Instead of slot machines and the excited voices of tourists, there sat a single assistant in the middle of the office, click-clacking away on her desktop computer.
I reluctantly approached her desk, shuffling my feet like a future dancer called to the chalkboard in math class. “Hi, I'm Sunny Johnson. I was told to come?—"
“Yes, I know who you are.” The assistant didn't raise her head from her desktop screen. Just stopped typing with one hand long enough to extend her arm. “Wait there.”
I followed the direction of her hand to a collection of plush red armchairs that complemented the lux gold-flecked marble floors and walls and sat down with a stomach full of concrete.Yeah, Nora knows.For sure.
I desperately tried to come up with some sort of explanation as the assistant walked over to a massive red door directly facing her station. She opened it to issue a succinct, “She’s here.”
I couldn't hear what Nora said on the other side of the door, but her reply was just as brief. The assistant blinked once, then turned to me and said, “You may enter.”
I stood with the stiff feeling of a deep-brown Showgirl Barbie being moved across the stage by the hand of fate.
What will I say to her? What can I possibly say?
I had never wanted so badly to run from something in my life. But I wasn't a coward.
I took a deep breath to calm my racing heart.
No, I didn't know what to say, but I knew I owed Nora a huge apology. So, I raised my head high and walked into that office to give my grandmother’s dearest friend her due.
“Nora, I know why you called me here, and I am so, so…”
My apology trailed off when I saw the person standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window wall overlooking the Vegas skyline.
Not Nora.
Her grandson. Triple Ice.
He turned from the window to face me. And nope, I hadn't been imagining it. It felt exactly like getting stared down by a hawk with pale green eyes.
“Sit down,” he commanded with a voice as cold as his nickname.
CHAPTER2
Sunny
This wasn’tthe first time I’d met Triple Ice.
Really, “met” might be too strong of a word for what happened at last year’s annual Christmas photo shoot.
The photo shoot had actually taken place a few days after Christmas, right before the crew took down the golden faux fir trees and colored lights to make room for our annual New Year's extravaganza. Basically, the same show and the same choreography, but with "Viva Las Vegas" swapped out for the "Jingle Bell Rock" opening number and a back video wall reprogrammed with flashy fireworks instead of snowy winter wonderland scenes. That New Year's Extravaganza would, of course, then be overlaid with red drapery and lamps shortly after January 1st, turning it into a "Happy Year of the [Insert Current Chinese Zodiac Sign Here] Celebration” just in time for the influx of Asian tourists descending upon the city to usher in the Lunar New Year.
The official reason for the photo shoot was to bank pictures for the following year’sSpend Your Holidays at the Benton Vegas Grandpush.But Nora, being Nora, had made it a tradition to host a fabulous party afterward.
As soon as Benton's marketing team got all their shots, a fleet of cater waiters came swooping in with trays full of champagne and food, and a DJ appeared out of nowhere to fill the stage with music and dancing.
"I don't know how you do it, but you always manage to make this the best part of my entire year!" Rick gushed as I approached them to tell Nora my good news.
"Any excuse to throw a little soirée for all my darlings!" Nora answered, her Irish brogue thicker than usual, thanks to the champagne. "Honestly, I'd rather hang out with you lot than anyone else in corporate. You should get a gander at our holiday bash. It's too dreary. All dryshite tailored suits and posh frocks saying, "No, Nora, I don't want to accompany you to the loo for a wee bump of cocaine. Sticks in the mud, the lot of them!"
When Nora saw me, though, the aggrieved look disappeared from her face. "Ah, speaking of good company! Here's Sunny. Cheers. We'll catch you later, won't we, Rick?"
It must have been a rhetorical question because Nora didn't wait for his reply before striding over to me with her long, thin arms spread wide. "Sunny, dearie! Where in the world have you been?"
Dressed in a black, white, and gold, intricately beaded fringe minidress I would have bet money was vintage Mackie, cherry-red stilettos, and waves of red extensions, Nora towered over my five eight in a way that clearly marked her as a former Showstopper—which is what we called the tallest topless Benton Girls, whose height put them in the center of the line. She had to bend down to pull me into a familiar, warm hug.
"I'm quite serious," she hissed in my ear. "Where have you been hiding? I had to endure thatgombeenblowing smoke up my ass for centuries before you finally arrived to rescue me."
