“You spend it all on that new purse?”
“It’s a Louis Vuitton Murakami,” she said, savoring the words as much as she had the champagne they’d handed her when she walked into the boutique at the Forum Shops. “Speedy Thirty.”
Bunni gave a low whistle. “That’s no knockoff.”
“It better not be,” April said, running her fingertips over the buttery vachetta leather handles. She had no idea what ‘vachetta’ meant when the sales associate told her, but it sure felt nice under her fingers. “Considering how much it cost me.”
Bunni shook her head, pulling away from the curb. “You win a hand and march straight into Louis Vuitton?”
April grinned. “I didn’t march. I… glided.” She could still feel the smooth marble floor under her sandals. The air inside the shop had smelled like leather, expensive perfume, and the faintest hint of fine cigars drifting in from the casino. April had only gone into the store on a whim, thinking maybe she could browse for a few minutes before the clerks started clearing their throats and shuffling their feet—a not-so-subtle way of telling her she wasn’t welcome.
Instead, the sales associate—Amélie, with perfect eyeliner and a French accent—had offered her champagne without even glancing at her scuffed sandals or the cheap fake gold hoops in her ears. She treated April like royalty, especially when she lifted bag after bag from their displays like they were the crown jewels and presented them to her one by one. For a full hour, April had been someone else entirely—not the town trash but a woman who bought whatever she wanted, no questions asked. She justified buying the bag by telling herself that if she tied up some of her earnings into something that she’d have to return or sell, she wouldn’t be tempted to gamble the cash away quickly. Though, with her skill, that might not be a concern.
“You know that purse’ll be an investment if the tables turn,” Bunni said. “The rooms at the Pioneer don’t have safes. You might want to use it as a pillow.”
“Oh, that won’t be a problem,” April said. “I’m only going back there to get the rest of my things. The Luxor is putting me up for the night.”
She’d just cashed out, the weight of her winnings a solid, satisfying heft in her new purse, and was weaving her way toward the exit when a man in a black suit stepped smoothly into her path. “Excuse me, Miss.”
Oh God, they figured out I’m underage. Would they call the police, or worse—would she disappear into the bowels of the casino, never to be seen again?
Maybe they’ll find my bones out in the desert, or at the bottom of Lake Mead.
“Congratulations on your win tonight,” he said, his voice as smooth as his silk tie. His eyes flicked to her new purse, then back to her face. “We’d be happy to make sure your evening continues in style. If you don’t already have accommodations, the Luxor would like to offer you a complimentary suite.”
April had glanced around, certain there must be a mistake, unless ‘suite’ meant a backroom where they’d teach her a lesson about gambling underage.
“A suite? You mean oneupstairs?” She pointed up.
“It would be our pleasure.” He handed her a small black paper sleeve with the Luxor’s golden logo printed on it. “Your room key. If there’s anything you need, just ring the front desk and ask for your host, Jim.” He bowed his head slightly. “Or call me directly. My card’s tucked inside with the suite number on it.”
April studied the top of the glossy keycard poking out of the sleeve. It looked real enough.I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t give me a keycard to my prison cell.
Jim mistook her pause. "If you’re staying elsewhere already, we’d be happy to send someone to collect and transfer your bags if you’d like. And,” he pulled out a thick, glossy black card withgold lettering embossed across the top reading Luxor Executive Host, “dinner is on us,” he said with an easy smile. “Or breakfast. Or both. It doesn’t expire.” Jim flipped the card over and handed it to her. A handwritten signature was sprawled across the back above the words:$100 dining credit – Pyramid Café or Tender Steakhouse.
April blinked. One hundred dollars. That could cover several meals if she played it smart. She’d been planning to eat crackers and a granola bar back at the Pioneer. Her stomach gave a hopeful growl she prayed was covered by the slot machines.
She tucked the card carefully into her purse, right beside her cash. “Thank you,” she said. “I won’t be needing help with my bags,”—no way was she sending someone over to the Pioneer; that would give her away as a fraud—“but I will be back with them shortly.”
Jim gave her a nod of approval. “Call my number before you arrive and I’ll make sure a bellhop is waiting for you, Miss…”
She hesitated. “Meyer. April Meyer.”
“Miss Meyer. Enjoy your stay.” Jim smiled, nodded, then walked away.
And just like that, her new identity was sealed.
Bunni gave her a sidelong glance in the rearview mirror now. “You got a host on your first night in Vegas?”
April grinned. “Guess I made an impression.”Or at least my lucky purse did.
“Well all right then,” Bunni said, sounding impressed herself. “You keep making impressions like that, you might become the queen of the Strip. You could have a future here after all, kid.”
“No. Vegas is just temporary.”
But April did have a future in Vegas—a much longer one than she had planned.
THREE
