House of Cards (Tech Billionaires)

by Ainsley St Claire

  “You’ve seen our P&L statement.”

  The answer is an unequivocal yes. She sells out five shows a week. There’s also a spike in casino revenues before and after each of her shows. She’s difficult on a good day, but even then, she’s worth it.

  Caden follows me down to the Diva Lounge. As I round the corner to her dressing room, she’s screaming profanity, and I hear a glass shatter. I’m tempted to turn around and hide, but she’ll only track me down. I tried that once, and it was worse when she found me.

  “—that motherfucker. Who do they think they are?”

  Even Caden flinches. He remains at the door and gives me a sympathetic smile. I walk in to find her manager/loser husband, Frankie, (who I think is taking her for every penny) only half paying attention to her tirade. He tried to negotiate a free room for his little trysts when we first set up the contract, but I was smarter than that. What happens between the two of them is their business, but I’m not going to involve the resort in their mess.

  “You can’t be talking about me?” I say lightly.

  “I need the security footage of all activity back here,” she demands

  “Why? What happened?” I ask, the hair on my neck standing straight up.

  “Do you see that?” She points to her costume rack. Each outfit is hand-sewn and fit for her and cost me between ten and fifty grand. She wears them each evening during her show, making eight costume changes a night. She also has two spares in case she changes her mind, so what I see is a bundle of sparkling chaos on a rack. “It’s missing.”

  I’m not sure what she’s talking about. “What’s missing?”

  “The turquoise one.”

  She’s all worked up—waving her arms and pacing.

  Her assistant, Renee, comes in with a towel and water. She pulls a fan from her pocket and starts waving it at her. “Queenie, be careful. We don’t want you to do anything to your voice. That is your instrument and getting upset is only going to put you on course for straining it.”

  I nod. Turning to her husband, I find him on his phone, mostly oblivious to the drama.

  “Frankie, what’s going on?” I ask.

  “Her backup dress for the third change is missing.”

  “Could one of the fitters have taken it for repair or anything?” I ask.

  “Absolutely not,” Queen Diva interrupts. “These costumes are my uniforms. They aren’t to leave my dressing room without my permission, and everyone knows that.”

  I’m taking everything in. This is Las Vegas, and of course, everything is captured on security cameras and saved to a cloud drive—minus what happens in her dressing room.

  “I’ll have security pull the footage of who has come and gone from your dressing room for the last week.”

  “What about inside?” her assistant asks in a disgusted tone.

  “Well, for privacy reasons, we don’t record what happens in private dressing rooms. Queen Diva made sure it was added to her contract,” I remind them, “despite my assuring you we only record public areas.”

  Queen Diva throws her hands up in frustration. “That dress was my third favorite. I can’t believe someone stole it.”

  I take a deep breath. I need to ask the next question, but I dread the answer. “Is there anything else missing? You are the Queen Diva, and something as simple as a hairbrush could be worth a fortune on a fan site or internet auction house—let alone your beautiful and expensive costume. Is anything else missing?”

  Her assistant fans her, and her husband texts away on his phone.

  “Well...I don’t think so. I was planning on wearing it tonight, so I was looking for it when I got here,” she says in a meek voice.

  This is a good sign. She’s calmed down and now we can get somewhere.

  Frankie stands. “Okay, I just alerted Inquiring Minds and News America, and they will cover the missing dress.”

  I can feel my blood pressure going through the roof. “Why did you do that?”

  Who thinks broadcasting a break-in is a good idea? That will put a lot of pressure on my security team.

  He ignores my question in favor of bickering with his wife.

  I lean in and kiss her cheek as I interrupt. “Queen, you’re going to have a fantastic night. We’ll get you that footage and another dress as fast as they can make one. Don’t let this affect you and your show. Try to get some rest.”

  “Will you come tonight?” she begs.

