by Mariah Dietz
His appreciation is like a dull knife twisting in my stomach.
“Order room service. Anything you guys want. Order it all. I’ve got to get a little more work done so we can get out of here before noon tomorrow.”
He grins. “Vegas, baby!”
I nod, trying to hide the cynicism in my smile. “I’ll be up late.” I grab my gym bag as I head for the door.
I spend the first two hours at the gym, trying to run from my thoughts, and when that doesn’t work, I aim for physical exhaustion as I hit the weights.
Finally fatigued, I shower and find an empty conference room to hide out in. The Scottsdale location is one of the few we’re staying at that isn’t having any issues. Everything about this location is seamless perfection, so rather than searching for holes, I’m looking for any anomalies between here and the past couple of hotels in an attempt to compare them.
Spreadsheets are burned to the back of my eyelids when I make it back up to the suite, finally checking my phone because I have no doubt my dad heard about my red alert and order to move all hotel security to find Chloe and Vanessa this afternoon. But the first message is from Cooper from two hours ago, sending me a heads up that Chloe’s asleep on the couch.
I toe off my trainers to silence my steps, slip my phone back into my pocket, and move to the couch where Chloe is asleep, hands tucked under her cheek, bare arms exposed.
I slide my hands under her, taking her weight and carrying her toward my room.
She opens her eyes as we pass through my bedroom door, and she startles at the sound of the latch clicking in place. “What are you doing?” she asks.
I have no fucking idea. “I won’t touch you. I swear.”
The lights are set to dim, all on a smart timer so only the ones along the bottom of the bed and beneath the desk stream a faint glow as I lay her on the king-size bed. I send Sid, the general manager back in Austin, a mental fuck off as I thank fuck for turndown service. I leave the throw across her and lift the blankets to cover her up to her shoulders.
“My bedroom’s just down the hall,” she says.
“Did you eat?”
She stares at me, hair curtained around her neck, teasing my pillow. I trace my finger across her temple, gently pushing more of her hair back in an attempt to make an easy excuse to touch her.
“I can’t do this,” she says, rolling to her back. She lifts both hands to cover her face.
I sit on the bed, kicking my legs out over the top of the covers, still wearing my jeans and a T-shirt from my family’s hotel in Athens, Greece that I’d changed into post-workout. “She was no one,” I admit. “I hired her because the GM called my father, accusing me of doing things I wasn’t. So I needed to know who else might rat me out and piss him right off at the same time. It was only kissing, and it meant nothing, and I’ve fucking regretted it every second of every fucking day since it happened because you’ve been looking at me like you hate me ever since.”
“I don’t hate you,” she says. “Sometimes I want to.”
A quick chuckle bursts from my lips because the feeling is mutual. “I want you to hate me.”
She tips her face toward me as the lights fade and turn off. “Why?”
“It would make everything so much simpler.”
I try to read her expression in the darkened room, realizing that although I’ve come a long way, I’m still barely adept at understanding her.
“I’m pretty sure we’re breaking the rules,” she says. “It’s easier to hate you when you avoid me and act like a bitter asshole.”
“I’m a bitter arsehole.”
“Why did you bring me in here?”
“You were supposed to be back at two, three at the latest. We didn’t find you until after nine. I need you to be here so I can breathe—so I can think. Because for the better part of today, I wasn’t able to do either.”
She stares at me, a dozen questions visible in her eyes, but they never make it to her lips. “I’m sorry. I really am.”
I shake my head. “You don’t need to apologize.”
“We should have brought a map, and I should have made sure my phone was with me.”
“I’m not looking for an apology.”
“I know, but I’m still offering one.”
“I don’t want it.”
Her brow creases. “What do you want?”
I stare at her, sick and tired of asking myself that very same question.
Several minutes pass before she looks away. “I’m not the only one who avoids contact,” she says before she rolls over.
