Lucky Break (46 page)

Jean-Charles leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed, looking irresistible.
 
“Perhaps.”
 
He was teasing—I hoped.

I narrowed my eyes.
 
He had better be teasing.

“But it can be our own private memory,” he added, not sounding that convincing.

“Care to give it a spin?”
 

In one stride he captured me, holding me close, then kissed me.
 
His kiss held all the promise the future could hold.

“I am thinking our minds might be a bit distracted,” he whispered against my hair.
 
“Your foreman has been pacing the lobby half the day.
 
I’m sure he is not done with you.”

“Just gotten down to the good stuff.”
 
I breathed him in, making a memory, one that would hold me for a few hours.
 
“And you need to get back to the hospital.”

“I must be there when my son awakens.”

“No argument here.”
 
I eased away from him.
 
“Go.
 
And thank you for this lovely place.”

“It is not just for you.
 
I will be working so close.” He pointed upstairs.

“Convenient.”
 

“Yes, this.
 
And you will sleep at our home tonight?”

Home.
 
“Where will you be?”

“I cannot say.
 
It depends on what the doctors tell me.”

I tried to imagine Jean-Charles’s house without him in it.
 
Home?
 
Maybe.
 
But without him, it wouldn’t feel like it.
 
“You tend to your son.
 
I will stay here.”

His frown crinkled the skin between his eyes.
 
“But will you be safe here?”

“The building will be locked and the guards patrol.”

“And there is security?”

I didn’t know the exact operational status of out eye-in-the sky, but no need for Jean-Charles to worry.
 
“Sure.
 
Don’t worry.
 
Do what you need to do., but let me know where you are and how Christophe is doing, okay?”

“Of course.”

We both lingered in a last kiss.

My foreman was waiting for me at the rear of the property where we had our own mini version of the Kasbah.
 
A private drive, private suites, private chefs, everything private, but no bungalows with private pools.
 
Space wouldn’t allow.
 
But there would be no skimping on the pampering.

“Everything okay?” he asked, giving me a poorly hidden smile.

“The owner’s suite is amazing.
 
When did you have time to do that?”

“Your Miss P, she is a taskmaster, had us all hopping.
 
But, to be honest, the project is so large it was easy to roll that into the plan.
 
And given the explosion the other day …”

“It’s very much appreciated.”
 
I raised my finger.
 
“Give me one more minute?”

“Sure.
 
It’s your dime.”

Literally, times like ten million.
 
Miss P answered on the first ring.
 
“Customer Relations.”

“Thank you.”

Her voice lost its crisp edge when she realized it was me.
 
“It doesn’t begin to cover all that you’ve done for me.
 
And your things are on their way over.
 
You should be functional inside an hour, but some serious retail therapy is in order.”

“Find me more time in the day and you’re on.”

“Not a problem.”

“Have you heard from Squash?”
 
I thought I slipped that in there pretty seamlessly.

“Yes.”

“And?”
 
Two could play my game—I was always doing this sort of thing to her.

“Thank you.”

“Cute.
 
Okay.
 
We’ll talk.”
 
With everything else, I hadn’t even had time to swing by and grill Delphinia about wedding plans and all of that.

Miss P’s voice switched gears.
 
“Remember, you have the race in the morning.”

“At oh-dark-hundred, I remember.”
 
My voice held a bit of a whine, which violated my own rules.

I punched the end button.
 
Personally, I liked it better when I could flip the thing closed with some flair.
 
But the iPhone was pretty darn amazing, so, a small price to pay for cool.
 
A deep breath fortified me for the game of pay now or pay later with my foreman that would take up the rest of the day.

Daylight had given way to dusk, a softening that provided the backdrop for the lights that defined this city.
 
This was my favorite time of day—like being at a magic show waiting to be teased and tantalized and totally amazed by the illusion.

We’d been through all the suites but one, saving the best for last.
 
Well, the best besides the one on the private floor.
 
This one, called Cloud Nine, had its own back entrance for added privacy.
 
Three bedrooms, a game room with a one-hundred-inch flat screen and a full bar, and three
en suite
bathrooms large enough for a football team—okay a basketball team.
 
The suite had been booked for the next year, even at thirty-five thousand dollars a night.
 
While that might sound steep, the suite came with a twenty-four-hour chef on call, a dedicated Bentley limo, and a helicopter waiting on the roof, so there was a bit of extra bang for the buck.

The place looked pristine, already set up for its first guest.
 
The living room area was decorated in light Asian style, bamboo floors stained dark, overstuffed white pillows with embroidered green leaves on minimalist couches and chairs.
 
The walls painted vibrant green, adding warmth to the white.
 
Clean, white Caesar Stone countertops in the bar, stainless and white marble in the baths, accented with bright green and orange towels.
 
I fingered one as I walked through, taking in every detail.
 
Still damp.

Like I said, working to the wire to get the place ready.