  I definitely don’t want to. I want to sit in my boxers on my couch and watch the Minnesota Wild hockey game. Or figure out what I’m going to do about Maggie. But I paint a smile on my face. “Of course. I’ll be in my box so you can’t miss me.”

  I have no idea who’s planning to be in my box in the theater tonight, so now I’ll have to make nice with whomever sales has put there.

  “Thank you,” Queen and her assistant say at the same time.

  I gesture between Queen and Frankie. “Don’t stress about this.”

  Queen nods. Frankie’s back to looking at his phone.

  I walk out, exhausted, and Caden falls into step behind me. The makeup sex must be amazing; otherwise I can’t understand why she keeps him around.

  I walk into the Network Operations Center or NOC and Travis Deck, the head of hotel security, joins me. I hired him away from Clear Security last year. He’s from Vegas and has a good relationship with my buddy Jim Adelson, CEO of Clear, so we came up with a deal. Jim’s guys are here to back us up, particularly with visiting VIPs—both famous and just filthy rich—and to fill in gaps when needed. But now Travis is my in-house man all the time.

  “Hey, Travis.”

  “I saw you go back to Queen’s dressing room. I also noticed her assistant fussing with water and a towel. Is everything okay?”

  “Not really.”

  I explain what’s missing and ask him to review the tapes. I also ask him to pay close attention to Frankie, since he’s making this into a publicity stunt.

  “Let’s make sure he didn’t take the dress without her knowing to drum up attention for her and her shows.”

  Travis nods. “We did run one guy off last week. Those rabid fans and vulture paparazzi are always circling.”

  “Thanks. Anything else I should know about?” I ask.

  “Same old, same old. Gillian got a new whale from The Gate resort next door, so we’ve got some extra security wandering around.”

  I like the sound of that. “Keep me posted.” I look at my watch. If I’m going to finish my work and be on time for Queen’s show, I need to get back to my office and accomplish something. “I’ll be in the box in the Diva Lounge tonight.”

  “Lucky you.” He looks at a clipboard. “Looks like a few folks from Banner Post will be there, too.”

  Well, maybe my time won’t be wasted after all. With representatives from one of tech’s biggest companies, maybe I’ll land okay.

  ******

  I arrive in the box shortly before the show starts and make small talk with the Banner Post folks. They’re excited about the show, and I can’t blame them. I wish I felt more excited, but I had hoped to be with Maggie tonight—here or in my room—and my mind can’t stop thinking over all the plans I had that now seem unlikely to come true anytime soon.

  The orchestra begins with Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture. It plays softly in the background for the full seventeen minutes. Only those who have seen Queen Diva’s show here before know that this is the precursor. The lights slowly dim as the song approaches its climax, and then it’s totally dark. I can feel the anticipation as the audience waits for her arrival.

  Just as the big booms of the drums signal the high point of the song, bright lights flare behind Queen Diva’s drummer, and we see her backlit, the fractured light reflecting off from the sequins on her dress.

  The crowd is on their feet, clapping and screaming her name. And she begins one of her biggest hits.

  Her show is highly choreographed. Not only does she have back-up singers and
dancers, but the light effects are brilliant. And, she changes her outfits without anyone realizing she’s stepped away. She never misses a mark or a note.

  It’s pure entertainment for two hours. Everyone gets their money’s worth with a Queen Diva show.

  After the performance, I lead the Banner Post team backstage and introduce them to Queen. These are seasoned professionals, but they’re still over-the-moon excited. The diva is gracious and poses for pictures and signs autographs. As Gillian leads them away, I kiss Queen’s cheek and whisper in her ear, “You were amazing.”

  She gives me a shy smile. “Thank you for coming. It means a lot to me that you keep your word.”

  With that I fade into the shadows, and within ten minutes, I’m back home sitting in my boxer shorts as I watch the Montreal Canadians beat up my Minnesota Wild. With a beer in hand, on my own damn couch, I can be as loud as I want. I’m moving toward serious relaxation, despite watching a losing game. I missed the beginning, but Queen’s show was outstanding, and I’m glad I went. It actually took my mind off Maggie a bit. Then my phone rings.

