She sat on the edge of the king-sized bed and mumbled with her head down, “You’re still the same old Ivan…won’t break for nobody.”

Ivan didn’t respond. But she was right. He was a man who stuck by his principles.

She added, “I was hoping that you had changed a little bit.”

He didn’t have a response to that, either. The truth was, he hadn’t changed. He was still as strong willed as ever.

After another minute, the silence of the room increased the awkwardness for both of them.

Catherine finally decided to let the fish off the hook and send him back into the water.

“Well…if you wanna go to that party so much…”

Ivan jumped at his chance to leave with no shame. “Are you still gonna be up?” He knew he had to at least make his exit sound good.

Catherine looked at him and asked, “What, after the party? No.” She didn’t care about a consolation prize. She had lost him.

“I mean, just to call you up and make sure everything is all right,” he told her.

“Ivan, I’m a grown fucking woman, okay?” she snapped at him. “So you go do what you need to do and don’t worry about me.”

Ouch! He should have quit while he was ahead. Now he felt awkward again. Instead of saying anything else, he nodded and headed for the door.

“I’ll call you,” he said on the way out.

When the door closed behind him, Catherine took another deep breath and dropped her head even lower. All of her plans were out the window, falling fourteen stories down.

“Shit,” she grumbled into her lap. “I would have been better off at the fucking Days Inn…and could have saved them a bunch of money.”

IVAN WAS OUT of the hotel in a flash to hustle his way back to the action on Fifth Avenue.

“You’re leaving us already?” It was the same valet who had greeted Catherine when she and Ivan had entered the hotel.

Ivan faced him and answered, “I’ll be back.” He added, “Not tonight, but I’ll be back, though, for sure.” He planned on it. Then he laughed as he made his way back up Harbor Drive.

He felt like a college student again, rushing to make his way to the clubs. And on a Thursday night, he was sure that the Padres party would have few competitors.

When he arrived back in the Gaslamp Quarter, what San Diego referred to as its main restaurant and nightclub district, the stretch limos, luxury sedans, and exotic sports cars that lined the valet parking spaces outside the Market Street Hotel told him exactly where the party was.