Pettigrove stood in the airport at the customs line, waiting for her time to be seen. She had been in the air for just over fourteen hours, and all she wanted was some decent food and a foot rub.

“Next,” a small male said. He was wearing a uniform stating his importance, but he was only five feet tall if that. Pettigrove tried hard to not look ‘down’ on this small man who had the power to make her life extremely difficult if he chose to do so.

“Anything to declare?” he said with a robotic voice. He was obviously pulling the night shift because he looked like it had been a long hard shift and it was only 6:00 a.m. local time. “Ma’am?” he prompted her again, slightly annoyed she wasn’t paying him the attention he expected.

“Oh, yeah. No, nothing,” Pettigrove stumbled on her words, she was functioning on too little sleep and too many mini bottles of bubbles.

“Yes, or no, ma’am.” He’d shortened his words with now obvious annoyance.

Pettigrove stood a little taller, she was tipping the charts at five feet ten, so when she stood tall, she towered over him. “Nothing to declare, sir.”

His eyes lingered a few seconds too long on her, as she shifted her weight uncomfortably. “Business or pleasure?” he asked her, his eyes dropping to the open passport he was holding.

“Little of both,” Pettigrove expressed with a playful wisp. “I have some business to attend to, but who can visit the amazing city of Tokyo and not sing at, at least one karaoke bar, right?” Her head tilted as she tried to get a reaction from the deadpanning face of her custom’s officer. When he just stared silently at her, she tried a little wiggle of her hips as she sung, “Let It Gooo…”

“Just go…” he said dismissively.

“Ahhh, no. I am sure it is ‘Let It Go,’” she corrected him.

Puzzled, he stared at her blankly.

“Oh…” she said flustered. “You mean… me to go?”

He slowly nodded.

Pettigrove chuckled as she picked up her passport, suitcase, and handbag. She smiled at the man who still hadn’t cracked any kind of emotion on his face the entire time he had dealt with her. Turning for the door, she hot-footed it out and into an awaiting taxi.

“Ritz Carlton,” she told the driver, and with a nod, they were off.

It only seemed a short time before the car was pulling up in front of a massive and opulent-looking building. Her bags were removed from the taxi without her having to lay a finger on them. She walked up to and into a huge foyer, full of marble and gold. It was indeed a sight to behold. She glided over to the check in and was greeted by a beautiful young lady with a smile that was worth a million dollars.

“Welcome to the Ritz-Carlton. Do you have a booking?” Her voice was like a chorus of angels all singing in perfect unison.

“Pettigrove,” she said. It was now close to 8:00 a.m. and her body was aching all over.

“Ms. Pettigrove,” she sang. “Welcome. Please sign here, and I will have your bags immediately transported to the Presidential Suite.” The woman turned some papers, holding out a pen for Pettigrove to initial her check-in. “I will need a credit card imprint, ma’am, and photo identification.”

Pettigrove handed over the requested cards and did her best to stay patient.

“Perfect. Here is your key.” Her hand swept to the right. “The elevator is to the right, and you are on the fifty-third floor. You will fall in love with the views, it’s a particularly clear day today, so you can see forever.” She flashed that smile again.

Pettigrove nodded, scooping up her cards and key, as she turned and made her way to her room.

Surprised at how fast and smooth the elevator trip was, she stepped out onto the fifty-third floor and to her room.

Room? she thought. It’s a fucking house. Laughing to herself as she wandered around the huge space. Massive glass windows gave her incredible views. The woman at the front desk had been correct.

“It would want to be awesome,” she spoke to no one. “Twenty-five thousand a night, I expect the best of the best.” Her eyes traveled from wall to wall as she walked in and out of each room. “Let’s hope I find this girl sooner rather than later. Time is money. Especially in this room.”

Pettigrove threw her coat on the chair, after all that travel she felt like a used wad of chewing gum. Regardless of the costly priorities, she needed a soak. Pettigrove stripped as she went in search of a spa to renew her tired body.