I quietly sigh, feeling the truth of her words inching into my chest. I ignore them and the thoughts they carry as the lights dim so the room is the color of pitch, and I can only see a faint outline of Chloe. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask her.
The sheets rustle as she moves. “I’m just tired.”
I nod into the darkness. “We should have taken you guys to the hospital. You probably need IVs.”
“Just sleep,” she mumbles. “Goodnight, Ty.” The blankets shift again as she cuddles down in the bed.
The dim lights flicker back on as I stand and move to the closet to find a pair of sweatpants. After making the promise that I wouldn’t touch her, they seem like a necessary barrier because sleeping naked, like I prefer, would absolutely turn me into a liar. I lose my T-shirt, brush my teeth, and silently cross to the bed again. Her eyes are closed, one hand curled into the comforter. I lie down behind her and close my eyes, taking long, deep breaths as my thoughts twist into a dozen situations that explore what I would have done had we not been able to find them. Where would we be? Who would I be paying off? Bribing?
“Your thoughts are too loud. Go to sleep,” she says.
I hook a hand around her waist and haul her back against my chest. Her hair doesn’t smell like oranges, and the floral scent on her skin is masked by whatever soap she used in my shower. My shower. I can’t decide if I love or hate this.
“Fair warning, I kick while I sleep.”
“You would.” I slide my hand over her hair, pulling it to one side of her shoulder when it tickles my face. Then, I pretzel our legs and wrap my arm around her slender waist and close my eyes, finally able to fucking breathe.
14
Chloe
I wake up to an empty bed. Tyler is gone, as are my senses, evidently.
I have no idea why I stayed. Maybe I can claim heatstroke or exhaustion or these beds that make me feel drugged, allowing me to sleep better than I’ve ever slept before.
I roll with the intent to get up and pause, catching the scent of his cologne on the pillow. It’s spicy and sweet, mixed with the aromas of eucalyptus and mint, and because I’m alone, I bury my face in the pillow, reluctant to move again.
Nessie.
Cooper.
I sit up, searching for a clock to see how late it is. What will they think if they find out I slept in Tyler’s room? Nothing good.
I flip off the covers and discover a silent living room and kitchen. Relief floods me as I make my way out to the patio. The railing is glass, and though it’s another bright and sunny day, all I can see is a dark club and bright lights, bodies dancing, and Tyler’s intense gaze as he accused me of wanting him in New Orleans.
I expel a deep breath and abandon the patio in search of coffee.
“Hey, look. Another desert. You guys want to take a little hike?” Cooper teases from the back seat of the Tesla.
“Shut up,” Nessie says, finishing another sports drink. “I don’t look sunburned, but I feel sunburned,” she says.
“Bloody hell, what do you expect?” Cooper asks, trying to impersonate Tyler, who pulls his chin back and looks at me as I laugh.
“I don’t sound like that.”
“Yeah, you do,” Nessie says.
“Bloody hell,” he says, shaking his head and making Nessie and me laugh even harder.
“Throw in a wanker or a shite,” Coop says.
; Tyler shakes his head again, flipping him off.
“What are we going to do tonight?” Nessie asks. “It’s Saturday, and we’re about to be in Vegas. We need plans.”
“Are you guys sure you’re up for going out?” Tyler looks in his rearview mirror at Nessie. For much of our three-hour drive, he’s barely looked at me and hasn’t addressed me directly once.
I hate how uncomfortable and self-conscious it makes me feel—how exposed and vulnerable and rejected I try to avoid feeling. I lean my head back, closing my eyes as Nessie assures him we’re okay and want to go out.
I don’t argue and say that I don’t. Being out in public is better. I need to be around others because it allows me space from him.
“Where do you want to go?” Tyler asks her.
“A club. I’ve heard stories, and I want to see if they live up.”
“Mr. Banks?” I open my eyes as an unfamiliar voice fills the car.
Tyler calls her Anika and asks her to get passes to a club with a foreign name and confirms a reservation and what time we expect to arrive in Vegas.