The game room was next.
 
A counterpoint to the minimalist décor of the main rooms, the game room resembled more of a man cave with dark leather recliners, tastefully disguised of course, theater-style seating, and a wooden bar straight from Scotland.
 
The designer or one of his minions had even monogrammed the Steuben tumblers.
 
The antique gun in the lighted case above the bar was a nice touch.
 
“That doesn’t work, does it?”

“Not unless you have a cap, wad, and black powder.”

I didn’t share his confidence.
 
Many of the pre-Civil War guns had been retrofitted to take shells.
 
“Put a lock on it anyway.
 
I like the touch, but still, I’m a bit gun shy these days.
 
And alarm it too.”

He made a note.

The bedroom was fit for I don’t know who, but somebody with fine tastes and a ton of money.
 
This room alone had cost several hundred thousand dollars, each suite over a million.
 
The electronics alone required a dedicated closet and around-the-clock IT staff.
 
The toilets could do everything for you except sing a song—that was extra.
 
And since our music system was state-of-the-art, I didn’t spring for the song part.
 
It still made me giggle at all the personal hygiene the toilets could be responsible for.
 
I couldn’t picture myself sitting still while a machine made a fuss over my nether regions. The whole idea sounded fraught with peril, but apparently this sort of pampering was
de rigueur
with the well-heeled set.
 

My foreman and I made a few notes—the finishes that were missing were minor.

“Overall, very impressive job,” I said, as we wandered back to the front of the property where the average millionaires would play.
 
Staff training was winding up—everybody put in long hours as we got closer to the opening.

“You want me to have the guys get on these things tonight?”

“No, it’s almost Christmas, it’s late.
 
We don’t open until New Year’s Eve.
 
We got this.
 
Tell everyone thank you and go home to their families.
 
Tomorrow is Christmas Eve.
 
I’ll see everyone on the 26
^th
.”

He looked grateful, only now letting me see his fatigue.

Man, were we rowing the same boat.
 
I was about dead.
 

Miss P had been as good as her word.
 
I’d hung my meager possessions in the owner’s apartment closet, mourning the loss of my shoes the most.
 
My toiletries from the office, including makeup and other lotions and potions had been laid out on the vanity.
 
Too tired to sleep.
 
Too wound up to think.
 
I decided a bath was in order.

The hotel … my hotel … settled in around me.
 
The windows brought in the whole of the Strip to keep me company.
 
I dimmed the lights and left the window coverings up.
 
The tub was huge, and I longed for my Frenchman to help me fill it, but that could wait.
 
As if he knew I was thinking about him, my phone lit up.

“Hi,” I said, as I took a seat on the tufted cushion in the boudoir and shucked my shoes.
 
“How’s Christophe?”

“He has charmed all the nurses, and they are filling him with ice cream.”

“As you have charmed me, but I’m not feeling the ice cream.
 
Maybe whipping cream?”
 

“You are not being nice.”

“Naughty is so much more fun.
 
I’m spending my first night in the owner’s apartment.
 
Would you like to come take advantage of me?”

“
Oui.”
His voice dropped, turning husky.

Liquid heat through my veins.

“I will see you tomorrow.
 
They say perhaps I can take Christophe home.”

“That would be wonderful.
 
Make him happy-face pancakes and think of me.”

“I think of you always.”

Shucking clothes—how long had I worn these?
 
Long enough they ought to be incinerated, but since most of my wardrobe had met that fate, I thought perhaps a good fumigating might do.
 
I cranked open the taps to the tub, turning the hot to barely short of scald.
 
Warm bubbles on the outside to soak the day away.
 
If only I had some bubbles for the inside.
 
I smiled and wrapped myself in the thick bath sheet hanging on the warming rack.

Padding to the bar, I opened the fridge and bent to peer inside.
 
A bottle of Schramsberg Brut Rosé. They’d thought of everything. I made short work of the cage, popped the cork, and eschewed the dainty flutes for a more robust delivery vehicle—a double old-fashion glass.
 
Cut crystal, it felt heavy in my hand, its quality complementing the primo juice.
 
A creature used to her comforts. Pausing in front of the huge, windows I absorbed the view—a very high-priced view even for Vegas.
 
The fact that it was mine was still something I found hard to comprehend, much less truly believe.
 

Brand-new surroundings, but they felt right.
 
Each of us grows into our own destiny.
 
Perhaps I’d made it to mine, setting my foot on the first brick of the path meant for me.
 
The tub was filling nicely, and the bubbles warmed me from the inside as I dipped my toe in the water and pushed the button for the bubbles.
 
Dropping my towel, I slid into the luxurious warmth, feeling it pull the hurt, the fear, the loss, the anger out of me.
 
Okay, not so much the anger.
 
That still wrapped around my heart, a black poisonous snake demanding revenge.
 
I would have it, even if it killed me.
 
But not tonight, not now.