  There’s only one person who would dare call me in the middle of the game, and that’s because he’s watching it, too.

  “Yeah?” I mutter into the phone.

  “Can you believe they suck this bad tonight?” demands Christopher Reinhardt.

  My heart hurts as I think, once again, of his sister, Maggie. I wonder what she’s doing right now.

  “I mean, did they leave the team at home and bring the Eden Prairie High School team instead?” he asks.

  “No, shit,” I agree. “They’re sucking wind. And I was worried when I missed the first period.”

  “You didn’t miss much. I have to turn this off or Bella’s going to make me sleep in the guest room tonight. She’s working on her dissertation, and I’m being too loud.”

  “Other than getting in trouble with your bride, what else is going on in the life of a fancy venture capitalist?”

  Sullivan Healy Newhouse, Christopher’s firm, has been amazingly successful.

  “Not much. We’ve been busy at SHN with some new investments, and we have an offer on the table for Bella’s company, which would make her CEO of a huge corporation—as long as she can finish her Ph.D.”

  “Is that good news or bad?” I ask.

  “Could go either way. How’s your love life?”

  I’ve never told him about my feelings for Maggie. That would break the cardinal rule of dating your best friend’s sister. Because after you break her heart, you can’t be friends. Of course in my case, she broke mine.

  “I don’t have time to date,” I tell him.

  “No way, man. I don’t believe that. Every time I open the gossip columns, you have some stunning woman on your arm.”

  I scoff. “Those pictures are staged. Don’t pay attention to them.”

  This Maggie thing is killing me. I need to tell someone about it. Telling Christopher will be tough, but he is my best friend… Maybe if I don’t tell him who the girl is.

  “Actually, I really like this one woman,” I tell him. “She doesn’t live here.”

  “Do I know her?” he teases.

  Yes, but I’m not going to spend the night explaining that to you. “Nope. Anyway, I was just getting ready to convince her to move to Vegas so we could settle down—”

  “You’re going to settle down? That’s surprising. I’ve never thought of you as a family man.”

  I bristle. “I never said family. I just thought having this one woman with me would be a good thing.”

  In truth, if Maggie wanted kids, I would happily have them with her.

  “What happened?”

  “Before I could say anything, she told me she was marrying someone else.”

  “Did she know you were heading in that direction?”

  Evidently not. “I felt like we needed to at least live in the same zip code before we plotted every detail of our future.”

  “You don’t love her,” he assures me. “If you loved her, you’d move heaven and earth for her.”

  How little he knows. I literally moved all sorts of the earth for her to build this complex. I even called it the Magpie while it was in process.

  “I was ready to give it a try.” I sigh. I need to change the subject. “I was hanging out with one of your buddies at the Queen Diva show tonight.”

  “Who?”

  “Nate Lancaster and his wife, Cecelia.”

  “Cool. What were they doing in Vegas?”

  “Looking for another high-end card game. He wants me to put together a group of players like I did at your wedding.”

  “Nice. Count me in. That was a great game. Nothing like playing poker with a bunch of math geniuses. They don’t care about bluffs; they just figure out the cards.”

  “No shit. I was thinking twelve players including you and maybe Mason Sullivan from your office. Plus, Nate mentioned Jackson Graham and Landon Walsh.”

  “That’s five people so far—or will you play and make it six?”

  “You all are too good for me. I’ll just make sure you don’t make a mess of my hotel.”

  “You know who was doing well that weekend is Mia Couture. She’s a badass poker player.”

  “I also think Viviana Prentis would be good.”

  “I love it. That’ll get your mind off that other woman.”

  “Sure. I’ll put it together. Watch for the invite.”

  “No problem. Hey, did you hear Maggie and Alex are getting married?”

  “I thought Alex was gay.”

