Number Six (The Villains #3)

Chapter 16

It Is a Date

D inner was quiet. Monique couldn’t quite work out how to ask what she really wanted to know: why Ottilie had agreed to a date. Did that mean she wanted things to get romantic? Or was it just her accepting that was how Monique saw dinner? She should have asked when she’d first proposed dinner, but she’d been too distracted by Ottilie’s yes.

With anyone else, Monique would simply flirt like crazy until the answer was clear to everyone in a fifty-foot radius. Except Ottilie didn’t like being flirted with. She saw it as insincere. So, now, Monique, the queen of wooing women, was stumped.

Finally, Ottilie spoke. “Your twitchiness is putting me off an excellent seared duck breast.” She smiled.

“Sorry,” Monique said. “I didn’t mean to be so obvious.”

“Everyone is obvious to me,” Ottilie said. “It’s the curse of being an excellent reader of people.”

“Tell me about it.” Monique blew out a breath and laughed. “You’re second only to me at reading people.”

“Only second?” Ottilie scoffed. “Please.”

“Well, I suspect you could probably tell me half the life story of our waiter.” Monique tilted her head in the direction of the young man buzzing around a distant table.

“I could take an educated guess. And I agree that so could you. So, what’s your take on him?”

“Miserable. Hates his job. And he hasn’t waited long.”

“Agreed. He also came to Vegas to get married on the spur of the moment, and it was over by the time they sobered up. He got a waiter job to get money to go home.”

“Okay, what?” Monique chuckled. “He said nothing!”

“He kept rubbing his ring finger where a ring probably used to be. There was no dent, so it wasn’t a long-term relationship. If it was any other city, I wouldn’t leap to quickie marriage, but this is Las Vegas, and the pain is still fresh for him, so I’m taking an educated guess as to the source. He does hate it here, and he’s inexperienced at his job. He wants to leave, so why hasn’t he? He needs money. So that means he took the job as a stopgap. Conclusion: he came as a tourist and was forced to stay. He probably got so drunk after his failed wedding that he ran up the bills.”

“So now he’s a sad drunk?”

“No, but he’s a young man in the demographic where drinking solves all problems. He also has a hip injury and a wrist injury. Two things that happen together when you fall down while drunk.”

“Or,” Monique said, “he’s a local kid injured playing basketball and is saving up money for college.”

“He’s not local. He pronounced the Nevada Special as Nah-vah-da instead of Nev-adder.”

That was…true. “I need to know if you’re right,” Monique said with a grin. “I need it more than anything.”

Ottilie smiled back. “I guess we can find out when he brings out the coffee. Ask him how he’s enjoying his stay.”

Monique did just that five minutes later.

The young man was not a local, had indeed come for a quickie wedding—not his, though. He was, however, a little too fixated on his best friend’s bride (hence the ring fixation) and had confessed love to the poor woman right before she’d walked down the aisle. That had led to a fistfight with the groom, minor injuries, and a several-days-long bender that he was still paying off.

Not that he’d said all of that, but Monique had pieced it together. Ottilie had too, it was clear.

“Well,” Monique said when he departed, the waiter’s cheeks blooming with embarrassment. “You were very close.”

“Mmm.” Ottilie sniffed. “I’d have done better if he’d said more initially. We only had him for a few minutes.”

“So, then…I’m guessing you really were CIA at some point?” Monique said lightly. “Where else would you need to refine such skills?”

“Where did you?” Ottilie asked. “You’re not CIA.”

“How do you know?”

“I know.”

“You know because you did work there.”

Ottilie leaned back in her chair. “The past is the past. I think of little now but what I’ll be doing next.”

“Retirement. I remember. So, where will that be?”

“Somewhere tropical with beaches and a great many Mai Tais.”

Monique laughed. “I hope you’ll wear a big hat. Your skin is rather delicate.”

“Too much office work in recent years,” Ottilie conceded. “I have a lot of time to make up for. I want to get started…living.” Her expression grew distant.