I spend the next two hours resting, sometimes in a full sleep and other times relaxed, keeping my eyes closed. I don’t have the energy to join in the conversation, and everyone seems to accept that. I don’t open my eyes until Nessie exclaims about the size of a hotel. We’re on the Vegas Strip. I sit up to get a better view, taking in the sidewalks filled with people and the casinos that stretch on for blocks.
Cooper whistles under his breath. “This is crazy.”
“I can’t believe we’re in Vegas!” Nessie says, gripping the back of my seat and leaning forward so her face is right behind my headrest. “Are you seeing this?”
Tyler turns into the Banks Hotel, the building so tall I can’t see the top half. Everything is gold and white, a massive fountain in the front that we pause in front of when a group of pedestrians walks past us, dressed like they just walked off a fashion runway.
I glance at my sweatpants and Brighton tee. I’d chosen them based solely for comfort, knowing we’d change when we reached the hotel, and regret the decision nearly as much as not having packed more water for our hike yesterday. Pathetic. Shallow. I know.
Tyler slowly pulls forward and puts the car in park. Our doors are opened, the heat of the desert rushing to battle the air-conditioned interior.
“Welcome to Las Vegas, Ms. Robinson,” the man says, offering me his hand.
“Thanks,” I respond, still feeling awkward about these moments, though it occurs at each stop—except for our brief stay in Odessa, where we had to bring in our bags and check in at the front desk like everyone else. Aside from New Orleans, every other hotel we’ve stayed at Tyler scans something from his phone into the elevator when we arrive, and we find a stack of key cards and a welcome gift that is always in the form of food, usually fruit and desserts from their renowned restaurant that the area is known for.
Nessie is wearing a pair of blue denim shorts that are fashionably distressed and a blouse that falls off one shoulder. She meets me on the sidewalk, her hand sliding into mine as she silently checks in with me. Are you okay?
I nod to confirm I am, and she gives me a gentle smile. “I look like a bum,” I tell her, watching more people exit the hotel who look at us with mild curiosity before looking away. Everyone staying here is loaded, unimpressed with Tyler’s extravagant car.
“No one cares,” Nessie assures me. “You should drink some more Gatorade.”
I chuckle. “Just to see Tyler’s expression when I tell him that I need to pee again.”
She laughs outright because we had to ask him to pull over three times, extending our drive by over an hour.
We step into the lobby, the same sweet and rich perfume that is in the air of all Banks Hotels greets us, but unlike the others, this hotel was made for guests just as much as it was made for tourists not staying here, the lobby more opulent, with wider halls to accommodate more foot traffic. A series of fountains is in the middle of the lobby, with small seating areas arranged throughout the space.
“Let’s go,” Tyler says, leading us through the extravagant space. Cooper, Nessie, and I trail behind him, trying to take in each detail. The elevators are gold with a hammered finish that, like most things in the hotel, adds a sense of wealth and style. We pass them, stopping at the end where the elevator has a stone finish.
We get inside, and Tyler flashes his phone. “Welcome, Mr. Banks,” a speaker in the elevator says as the doors slide shut.
“This is ridiculous,” Coop says, shaking his head.
When the doors reopen at the top floor, the shock and amazement that hits me each time we walk into one of the rooms is even stronger as this room might be the most extravagant of them all, which is fitting, considering this is the city of lights, known for glamour and everything being over the top. I try to count the chandeliers, each dripping with beveled glass and opulence. As in New Orleans, there are multiple seating areas, each tied together with matching furniture and massive area rugs.
We pass all of them, then follow the wall of windows into the kitchen. It’s small and gourmet—made for looks rather than use, I’ve realized. I’m sure most who can afford to stay in this room have little to no use for the kitchen unless they have a personal chef who travels with them, which strangely seems like a reality as we tread into our ninth day of living in this extravagant lifestyle.
