“I want to control the narrative,” I corrected, meeting his gaze. “We flipped the narrative that the Olympus Royale is a dangerous place to ‘Olympus Royale leadership is accessible, engaged, and confident enough to show their faces all over this city.’”
“The fire rescue posts already did that,” Orion pointed out.
“Those posts made you heroes. This makes you human.” I pulled up my engagement analytics. “Look at the comments. People aren’t just impressed—they’re invested. They want to know you. They want to feel like they’re part of your world. This tour gives them that access while we maintain complete control of the content.”
I clicked through slides showing projected reach, algorithm optimization strategies, hashtag targeting, and real-time engagement tactics. With each slide, I could see Orion’s posture shift from skeptical to considering.
“Security concerns?” he asked, looking at Ares.
“If we control locations, timing, and post advance teams—manageable,” Ares admitted in a grudging tone.
“Regulatory concerns?”
“We’re promoting our business,” I said. “Gaming credits as prizes are standard industry practice. Kurt Wilder can’t touch this without looking like he’s targeting us specifically.”
“But in other venues?” Ares said with skepticism.
“We’ll hand them out on the public sidewalk as we exit.”
“That opens up counterfeiting.”
“I thought of that. We don’t give out actual chips but coupons for chips, and use registration numbers on the coupons. And thebeauty is that we get to take pictures of the recipients, so we get instant verification upon redemption.”
Orion’s lips twitched. Almost a smile. “And the ROI?”
“Hundreds of thousands of impressions within hours. Booking inquiries from people who want to stay where the ‘heroes’ work. Media coverage we don’t have to pay for. And most importantly—” I met each of their eyes in turn. “You get to reshape how Vegas sees you. Not as distant billionaires, but as leaders people want to support.”
Silence stretched for three heartbeats.
Then Leo stood. “I’m in.”
“Of course you are,” Ares muttered.
“Orion?” I asked.
He studied me for a long moment, and I wondered if he was seeing the woman who’d texted him suggestively this morning or the professional who’d just pitched her ass off. Maybe both.
“Let’s do it,” he said. “But we go live tonight. No time for people to overthink or talk themselves out of it.”
“Immediately?” Ares looked like he wanted to argue, but Orion held up his hand.
“Tashi’s right about controlling the narrative.” Orion grabbed his suit jacket. “We move now, we move decisively, and we show Vegas that the Olympus Royale isn’t hiding from anything.”
At eight p.m. I stepped out of the hotel’s front entrance and stopped short.
The three of them stood by the limo, and for a moment I forgot how to breathe.
They’d dressed for going out—not in the tailored business suits I’d gotten used to but in clothes that straddled the line between casual and expensive in a way only rich men could pull off.
Orion wore a navy jacquard dinner jacket over a gray silk shirt, paired with charcoal cashmere slacks. As always, he exuded elegance and control.
Ares had gone for a black sport coat with subtle leopard jacquard that caught the light when he moved, paired with dark slacks and boots that probably cost more than my rent. Understated but unmistakably predatory.
Leo stood between them in a navy dinner jacket with gold embroidered florals catching the light—baroque and bold. Underneath, a crisp white shirt, and tailored dark slacks. He looked as if he’d stepped off a red carpet.
They looked like an ad campaign for sin.
Leo spotted me first. A slow grin spread across his face as he let out a low whistle. “Look at you.”