“Getting some ‘me time’ at last, then?”

“Yes,” Ottilie said with conviction. “Finally.”

Monique at last screwed up her courage and asked the question she’d wanted to know all evening. “Ottilie, why did you agree to a date with me?”

“You interest me. Few people do. You notice me. Few people do. And you are kind and good. Few people I know are.”

“Not many people see me as ‘good,’ though,” Monique admitted quietly. “Given what I do.”

“What you do? Ethical investments?” Ottilie hiked an eyebrow. “Are these people in the coal industry?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes,” Ottilie agreed. “You like sex. You are apparently good at it. You wish other women to have fulfilling sex. You take money to show them how. How terrible you are. How do you look at yourself in the mirror?”

Monique smiled. “I wish everyone felt that way.”

“Are you still troubled by the singer? I assure you she will never bother you again.”

“Her attitude is not rare. There was the senator who was also dehumanizing. One week, two terrible clients. It made me wonder why I’m putting up with this. Why I’m opening myself up to such treatment. I don’t need it. I don’t want it.”

“Are you thinking a change of career is in your future?” Ottilie eyed her.

“I’ve thought about it. But I also love what I do. How can I walk away from helping so many women discover their bodies? Their pleasure?”

“For a perceptive woman, you appear to have missed the bigger picture.”

“Oh?” Monique gave her a sharp look.

“There are so many ways you could help women achieve those outcomes without personally sharing your body. There are books you could write. Or a sexuality podcast or blog would be, I’m quite sure, well received. It seems to me that you would help far more women by actually being less…hands on? Your reach could be in the many thousands.”

What a compelling idea! Monique shook her head and laughed.

“What’s so amusing?”

“You are a woman who, I gather, has had a limited amount of sex in her life, and you’ve just solved the problem of the sex expert who has had a great deal of it.”

“I’ve solved it?” Ottilie asked, sounding intrigued. “And I fail to see what one’s amount of sexual experience has to do with their reasoning skills.”

“Good point. And I love your idea. What if…” She stopped, thinking. “I could close my business to new customers and still keep a few preferred regulars. The ones I know and trust.”

“Like Mrs. Menzies,” Ottilie suggested.

Shock washed Monique. “She told you that?”

“No. You did. Just now.”

Monique felt ill. She’d breached a valued client’s privacy. She was so appalled with herself. She’d just destroyed June Menzies’s trust. “Oh God,” she whispered, stricken.

“I worked it out some time ago, though,” Ottilie assured her. “There were little clues, going right back to the day I first met her. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t tell anyone. Although, Mrs. Menzies suspects I know. She can barely look me in the eye.”

“You suspected the day you met her?” Monique shook her head in disbelief. “You really are something.”

“Yes,” Ottilie agreed, eyes bright and amused. “But you’re the first person to figure that out.” She paused. “Well, in the interests of accuracy, the third. But I appreciate you saying so.”

“Third? Who was first? Hannah?”

“She was second.” Ottilie smiled. “Hannah’s granddaughter was first. Although Michelle was a little slow on the uptake. I worked with her for nine years before she realized my true power.”

“It took her nine years? You really do hide in plain sight, don’t you?”

“It’s a skill.”

“Personally, I’d rather you didn’t hide at all—at least not around me. I love seeing you , not the invisible woman you play so well.”

“I find, of late, I rather like not disappearing. It’s novel.”

That pleased Monique immensely. She sat with that warming feeling for a moment and then rose. “Ottilie? There’s somewhere I want to show you.”

“Oh?”

“Trust me.”

“I’m not sure why, but I do.” Ottilie sounded almost aggrieved. “Quite against my instinct.”

She looked so put out that Monique laughed. “I know the feeling. Come with me.”

* * *

Ottilie gazed around in amazement. The entire roof of Hotel Duxton Vegas was covered in greenery. The smell was incredible. Zesty, with sharp and tangy notes. Crisp like morning dew.

“What is this?”