“Champagne,” Nessie says, stopping at the counter where the bottle sits in an ice bucket, surrounded by a small mountain of chocolate-dipped strawberries, a full charcuterie board, and a small bottle of whiskey.
“Damn, this looks good,” Coop says, inspecting the charcuterie board that has started to become a staple with our last few stops.
“We should make a toast,” Nessie says, reaching for the champagne. “Ty, do you have to work much, or do you have the weekend off?”
Tyler picks up the bottle of whiskey and twists it around in his hands. “I have to get some work in. This location has been under new management for six months, and during that time, half the staff has turned over.”
I stare at him—it’s difficult not to stare at Tyler—because the moody and bossy and confounding man is easily the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. All angular lines and chiseled features, perfectly mussed hair, and lips that are so distracting you can’t help but stare when he talks and imagine what it would feel like to kiss him. Mix that with the devious glint in his eyes and the rewarding feeling of catching one of his rare smiles, and it makes it nearly impossible not to stare. I wonder if he’s regretting last night—if that’s why his gaze seems almost glacial today. Is it because he told me that girl meant nothing? Because he revealed a thin sliver about caring what I thought?
The thoughts compound and overwhelm me, making me feel suddenly exhausted all over again. I wish I had allotted some of our time yesterday in the desert to talk about this with Nessie. Maybe she would have some insight, or at the very least, an unbiased opinion.
Nessie screams as the top of the champagne pops as Cooper opens it. She follows it with laughter that Coop joins in, and for a second, I feel a sense of melancholy as my attention turns to them. I don’t know how I didn’t see that they were perfect for each other years ago. I’m envious of how determined they were to be together and how completely smitten they are. How quick they are to laugh and how both of them seem on a constant quest to bring the other one happiness.
Cooper fills four glasses with the bubbly liquid. “To Vanessa and her wild sense of adventure that thankfully led her back to me.”
I grin, shifting my gaze to Nessie. “To Tyler, for hooking us up on the most epic adventure ever.”
They turn to Ty, who’s standing beside Nessie. “To being halfway done with this exhausting trip,” he says, his expression once again impassive.
“Cheers to that,” I mutter, tipping my glass back before it’s my turn to say anything because at this point, I have nothing more to say.
N
essie and I spend well over an hour getting ready in our mini spa of a bathroom decorated in teal and gold and looks so gaudy and yet extravagant enough that it somehow works. And when Nessie suggests I wear a black dress she bought for Vegas that is shorter and tighter and more revealing than anything I’d normally wear, I don’t object. Tonight, I want to draw attention to myself and go back to ignoring and avoiding Tyler and not caring about why he’s being hot or cold and worrying that I’m the cause.
Nessie is in a silver dress with a deep cowl neck that she rocks like it was made for her. Nerves dance through my belly at the prospect of seeing Tyler, but when we step into the living room, Cooper is sitting on the couch and watching the news. His eyes shift to us, and then he blinks and does a double take, a goofy grin curling his mouth.
“Wow. You look … amazing.” He stands, walking over to Nessie and pressing a kiss to her cheek. I remember when he used to look at new gaming and computer stuff with that same envious stare, and it makes my lips twitch with a smile as I redirect my attention to the mostly empty bottle of champagne, choosing to finish it straight from the bottle instead of pouring it into a glass.
“Are you guys ready?” he asks.
“Where’s Ty?” Nessie looks around.
“He had to go do something for work. He said he’d meet us there.”
“Poor guy. It’s Saturday night,” Vanessa says.
I reserve my right to roll my eyes as I set the empty bottle down and lead the way to the elevator.
We could take a car, but since this is our first time in Vegas, we opt to walk. Each casino is different, the architecture, the colors, the plants all competing to be the most extravagant. The Banks Hotel is non-gaming and vastly smaller than the ones we pass through, which all have row upon row of brightly colored slot machines and posters with half-naked men, contrasted with class and luxury displayed in the architecture and elaborate décor.