“I’ll be in the suite!” I tell my friends, approaching our table. “Connor wants to see the room.”
I don’t miss the look they exchange before I head toward the elevators. Connor excitedly talks about the story without bringing up spoilers, and I find myself smiling despite his betrayal.
“You owe me big time for cheating on me,” I warn him playfully.
“Name your price, future Mrs. Beauregard,” he responds, and just like that, the doubt retreats another step.
I end the call with Connor after two hours and stare at my reflection in the hotel mirror. My lash extensions frame dark brown eyes, tinted moisturizer gives my skin a natural glow, and my black bob lies perfectly sleek against my neck.
Earlier, Jessa and Jasmine had bailed on me, their messages in our group chat vaguely mentioning a “meeting at the hotel bar” without specifying which one.
I hold white jeans against one hip, black against the other. White wins tonight. They complement my mocha skin perfectly and make my ass look fuller. I pair them with a backless blush pink blouse.
When I slide the crystal stilettos onto my feet, a childlike glee washes over me. They transform my posture, my confidence, my entire aura. Worth every penny.
“Time to find my friends,” I tell my reflection, grabbing my clutch.
The hallway breathes with distant music, laughter, and the faint ring of slot machines rising from below. The elevator descends in a smooth glide, opening to the main floor where the casino’s heartbeat pulses stronger.
Perfume mingles with cologne and the faint tang of alcohol as bodies weave through the space. I send another message to our group chat. No response.
They’re not at the first bar I pass by or the next. I move on, following the sound of livelier music.
I enter the next lounge, where chandeliers splash golden light across the crowd. I’m scanning for Jessa and Jasmine when someone bumps me from behind, sending me off-balance.
“Damn—” The curse cuts short.
I turn to find myself face-to-face with a man whose brown hair falls in tousled waves, and his fitted henley reveals broad shoulders and strong arms. When his striking blue-gray eyes meet mine, I stammer an apology.
He looks at me, forcing a pained smile through perfect teeth. “No worries. I’m fine.”
I stare at his loafer where my heel left a divot. “You are definitely not fine. I impaled your foot.”
His hand closes around my wrist briefly. “Look.” He takes a few steps. “All good.” His eyes drop to my shoes. “Though I’ve never been attacked with such spectacular weaponry.”
“Just bought them today,” I admit, angling my foot so we both get a better view of them. “Couldn’t resist.”
“I can see why.” He gestures toward the bar with a charming tilt of his head. “You could buy me a drink though—you know, for pain and suffering.”
I almost refuse, then change my mind. I would stay here until someone responded in the group chat. “Sure.”
His face lights up. “Great. I’m Dennis.”
“Meesha,” I offer.
In a plush booth near the bar, Dennis orders a white Russian. I’ve never had one but say, “Same.”
“Meesha’s a beautiful name,” he says, leaning forward. “Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”
I snort. “Wow. Did you practice that line in the mirror?”
“Your beauty short-circuits my brain.” He grins. “Cut me some slack.”
Raising my hand, I flash my engagement ring. “Taken. Sorry to disappoint.”
“Crushed,” he says dramatically.
The white Russian arrives—creamy sweetness with a vodka kick. “This is actually good.”
