A part that was eager to come out to play . . . and that had found not only one playmate but two.
When I arrive in my suite, I unlace my boots, set them in the closet, then put my mask on a hook on the wall. I reach for my hair so I can unclip my barrette, but it’s not there. I pat my head, searching for it, then spin around in front of the mirror, looking.
I check the folds of my dress.
Search my mask again.
My heart speeds, hammering too fast.
That clip is from my parents.
Have I lost it?
Panic kicks in. I need to find it.
I call Carlos, asking him to search for it in the car, but he says he comes up empty. With a racing heart and worried nerves, I call the Aria and ask the front desk to look for it.
They tell me they’ll keep their eyes open. I say a prayer to the universe that someone will find it and turn it in.
Thanking them, I take a breath, then do my best to put it out of my mind for now.
But I can’t do the same with tonight.
The memory of the alcove keeps me up for another hour.
I’m wired, tuned to a new frequency, one I didn’t know I could reach.
As I slide into bed in a cotton tank and panties, the memory tangos in front of me.
Two men. Two sets of hands. Two hard bodies.
The way they touched me. The way they knew how to hand off to each other, to trade me, to treat me as theirs.
I shudder, my whole body lighting up as those last few seconds in the alcove replay.
The American’s hands. His fingers.
The other man’s lips. His words.
My skin tingles, and I slide my fingers inside my panties, where I’m wet and aroused beyond reason.
I’ve already come hard, harder than I thought possible, and yet I want more. More bliss, more touch, more bodies.
More stolen trysts in alcoves, with crowds nearby none the wiser.
That’s what I imagine as I take myself there again, no toys needed tonight, thank you very much.
Only the fresh image of earlier, as I stroke and moan and spread my legs.
As I imagine.
As I beg.
As I picture things I’ve never pictured before.
And as I come again, sated.
But not quite.
I’m not sure I can be until I experience that again.
And I pray to the gods of sexy masked men that my next encounter is even better than the first.
8
Sage
The morning after the party, as I’m getting dressed for the day, my phone lights up with a we’ve decided to go elsewhere email from The Exquisite Show.
I grit my teeth in frustration.
Yes, The Exquisite Show was a long shot, but our pitch was strong.
And this stings. I wanted that show here. But it turns out the producers have chosen another hotel for their brand-new production.
I text my sister and let her know.
Ivy replies with an emoticon of a cartoon character’s head encased in fiery rage.
Then a GIF with a celebrity shrugging off bad news with a Whatever-style hair flip.
And a final text: Onward and upward!
I laugh as I read the rapid-fire notes.
* * *
Sage: Glad to see your ability to process your emotions at rocket speed is still top-notch.
* * *
Ivy: That’s me! I drop emotions like college students drop boring 101 classes. In any case, I’ll see you in thirty minutes downstairs. Be the badass you are for our Sunday morning planning meeting. Since we’re workaholics.
* * *
Sage: As if I’d be anything other than a badass.
* * *
With tailored slacks and a white silk blouse, I do look the part. When my hair is done in its French twist, I slide into basic black heels and head to the executive offices to tackle the day, replying along the way to The Exquisite Show producers, letting them know we were grateful to be considered and that whoever won the show will surely do a fantastic job.
Briefly, I run through my Rolodex of Strip hotels, picturing where the acrobatic fiesta would work best.
The Bellagio maybe?
Possibly The Venetian?
It could fit at The Invitation too. But it seems unlikely that the new kid on the block would nab such a coveted show already.
Wherever it winds up, though, I’ll see it.
For pleasure and for intel, of course.
It’s a shame we didn’t win it, but I won’t let that loss get me down. Competition is de rigueur in this town, and I’m already eyeing other fabulous forms of entertainment to bring to The Extravagant.
That includes a hot new magic act that’s been rising up on the scene, with Penn & Teller-esque payoffs that boggle the mind and delight the eyes. Their names are Max and Alex, and I love that a pair of female magicians are getting their due.
The next day, Ivy and I meet with the magicians’ managers on a golf course off the Strip. We both know how to play. Our father taught us, saying golf was an essential skill for any executive to possess. Along with knowing a martial art, another language, and how to compromise. I learned Mandarin Chinese growing up, and Ivy can speak Spanish.
Both help, since Max is from Beijing, and Alex hails from Madrid. Their managers are also multilingual, and as we golf, we tell them we’re putting together a proposal for their act.
The meeting goes well, the golf game even better, and I have a good feeling after we say goodbye.
But feelings aren’t enough.
Rock-solid deals with terrific terms are.
In the limo on our way back to The Extravagant, Ivy and I brainstorm how the magic act can fit into our new One Night Only lineup of entertainment.
“I could see Max and Alex starting as a One Night Only act, but quickly moving beyond. To become a regular,” I say.
Ivy gives an excited ooh. “Yes, I love that idea. Like we’re doing with Stone,” she says, mentioning the rock star who kicked off our One Night Only series of concerts a month ago.
“Yes, his residency starts next month, and I can’t wait. We’re already selling out all his shows.”
I offer her a palm to high-five, since she brought him into the fold, and he brings the crowds and the big spenders. “Here’s my idea,” I say. “What if we propose that Max and Alex start with a One Night Only, but we offer them the regular gig too?”
Her blue eyes glint with enthusiasm as the limo turns onto the Strip. “I love their style of magic. It would be a risk to lock them in early, but I also think the payoff could be huge.”
She’s right—it’s a gamble. But as I gaze out the window at the sky-rise hotels, the billboards taller than life, and the promise of thousands of dollars turning into millions, I see a whole city built on gambles. “And they want the security of a regular gig. We can give them that.”
“Let’s do it.” Ivy wiggles her brows. “Wonder-twin powers activate.”
I roll my eyes. “You are such a dork.”
“So are you.”
I stick out my tongue. She does the same to me.
I love having a twin sister. Always have.
We put our heads together that afternoon and send off a brilliant proposal that night.