Mom smiles. “Your father and I walked past your old apartment one day when we were feeling nostalgic.”
“On Green Street? The one with the terrible plumbing and the cranky downstairs neighbor?”
“That’s the one. We stood outside like sentimental fools and remembered you and Claire inviting us there for dinner, so proud of your first place together even though it was tiny.” Mom glances at her phone when it lights up. “We should probably head back. Your father is messaging me—he’ll be home soon and anxious to see you.” She stands, gathering her purse. “And while we walk, I want you to tell me all about your neighbor.”
FORTY-SIX
ATHENA
Zara Nova sits across from me in a private corner, commanding attention without even trying. Everyone in the Pantheon is focused on her, waitstaff lingering a beat too long when they approach our table, the manager repeatedly finding excuses to walk past. Even I feel the pull of her gravity—that rare magnetism that can’t be manufactured or bought.
Three Grammys, two world tours, and a cultural impact that transcends music have made her one of the most recognizable faces on the planet. And now she’s here, in my casino, discussing her upcoming residency.
“Thanks for agreeing to meet one-on-one,” she says, taking a sip of her champagne. “My manager wanted to tag along, but these conversations get so bogged down in details when the suits are involved. I told him to sit this one out—he can come next time when we’re finalizing everything.”
“I prefer it this way too,” I reply, appreciating her directness. “It’s easier to discuss your vision without being interrupted every other sentence.” I refill her champagne flute. “We’ve gone through your checklist,and I don’t see a problem with any of the points. The Palestra can be transformed however you wish, and we have state-of-the-art sound and lighting systems. Do you have any concerns from your side?”
Zara nods. “I do, but my concerns are on a personal level,” she says, picking at the salad she’s barely touched. “I need to know what I’m actually getting myself into. Twelve months in Vegas is…” She trails off, twirling a lock of curly dark hair around her finger. I’m getting a certain energy from her. Her stare when she meets my eyes is intense, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think she was flirting with me. She wasn’t like this when we met for the initial negotiations with her manager present.
“A long commitment,” I finish for her. “Especially if you’re not used to desert living.”
“Exactly. I’ve done the weekend performances, the awards shows, but living here? I’m not sure I can handle the constant noise, the tourists, the artificial everything. And I like being outdoors, so I’m afraid I’ll get cabin fever.”
“Well, if you decide to live at the Olympus during your residency, you will have your own private entrance,” I explain. “We have an excellent penthouse suite with a spacious terrace and a small private pool.”
“That sounds good,” she admits. “But what about when I need to escape? I’m used to having options.”
“The desert is beautiful if you need to get away,” I say. “Most people who visit never see beyond the casinos, but there’s something almost spiritual about the landscape once you leave the city behind.” I smile and add, “I’m happy to show you around. I love driving.”
“Oh? You want to be my tour guide?” Something shifts in her expression—a subtle change in the tilt of her head, the curve of her smile. She leans forward slightly, her voicedropping to a more intimate register. “I’ll take you up on that.”
Wait. Is she…?
I freeze, replaying my words in my head, searching for anything that might have been misinterpreted. The invitation was purely professional, a courtesy I’ve extended to other performers.
But the look she’s giving me now is unmistakable, and I’m thrown completely off balance. I had no idea Zara was queer.
“And do you live here too? I bet you have a bad-ass suite,” she says and leans in even closer. “I’d love to see it some time, if we’re going to be neighbors.”
“I…” I hesitate, unsure how to navigate this sudden shift. Most people assume I still live at the Olympus, and for privacy reasons, I like to keep it that way.
Zara studies me for a moment, then her eyes widen in realization. “Oh God, I completely misread that, didn’t I?” She laughs, though a flush creeps up her neck. “I’m so sorry. I thought you were—” She stops herself and brings a hand to her forehead.
“No need to apologize,” I say quickly. “It’s just that there’s…someone special in my life. I’m not sure where it’s heading. In fact, it may be going nowhere, but…”
“Say no more.” She holds up a hand, composure returning. “Professional boundaries restored. And can we please keep this awkward exchange between us? I think the champagne has gone to my head, and no one knows I’m…well, you know what I mean.”
“Of course. Don’t worry about it.” I’m grateful for her graceful recovery. “But if you’d like to explore things other than the desert while you’re here, I can help you with that. Discretion is my middle name, and I have a lot of successfuland attractive single female friends who are equally discreet.”
Zara’s eyebrows shoot up, and for a moment she looks genuinely surprised. Then she leans back in her chair, regarding me with newfound interest.
“Wow,” she says. “The mysterious Athena Stavros runs an underground queer dating service too?” There’s no malice in her tone, just amused curiosity.
“Not exactly, but I have connections,” I say with a chuckle. I pull a business card from my jacket pocket and write a number on the back before sliding it across the table. “Anyway, the offer stands. That’s my personal number. Please don’t share it—I’m very private.”
Zara takes the card, examining it before tucking it into her purse with a laugh. “That’s usually my line.” She pretends to look around for hidden cameras. “Am I being punked? I’m supposed to be the one giving out my closely guarded personal number with warnings about privacy.”
I laugh along, and with the tension broken, I steer the conversation back to safer territory. “About the residency—we’d also arrange private transportation for you, of course. And the contract includes use of the Olympus jet for personal national travel during your off weeks.”
