Escape to Paradise

“Yes, Ms. Jefferies, it is.”

Claudia wanted to jump for joy, but smiled instead.

“Is this your first time in Cabo San Lucas?” he asked, punching the necessary information into the computer. “Or are you a regular?”

“I was in Mexico many years ago, but I’ve never been to Cabo before.”

He held up her passport, intently studied her picture. “How long will you be staying with us, Ms. Jeffries?”

“I’m not sure,” she told him. “Probably a month.”

“That’s wonderful! Four weeks is more than enough time to see Cabo and the surrounding cities as well. Might I make a few recommendations of things to do?”

Claudia knew he was just doing his job—making conversation to speed along the process—but after a day filled with delays and disappointments she didn’t have energy for small talk. “No thanks. It’s been a long day and I’m really looking forward to relaxing in my suite.”

“I understand, Ms. Jeffries. All I need is a credit card to cover the incidentals, and then you can be on your way.”

Nodding, she unzipped her wallet and handed over her Platinum MasterCard.

“For an additional fee you can add a Luxury Services package to your stay. It features twenty-four-hour housekeeping, private butler service and unlimited access to our world-class spa for the low, low price of only five hundred dollars.”

Claudia’s mouth hit the limestone counter. Did she look like a sucker? Instead of laughing in the concierge’s face, she said, “I think I’ll pass.”

“Very well. You can always add the service later if you change your mind.” The computer beeped, and the smile slid off his face. “I’m sorry, Ms. Jeffries, but there seems to be a problem. Your credit card has been declined.”

“What?” Shame burned Claudia’s cheeks, made her body so hot she could start a forest fire. “That’s impossible. I’m nowhere near the limit.”

“Have you made any large purchases in the last few hours? Sometimes that may cause—”

“There must be a problem with your system. Swipe it again.”

He did, and this time the computer beeped twice. “I’m sorry. It still won’t go through.”

Hoping no one had witnessed her humiliation, Claudia peeked over her shoulder. Three suit-clad men holding briefcases stood behind her, dead quiet. They were listening in and were every bit as annoying as those pesky reporters who’d made themselves at home on her front lawn.

Hanging her head, she shielded her face with her hands. What if one of them recognized her and alerted the press? She could see the headlines now:

Claudia Jeffries-Prescott spotted in Cabo San Lucas!

Ex-wife of disgraced CEO can’t pay bills!

Investors forced to eat in soup kitchens while Prescotts party at world-class resort!

“Do you have another credit card I can charge?”

Claudia dodged the question. “I don’t understand what’s going on. I’ve been using this credit card all day,” she confessed, pushing out a breath of frustration. “I’ll have to call MasterCard and have them straighten this mess out.”

He gestured to the end of the counter. “Please, use our house phone.”

“Now?” Claudia checked her watch. Nine thirty-seven. No way she was calling MasterCard at this time of night. Forget that. She’d sooner sleep in the lobby than subject herself to an hour-long wait. “I don’t plan to order room service or eat from the mini bar, so having my credit card on file is not necessary.”

The concierge reared back like he’d been burned with scalding water. Claudia read his facial expression, saw the veins stretched tight in his neck and the lines of doubt etched in his forehead. He didn’t trust her any more than those detectives did back in Richmond.

“I simply cannot check you in without a valid credit card, Ms. Jeffries.” He must have heard the harshness in his tone, because he softened his voice. “We’re not supposed to take cash to cover the cost of the incidentals, but I’m willing to do it to help you out. There’s an ATM machine to the right of the guest services booth and…”

Claudia strangled a groan. Even if she had the energy to walk back through the lobby—which she didn’t—thanks to the SEC she didn’t have access to her bank accounts. And her emergency fund account, which she’d wisely registered in Aunt Hattie’s name years earlier, was accessible only through commercial banking. “Can we straighten this out in the morning? I’ve been traveling for the last eight hours, and I’m exhausted.”

A voluptuous brunette, who looked like she’d been stuffed into her tangerine-colored uniform, appeared beside the concierge. “Is there a problem, Luis?”

He spoke quietly, in rapid-fire Spanish.

A minute passed. Then two. Were they still talking about her credit card problems or their plans for the weekend? Claudia wished she spoke Spanish, or knew someone who could help her out of this mess. I should have taken that Santiago guy’s business card, she thought, mentally berating herself for insulting him and fleeing the airport lounge without his number. It wasn’t every day that a perfect stranger bought her lunch, and the Mexican native was sincere and charming. He seemed like the kind of man who made things happen and got things done.

“Registering guests without proper documentation is against company policy,” the woman explained in precise English. “And doing so could result in disciplinary action for the both of us.”

“I understand that, and once I straighten everything out with the credit card company tomorrow I’ll pass that information on to you.”

“I’ll go speak with my supervisor and see if there’s something we can do.”

Claudia read the woman’s name tag. “Thank you, Rosario. I greatly appreciate it.”

“I’ll be a few minutes. Make yourself comfortable in the reception area and I’ll come get you when I’m done.”

In spite of her outward show of calm, Claudia was nervous and scared. Fighting against feelings of despair, she picked up her bag and carried herself over to the lounge. A stiff drink would come in handy right now, she thought, wishing the tray-carrying bellhop was still around. What more could go wrong today? Six months ago, she’d been paid handsomely to plan a magical destination wedding for colleagues turned soul mates, Niveah Evans and Damien Hunter, and now she had more money woes than the late King of Pop.

Claudia took a moment to collect herself. Going to another resort tonight was out of the question, so she’d just have to convince the resort manager to let her stay. What was it Maxine had said? Smile, giggle and flash a bit of cleavage if you have to! Claudia hated playing the beauty card, especially because she always felt as inept as the forty-third president addressing the Senate, but if flirting would get her out of the lobby and into that luxury suite she’d channel her inner sex goddess and charm the man’s socks off.

Santiago poked his head into the staff lounge, and when he saw his mother lift the sofa love seat and vacuum underneath it, a frown creased his lips. Curiosity drew Santiago inside the room. Tilting his head to the side, he pensively stroked the length of his jaw. His mother’s energy level wasn’t the only thing that shocked him. Her midsection was flat, and she had arms that would make Wonder Woman jealous.

Santiago watched in stunned disbelief as his mom made quick work of cleaning the lounge. Something smelled fishy, and the odor wasn’t coming from the aquarium.

“You’re here!” Ana Medina switched off the vacuum. Dropping the handle, she shot across the room and threw her arms around her son. “Welcome home, Tiago!”

Santiago chuckled and returned her hug. “Thanks, Mom. It’s good to see you.”

“When did you get in?”

“About an hour ago. I dropped my bags off in the office, then came looking for you. Why are you cleaning?”

“We’re short-staffed today, and I couldn’t stand to see this room dirty any longer. Just because we own the resort doesn’t mean I can’t do our part to help out.”

“And you wonder where I get my tireless work ethic from,” he teased, winking at her.

“Enough about work. Stand still and let me get a good look at you.” Slipping off her eyeglasses, she studied him for a long, hard minute. “You get more handsome each year. That’s hard to believe considering you live in such a wickedly cold place. And a violent one, too.”

Santiago hid a smile. “Can I at least have something to eat before you start in on me?”

“I have a pot of salsa simmering at home as we speak,” she explained, her voice filled with cheer. “I’m making all your favorites tonight. Pea soup, Spanish rice, and beef enchiladas.”