  “So did I.” He takes a big breath. “Our parents have talked about the two of them marrying since they were little. I guess the pressure finally got to them. Who knows what Maggie is doing.”

  “It’s not like she has to marry the guy.”

  “Something hinky is going on, but I’m not sure what. Mother makes everyone cower, and I’m sure she’s bullied her way into the middle of this. The way she operates it’ll probably be the society event of the year. Make sure you’re there, and maybe you can bring this mysterious woman you’re all hot and bothered about.”

  Unlikely. “Sure. It’s now four-nothing with three minutes left. I’m going to bed. I have to be up at five tomorrow.”

  “Got it. Catch ya later.” Christopher hangs up.

  Lying in bed a little while later, I keep thinking about what he said—that her mom put pressure on them to marry. I need to get to the bottom of this.

  Chapter 5

  Maggie

  It’s morning, but I don’t want to get out of bed. I can see the sun shining through a crack in the curtains. To hell with this beautiful day.

  My phone vibrates on the side table. I don’t want to know who’s calling. They can leave a message.

  A great sigh rushes from me. Today I have a long laundry list of things to accomplish, plus quite a few things my mother wants me to do—#1 being get excited about getting married. Ugh.

  If I have any hope of standing upright today, I should focus on the Foundation. That’s work I can be proud of, and I need to remember that without Reinhardt Corporation, there’s no Reinhardt Foundation. So I’m making the right choice. The Foundation recently adopted a nonprofit in San Francisco, and I’m working with their director to expand one of their student programs across the nation. I have a teleconference meeting in two hours.

  But that’s a while from now. I’ll get ready later. I turn the television on and stare at it. Boring.

  I don’t want to go downstairs. My mother is likely lurking nearby, as she always is when she wants something from me. Right now she wants an obedient daughter—someone who will go along with her plans and not complain. Well, I’m not there.

  So thankfully I have everything I need in my bedroom. It’s bigger than most apartments with a sitting room/office, plus a mini fridge and a stash of snacks. I don’t have to see anyone for a while.

  There’s a subtle knock at my door. I’m sure it’s my mother, though
she’s not usually subtle. She wants to meet with dressmakers next week, and she wants me to go to the gym and primp for a photoshoot. She wants to meet the caterer and walk through the wedding venue with the planner. I want to curl up and hide in my bed.

  The knock becomes more insistent. I’m surprised she hasn’t barged right in. When I hear it a third time, I’m over it.

  “Come in,” I bark.

  “Sorry about this,” Alex says as he opens the door.

  “Oh, hey. I thought you were my mother.”

  “I don’t look that good in a bob,” he teases.

  I can’t help but smile. “Or a St. John knit suit.”

  “You’re right. I don’t have the bust or the hips.”

  I grin. “What brings you here?”

  “Wedding planning.” He lies down on the bed next to me. “I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into this.”

  I gaze at him. Alex and I have been best friends since elementary school. “You were dragged into this, too.”

  “Well, that’s true,” he agrees.

  “It’s going to be such an ‘advantageous marriage’, though.” I use air quotes since this is what our parents keep telling us.

  “You know, it won’t be that bad,” Alex tells me. “At least we like each other and enjoy hanging out together.”

  “I know. I just wasn’t prepared to completely sacrifice my personal life for the family business.”

  “It’s not like this is the first arranged marriage for either of our families. Maybe it’s because I know my father would blow a gasket if I married a man, but I kind of like the idea of being married to my best friend.”

  “But that’s just it,” I tell him. “You’re not supposed to be married to your friend for business reasons. It’s supposed to be a kind of love you and I are never going to have.”

  He shrugs. “At least you’re not pregnant.”

  My stomach turns. I will never have a family. “We have to figure this out.” I sit up in bed and mute the television. “What do you see for our married life?”

  “I guess I just thought we’d have a marriage on paper, separate bedrooms, and our own lives.”