing the Mediterranean. Lots of great people to study here.”
“That would make me an anthropologist in training, since watching people is my greatest strength.”
The bartender walked by and Lori shouted out the need for her check.
“Body language is important when selling used cars.”
His smile slid, but his eyes did that twinkle thing. He sized her up slowly. “I bet you’re into yoga?”
“Only on Sunday,” she said with a laugh.
“Why only Sunday?”
“Because the rest of the week I’m shimmying up a pole and collecting one-dollar bills all night.”
If she had to guess, the way he shifted his hips meant her comment made his mind go there.
“Now that I’d like to see.”
The bartender handed her the bill and walked away. She wrote her room number and scribbled a signature.
“Next time you’re in Vegas, let me know. I’ll hook you up.”
Mr. Single leaned back as their flirting came to a close. “A pole dancing stripper needs to work a lot of hours to afford a cruise like this.”
“Nawh, she just needs a sugar daddy, now if you’ll excuse me, my friends are waiting.”
He turned as she walked away. “Until next time, Miss Single.”
She lifted her hands. “I’m here all week.”
“Lucky me.”
Lori laughed as she walked away, ignoring the heat of his stare on her ass.