“One giant herb garden,” Monique said. “And a few other essentials. The hotel’s seven restaurants use it for their menus.”

“How did you even know it was here?”

“You have your sources; I have mine.” Monique smiled. “Over here. There’s a nice spot for taking in the view.”

She led Ottilie over to a corner that was dense with parsley, chives, basil, and oregano and pointed her to a pair of crates. “When staff get too stressed, they’ll often slip up here and hide. They used to smoke up here too until the chefs got mad their herbs smelled like cigarettes. I’m amazed it’s not packed all the time, given how much stress comes from working here.”

Ottilie lowered herself to the crate. “I’m surprised anyone would want to work in Vegas at all. It’s just so…overpowering. Constant flashing lights and sounds.”

“There is that. But the glitz is exciting if you want to get swept away.”

“Is that why you stay?” Ottilie asked. “You like the escapism?”

“Initially that was why. I don’t need that now though.”

“And yet you stay?”

“I’m used to it. And Cleo amuses me. Professionally, I’m usually left to my own devices and no one questions it—I’m referring to my investment company now.”

“Why would anyone question what you do?”

“Old prejudices thrive. Men are expected to rule Wall Street, and a female CEO gets attitude. I don’t like the chest beating that comes with being in New York. Here? In some ways, the women rule.”

“They do?” Ottilie asked, fascinated.

“Only on the surface. All the signs and billboards, posters and promotions? It’s seventy percent women. The featured stars, singers, performers. Even the casino staff. But behind the scenes, of course, it’s the men in charge. And, the women on all those posters and billboard are dressed for men, when you think about it. But even so, I do love seeing women everywhere I turn.”

“Of course you would,” Ottilie said with a teasing smile.

“Exactly. I wouldn’t do well in a wall-to-wall male environment. It’s exhausting.”

“Was that another reason you left New York? Exhaustion?”

“ Left implies I spent much time there. I didn’t really. I set up my business in the most logical place to have an investment company, hired highly competent managers, and once it was thriving, I left.”

“For…Vegas. And all the pretty women.”

Monique smiled. “You make me sound so shallow, darling.”

“Not shallow…differently motivated?” Ottilie suggested.

“Did Cleo tell you she lured me here? She loves to tell people that.”

“As a matter of fact, she did.”

“Well, it’s true. But it was more than that. Being enveloped in her world, with all her dancers, felt like a community, and I loved it. I was part of a family. My own family only ever worshiped money. It was a lonely way to grow up.”

That did sound lonely. Ottilie could certainly relate to having distant parents focused on other things than their child.

Monique continued: “I don’t feel that here, which is funny since Vegas practically runs on the almighty dollar. But it has other charms.”

Perhaps it did. Ottilie drew in a deep breath, savoring the earthy scents. “I like it up here. It’s less…Vegas. I’ve been smelling Vegas’s unique aroma since I got here.”

“Yes, that is all the stale air pumped out of the casinos, along with a little pollution mixed with dusty desert. It’s quite a distinctive cocktail.”

“Except up here.” Ottilie looked around again. “I appreciate you showing me this little spot.”

“I haven’t taken anyone else up here before. I’d be very flattered if I were you.” Monique’s smile was dazzling.

“Duly noted,” Ottilie said with a tiny smile of her own.

A few moments passed in silence before Monique held her gaze. “Ottilie? I’m wondering something very important.”

“Oh?”

“Have you decided I’m beautiful yet?” She seemed to hold her breath.

Ottilie turned that over. How Monique looked now, backlit by the setting sun with the warm lights of the city softening her face, was so very appealing. Their date had shown how clever she was, how perceptive, but Ottilie had known that already. She’d known the moment Monique had pieced together where Ottilie worked. Perhaps even before that.

“I think you’re an intelligent, intriguing woman,” Ottilie answered.

“Thank you,” Monique said softly. “And by that, you also mean…?”

“Yes.” Ottilie held her gaze and admitted, “You are a most beautiful woman.”

