This morning’s fashion show was a disaster and I was running late for my flight to Milan. Before the cab could fully stop at the St. Petersburg-Clearwater International Airport’s curb, I tossed the fee plus tip at the cabby and flung the door open. That forced him to make a quick stop and I jumped from the cab bumping smack into a handsome man with eyes so blue they had to have been plucked right from the heavens. But I was late and didn’t have time to be social.
As the aroma of Grey Flannel Cologne and the smell of leather from his black bomber jacket tickled my senses, I dragged my carry-on bags from the back seat of the musty cab and muttered some kind of an apology to the guy for stepping on his foot. Without waiting for his response, I raced through the doors and the airport as fast as I could. I did pick up the pace, but let’s face it, I was wearing a tight white skirt and blouse with red stilettos…I wasn’t getting anywhere fast.
I heaved my carry-on, my purse and the ticket to Italy over to my right side so I could check my Rolex. I can make it. I had five minutes to catch the flight.
I made it through security and finally got to the gate. Where was everyone? I rushed to the boarding desk. Out of breath I asked the girl, “Is this …