Page 31 of The Business Trip

If she pulled that, I was irked that I hadn’t done it first,annoyed that I was forced to sit here and endure the blah-blah-blah of nonsensical talking heads while she was out tanning by the pool or whatever she was doing. But it also impressed the heck out of me. It took some balls. I loved a woman with balls, and it made me feel a surge of further attraction. Maybe we were kindred spirits. We could ditch the rest of the entire conference and find a hot tub somewhere. Hmm…

“OK, folks, quick bathroom and beverage break. Back in ten,” the emcee said, and people began standing up and milling about, the din of voices creating a hum in the room as the house lights went up a touch and light classical music came across the PA system.

This was my chance. I sure as shit wasn’t going to sit here for another ninety minutes next to Dorothy and Alan and listen to someone lecture me on mental health. The best thing formymental health was to get away from this talk on mental health. If Steph bailed, why not me? I could just rejoin the group at the evening cocktail party. There was only that one session left anyway. No one would miss me.

Dorothy and Alan had turned to speak to some people at the table next to us and were ignoring me. Bitch. Geek. Fuck them. I grabbed my messenger bag from the back of the chair and strode out the exit and straight to the elevators. The thought of hitting the pool for a bit and then turning on the TV—maybe there was golf—and flopping across my king-size bed with a twelve-dollar beer from the room minibar was pretty appealing. I would charge it to the company.

The elevator dinged at the sixth floor, and I stepped out and turned toward my room. A guy with a light blue worker’s shirt and dark blue pants with a ring of keys on his side was knocking on a door two down from mine.

“Maintenance,” he called. “Is there a broken refrigerator in your room?”

Glancing at the worker, I saw the guest open the door a crack. Ignoring it, I was about to swipe open my door when I heard a familiar voice.

“No, I’m OK. False alarm.”

It was Stephanie. My hand stopped an inch from the card reader, and I cocked my head to hear more.

“It seems to be working now,” she added.

“Do you want me to come in, ma’am, and take a look?” the worker pressed. “The kitchen staff told me you had to get ice to keep medicine cold.”

“No, thank you. I’m fine. I think—I think—it just wasn’t plugged in all the way. It works now. I must have bumped it when I was unpacking. I’m sorry for the hassle.”

“OK, ma’am, if you’re sure. We want you to have everything you need during your stay.”

“I’m good, thank you. I will call if there are problems.”

“OK, very good, ma’am.” The worker turned, saw me looking, and gave me a small nod. I nodded back to reassure him that he was doing a fine job taking care of his guests.

So that was why she left, I thought. She asked for ice to keep medicine cold in her room. Huh. A little odd but OK. Since we were both playing hooky, though, this felt like a perfect time to see if she wanted to hang out.

I waited for the maintenance guy to get on the elevator. Putting my key card in my back pocket and running my hand through my gelled hair to make it smooth on top the way I liked it, I tested out my breath into my hand to be sure I didn’t have any lingering effects from lunch and walked the few feet to her room.

For a second I stood silently and put my ear to the door, waiting to see if I could hear anything coming from her side.

It was all quiet. No TV noise, no talking on the phone, no hair dryer or anything else. Hotel walls were so thin you could often hear your neighbors rustling about or even tell when they were flushing the toilet. But in her room you would have no idea anyone was there.

Lifting my hand, I rapped my knuckles lightly on the door. Silence. Waiting for a beat, I rapped harder.

Now I heard someone stir and her voice.

“The fridge is fine, thank you.”

“Stephanie? It’s Trent. From the conference. How ya doing? You OK? You never came back after lunch.”

Silence again. I raised my voice, this time almost to a yell.

“Steph from Mad-town? Did you hear me? It’s Trent, from Atlanta.”

There was a further rustling, the door unlocked, and her eyes peeked out. She looked tired, eyeliner starting to smear. The room was dark behind her, and I guessed that the curtains were closed.

“Well, hey there,” I said cheerily and leaned my arm against the door frame in a casual but flirty stance to try and perk up her mood. “How ya doing? We missed you at table four.”

“Oh, hi, Trent.” She sighed. “I’m sorry I didn’t come back. I have a migraine.”

“A migraine? I thought you were having refrigerator problems.”

“No, that’s fixed now… and… how did you know that?”

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