Nicole Parks burst from the bathroom of her hotel suite and rummaged through her suitcase. Bras, panties, a flat iron and a jam-packed makeup bag landed on the king-size bed. She sat up and aggressively squirted Visine into her eyes then gulped the fresh coffee she’d made from the in-room coffeemaker. Then she dove for her other suitcase.
Her fifteen-hour flight to the Rio Grande do Sul region of Brazil had come with a pounding post-flight headache. The blazing hot thirty-minute car ride to Porto Alegre, the capital, hadn’t helped. She’d virtually passed out after checking into her hotel that afternoon, but now that nap, although refreshing, was screwing with her inner clock. Good thing her client chose the restaurant in her hotel for their business dinner. She had twenty minutes to be downstairs.
Ten minutes went by, and Nicole turned to check her appearance in the floor-length mirror: black, sleeveless, form-fitting dress, mascara and nude lipstick in place, sleek black shoulder-length hair—frizzing slightly, but so far, so good—and mahogany arms and legs shimmering with lotion.
She flipped her hair over her shoulder, gesturing to her reflection. I have a head for business and a bod for sin. Anything wrong with that? It was her favorite quote from the movie Working Girl. And she definitely was a working girl, since she was the only female international real estate broker and attorney at the New York City branch of Kingsley’s.
You got this. Smooth sailing. She whispered positive mantras to herself. She loved this business: selling gorgeous properties, seeing the world, making the money. Not too shabby for a little girl from Brooklyn. Closing a deal fed her soul. It was better than sex, not that she was having any.
Dressed to impress, she reached for her phone and sighed. After locating the passcode on the corner desk, she connected to the Wi-Fi and was instantly bombarded with texts, emails and voice mail messages. She itched to go through them, noting several from her boss, but they had to wait.
Clutch and phone in hand, she rushed toward the elevator in her six-inch heels. Just as she jammed the button, a call came through. Her best friend Liz’s name popped up and Nicole bit her lip, knowing she shouldn’t answer.
“Liz, I can’t talk right now. I’m meeting a client.” Nicole punched the elevator button again.
“Nicole, where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying you for hours.” Uh-oh. Liz was clearly irritated. As a psychologist with a weekly radio show, Dr. Elizabeth Hines had heard it all, and usually nothing got through that calm exterior.
“Brazil. I got here hours ago, and I’m off to meet a client.”
“South America Brazil? I thought you were in Paris?”
“Um, that was yesterday.”
“This is why you don’t have a man.”
Nicole jerked her neck back. “Oh, really, Dr. Love? When was the last time you got roses on Valentine’s Day? And if traveling is a direct correlation to being single, then what’s your excuse? You haven’t left the country—no wait, you haven’t left New York—since you got your PhD which was...let me think... Y2K.” Nicole smiled when Liz let out a loud breath.
“I didn’t call you to throw shade around. Dani needs us.”
Nicole sobered. “Why? What happened?”
“Remember that Tinder date she had the other night?”
“Yeah. The guy with the four cats?” Nicole rolled her eyes. She commended Dani for continuing to put herself out there on those