When they arrived at the MGM Grand, Ruth rushed to check them in, sensing her boss was on the verge of a meltdown. Jamie’s heart pounded erratically, her breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts. Tremors wracked her hands so she shoved them into her pockets, but the heat coiling in her chest soon had sweat pooling at her collar. Within minutes she was peeling off her jacket, her skin slick with anxiety.
“Are you okay?” Clayton asked, watching Jamie stand stiffly near a marble pillar, her arms crossed over her chest.
She took a slow breath, her gaze flicking to the casino floor beyond the lobby. “It’s this city. Too many bad memories.”
His jaw tightened. “Is there anything I can do?”
She let out a dry laugh and shook her head. “I just need to keep busy.”
“We’ve got a few hours before rehearsal. Want me to quiz you? I sure didn’t see you crack a book on the plane.”
Jamie turned toward him, some of the tension in her posture easing. “I get motion sickness from reading,” she admitted. “But sure. Anything to take my mind off being here.”
At the front desk Ruth turned around and held up two key cards. “We’re all checked in.”
Clayton walked up to the desk and greeted the clerk as the ladies headed toward the elevator. “Call my room when you’re ready,” he told Jamie. “My cell’s dead—forgot to put it on airplane mode.”
She nodded. “I’m going to take a quick shower, then I’ll be ready. What name are you staying under?”
“Clayton Langley,” he said.
She blinked. “You’re staying here under yourrealname?”
“Why? Is that a problem?”
Jamie exhaled sharply. “It’s not the best idea in the world.”
“She’s still getting threats,” Ruth chimed in. “It’s probably better if you use a fake name.”
He hesitated for a second, then shrugged. “Fine. I’ll stay under the name Steve Trevor.”
Jamie gave him a flat look. “Steve Trevor,” she repeated.
He smirked. “Got it?”
She nodded. “Got it.”
Jamie stepped into her suite and let her bag drop by the door. She’d never stayed at this hotel but the space was impressive—modern yet inviting. A cream-colored couch and an orange accent chair sat to one side, paired with a sleek dark-wood desk and warm lighting. The bar had three upholstered stools tucked beneath it, and beyond that the bedroom opened up, anchored by a king-size bed with a plush, cushioned headboard. A settee by the window caught her eye—a perfect spot for studying.
She wandered into the bathroom and stopped short. Marble countertops, gleaming fixtures, and a massive spa tub took center stage. Her gaze lingered on the deep basin, pristine and luxurious. With a smirk a single thought crossed her mind—how many people had had sex in that thing? Then again, she really didn’t want to know the answer.
She undressed, tying up her hair before stepping into the glass shower. As she turned on the faucet, warm water cascaded down like a gentle rain, easing the tension in her shoulders. Maybe Ruth was right. Maybe she was overreacting and tonight would be fun.
She let out a slow breath, watching the steam rise. If she could look at Vegas through a different lens, maybe it wouldn’t feel so suffocating. She could pretend she was just another tourist, here for the lights andthe spectacle—not the girl who had once called this place home, carrying memories she’d rather forget.
After getting dressed, she called the front desk.
“Steve Trevor’s room, please,” she asked politely.
“One moment, ma’am.”
A second later, a familiar voice came through. “Steve Trevor’s room,” Clayton said in a corny English accent.
She laughed. “You don’t have to impersonate Steve Trevor. You’re not undercover.”
“It’s fun,” he said. “I’m going to be Steve Trevor the whole time I’m here.”
“What room are you in?”
