I adjusted my backpack nervously. “Define ready. If you mean, have I optimized my phone and laptop for end-to-end encrypted communication? Yes. If you mean, am I packed with appropriate clothing and emotionally prepared for group spa time and nonstop girl talk? That’s debatable.”
“The Pap App indicates our friend is nowhere in the vicinity,” Slash said. “You should be good to go. But just in case, I walked around the neighborhood a bit and didn’t spot anything out of the ordinary.”
“Thank you.”
He pushed off the wall, closing the distance between us in three steps. His cologne hit me first, clean, sexy, and thoroughly distracting. “I’ll miss you, cara.”
“I’ll miss you, too, Slash.”
Outside, Gray honked, so I savored a moment more of his embrace before opening the door. The crisp November air rushed in, carrying the scent of fallen leaves and impending awkwardness. Pulling me into his arms one more time, Slash kissed me for a long, lingering moment and then touched my cheek with his fingertips. “Take care of my wife, okay?”
“Only if my husband promises not to overdose on alcohol, cigars, and junk food,” I replied. “Hangovers count against you in terms of having fun.”
His laughter followed me as I put my suitcase in the back and climbed into the car behind Gray. Basia blew Slash a kiss and Gwen immediately started in about road trip playlists. Slash just stood on the porch, leaning against the rail, looking like he should be posing for an Italian men’s magazine.
As we pulled away from the curb, I had the sinking feeling my girls’ weekend was going to require more than gallons of wine, encrypted Wi-Fi, and backup chargers. It was going to require cake-level emotional resilience…and, dang it, my husband had eaten the last piece.
The car ride to Atlantic City was…educational, to say the least.
I learned that Gwen’s taste in music could summon minor demons, Basia’s unborn child already had a more sophisticated wardrobe than I did, and Gray, despite being a highly trained CIA analyst, had no patience for Jersey traffic and a deeply concerning fondness for creative hand gestures.
By the time we hit the Atlantic City Expressway, I was seriously reconsidering my decision to attend. But I dutifully updated Slash via text that I was still alive.
We rolled into Atlantic City just before dusk. Neon signs flashed everywhere, and I caught the faint scent of salt water from the window I’d cracked miles ago to help combat motion sickness.
“Oh my gosh, look at this place!” Gwen practically bounced in the passenger seat, clutching her phone and snapping blurry photos of the landscape.
Basia, looking impossibly chic with her baby bump, examined the towering hotels. “Atlantic City is gaudy, over-the-top, and smells of regret. I love it.”
Gray remained unimpressed, steering us through the traffic with one hand while probably analyzing the latest terrorist threat in her head.
“We’re going to have so much fun,” Gwen said, practically vibrating with excitement. “Come on, I won us a totally free suite. Four nights of luxury and girl talk. It’ll be like a slumber party.”
Lovely. I debated how to best respond when the towering facade of the Orchid Royale Casino and Resort suddenly loomed ahead.
A few words immediately leaped to my mind. Gaudy. Massive. Gold accents. Glittering windows. I definitely reconsidered my decision.
Gray, however, pulled into the hotel valet parking, completely cool and unbothered while Basia reapplied her lipstick, not worried about the fact that we could be walking into a backdrop to several FBI investigations.
We piled out of the car as Gray turned over her keys for a card receipt and a suspiciously chipper bellhop whisked away our luggage. We walked into a lobby of marble floors, pretentious chandeliers, and enough gilded mirrors to make even the most secure people question their hairstyle and clothes. And I was not secure by any stretch of the imagination.
“This is so extra,” Gwen whispered to Basia, eyeing a flowing waterfall installation by the elevators.
Basia grinned, patting her bump. “It’s Atlantic City. Extra is mandatory.”
Gwen led the charge to the check-in desk while Gray found the bathroom. Basia and I trailed behind Gwen. I looked around the lobby, calculating how many Wi-Fi networks I could break into from this location. My estimate was alarming.
“Reservation for Gwen Sinclair,” Gwen said to the receptionist, producing her prize certificate like a golden ticket.
The receptionist, a tall guy with hair sharper than his suit, tapped the computer and smiled. “Oh, yes. You’re the big winner from our most recent prize promo. Congratulations.” He slid over our key cards. “Welcome to the Orchid Royale. You ladies enjoy your stay in the penthouse. You’re going to love it.”
“Penthouse?” Gwen said, her eyes widening. “I thought I won a suite.”
“Lucky for you, you’ve been upgraded.”
Gwen squealed, clutching key cards for each of us, and turned to Basia. “OMG. We’re going to live like queens.”
Basia grinned as Gray rejoined us, and Gwen giddily gave her the news about the room upgrade. We rode the gold-trimmed elevator, everyone talking at once except for me, who quietly contemplated the many ways this trip could go wrong without even having to invoke my little black cloud.
