I know in my heart of hearts that Maggie has left by now, but I still want to try to see her. I still hope she wants to stay and talk to me. I have to talk her out of this sham marriage. It must be a sham. We connected when we were together last fall. The sex was magnetic. I shut my eyes and pray that she waited for me to return.
The elevator hardly opens before I squeeze out, leaving Caden behind, and run my hand over the touchpad to open the door to my place. I can smell her faint floral perfume, but when I look around, the apartment is too quiet. She’s gone.
My heart sinks. Why would she do this? I see a note and rush over to read it, but it doesn’t do anything other than apologize. She’s sorry for what? For breaking my heart? For leaving without talking to me? For marrying someone who could never love her as much as I do?
I crumple the paper in my hand and throw it across the room. “Dammit!” Pulling the phone from my pocket, I call her, but it goes directly to her voice mail.
I know the person who runs the airport. I’m half tempted to figure out which plane she’s on, stop it on the tarmac, and make them bring it back to the terminal. That would allow me to talk to her, but possibly not with the results I want.
There must be a reason she’s had to do this…
I blow out a big breath of air and send her a text.
Me: I’m so sorry I missed you. I tried to get back before you left. Please call me. Please talk to me. Tell me what’s going on. I’m worried about you and I care for you.
After a primal scream to release some frustration, I pour myself three fingers of bourbon and try to figure out how I can fix this. It’s the only thing I can do.
Chapter 4
Jonathan
I’m staring out at Las Vegas from my office. Hordes of people crowd the sidewalks, exploring everything the Strip has to offer, despite the incredible heat—even in April. Maggie is not returning my calls or texts, so I haven’t talked to her in three days. After talking every day for months, that feels like three years.
For all I know she’s blocked me. But why? Did I miss some serious signals? I don’t think so, but I don’t have any way to get an outside perspective on this. No one knows what happened between Maggie and me at the wedding. I think Christopher might kill me if he knew. Jesus. How did I get into this mess?
I need to go to her. I need to talk to her and understand why. I will do what ever it takes.
My admin rings me from her desk outside my office door. “Mr. Best?”
“Yes, Lola?”
“Our favorite friend is having a problem and needs you.”
I roll my eyes. Queen Diva strikes again. I’ll get to Maggie as soon as I can…right after this, it seems. “Let her know I’m on my way.”
“Yes, sir. Will do.”
As I exit my office, Lola asks in a low voice, “Is she really worth all this trouble?”
“You’ve seen our P&L statement.”
The answer is an unequivocal yes. She sells out five shows a week. There’s also a spike in casino revenues before and after each of her shows. She’s difficult on a good day, but even then, she’s worth it.
Caden follows me down to the Diva Lounge. As I round the corner to her dressing room, she’s screaming profanity, and I hear a glass shatter. I’m tempted to turn around and hide, but she’ll only track me down. I tried that once, and it was worse when she found me.
“—that motherfucker. Who do they think they are?”
Even Caden flinches. He remains at the door and gives me a sympathetic smile. I walk in to find her manager/loser husband, Frankie, (who I think is taking her for every penny) only half paying attention to her tirade. He tried to negotiate a free room for his little trysts when we first set up the contract, but I was smarter than that. What happens between the two of them is their business, but I’m not going to involve the resort in their mess.
“You can’t be talking about me?” I say lightly.
“I need the security footage of all activity back here,” she demands
“Why? What happened?” I ask, the hair on my neck standing straight up.
“Do you see that?” She points to her costume rack. Each outfit is hand-sewn and fit for her and cost me between ten and fifty grand. She wears them each evening during her show, making eight costume changes a night. She also has two spares in case she changes her mind, so what I see is a bundle of sparkling chaos on a rack. “It’s missing.”
I’m not sure what she’s talking about. “What’s missing?”
“The turquoise one.”
She’s all worked up—waving her arms and pacing.
Her assistant, Renee, comes in with a towel and water. She pulls a fan from her pocket and starts waving it at her. “Queenie, be careful. We don’t want you to do anything to your voice. That is your instrument and getting upset is only going to put you on course for straining it.”
I nod. Turning to her husband, I find him on his phone, mostly oblivious to the drama.
“Frankie, what’s going on?” I ask.
“Her backup dress for the third change is missing.”
“Could one of the fitters have taken it for repair or anything?” I ask.
“Absolutely not,” Queen Diva interrupts. “These costumes are my uniforms. They aren’t to leave my dressing room without my permission, and everyone knows that.”
I’m taking everything in. This is Las Vegas, and of course, everything is captured on security cameras and saved to a cloud drive—minus what happens in her dressing room.
“I’ll have security pull the footage of who has come and gone from your dressing room for the last week.”
“What about inside?” her assistant asks in a disgusted tone.
“Well, for privacy reasons, we don’t record what happens in private dressing rooms. Queen Diva made sure it was added to her contract,” I remind them, “despite my assuring you we only record public areas.”
Queen Diva throws her hands up in frustration. “That dress was my third favorite. I can’t believe someone stole it.”
I take a deep breath. I need to ask the next question, but I dread the answer. “Is there anything else missing? You are the Queen Diva, and something as simple as a hairbrush could be worth a fortune on a fan site or internet auction house—let alone your beautiful and expensive costume. Is anything else missing?”
Her assistant fans her, and her husband texts away on his phone.
“Well...I don’t think so. I was planning on wearing it tonight, so I was looking for it when I got here,” she says in a meek voice.
This is a good sign. She’s calmed down and now we can get somewhere.
Frankie stands. “Okay, I just alerted Inquiring Minds and News America, and they will cover the missing dress.”
I can feel my blood pressure going through the roof. “Why did you do that?”
Who thinks broadcasting a break-in is a good idea? That will put a lot of pressure on my security team.
He ignores my question in favor of bickering with his wife.
I lean in and kiss her cheek as I interrupt. “Queen, you’re going to have a fantastic night. We’ll get you that footage and another dress as fast as they can make one. Don’t let this affect you and your show. Try to get some rest.”