A smile lit Monique’s face in a glow that was transcendent. “Didn’t I tell you?” She chuckled for a moment, but it died away as she gazed at Ottilie. “I find you breathtaking.” Her words were so earnest, lacking the flirtatious quality Monique usually peppered her compliments with.

Ottilie could tell she meant it. Her cheeks warmed, and she broke her gaze.

Monique rested her chin on her hand, elbow on her knee. “So, that begs the next question.”

“Oh?”

“This ‘me time’ of yours. Does that include…relationships?”

“Why?” Ottilie replied. “Are you proposing one, or are you just curious?”

“I love that you didn’t shoot me down straightaway.”

“I was just seeking clarity first.”

Monique’s expression fell.

“However,” Ottilie said quickly, already missing the happiness in her eyes, “I’m also here, sharing a secret rooftop garden with you. A space that could be seen as intimate after a dinner for two. That is no small thing for me.”

“I imagine that’s true. It would be far less complicated for you to just avoid me for the rest of your stay.”

“It would.”

“So why are you here with me?”

“I explained before. Because you see me.”

“Ottilie, it’s incredibly hard not to notice someone as fascinating as you.”

“And yet no one really does. I’ve spent the better part of four decades going unnoticed. It has served me well. But it can also be quite tiring.”

“Because it’s not the real you. It’s just an act.”

“Yes. And whenever we interact, you remind me of what I’m doing. You expect me to be more, not less.”

Monique smiled softly. “Because I want to know all of you.”

Ottilie gazed back at her. “And I find…I like that.”

“I know you’re only in Vegas for a little while,” Monique said. “I know I can’t offer you more than something short and sweet. But, oh, I could make it so sweet. Would you like to? If nothing else, you can tell yourself that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

“Why would I ever tell myself that?” Ottilie asked, perplexed. “It’s dismissive. It’s saying it doesn’t matter, when I assure you if I ever take another lover in my life, it will be because it is a deliberate, conscious desire. Something I want to remember, not forget.”

“So, you’d consider it?” Monique asked, hope softening her eyes.

“Why me?” Ottilie asked. “When you could have anyone?”

“I’m captivated by you. Not by just your beauty. I enjoy your intelligence and quick wit. How you see and analyze everything around you. I admire your calm and your confidence. You don’t particularly care what anyone else thinks. You are so comfortable with who you are, underneath your chameleon disguise. You say you’ve spent four decades being invisible, but with me, you let down your guard. It’s flattering that you don’t hide when you’re with me.”

“Even though you know what I’ve been hiding?” Ottilie asked cautiously.

“You destroyed them, Ottilie,” Monique said, her tone serious. “That makes all the difference. And I believe I understand how you think now. For you—life, people, choices…it’s all a chess game. You move your pieces in one of a few ways: Usually it’s in ways that don’t actively do harm and that benefit you. Or, in ways to minimize harm, but only if you can stay hidden as the architect. Sometimes you move in ways that do allow harm if it gives you answers you seek. But on occasions, Ottilie, you will move the pieces to protect someone else, even if it might hurt you.”

How accurate that was. Astonishingly so.

“Don’t deny that last one,” Monique went on. “You did it last night for me. You did it with Mrs. Menzies when her husband was abusive. You probably usually do it so subtly or cleverly that you think no one else notices: that all along you’ve been playing a game no one else could see.”

Ottilie drew in a sharp breath.

“But I can see it, Ottilie. I’ve worked it out. Your underlying game has always been about one thing in the past. Efficiency. But prioritizing efficiency over everything else meant you didn’t always make good decisions.”

“No.”

“And yet you own that.”

“Yes.”

“And now it feels as though you’re maybe…reconsidering your priorities? It seems to me, as an outsider, that the day you destroyed The Fixers, you cleared the chessboard and started again.”

Ottilie’s gaze drifted into the distance. “It can be disconcerting playing a different game than what I know. But I’m trying. I believe I want to try.”

Monique paused for a few moments. “Getting to know you—being allowed to—is everything.”

Ottilie’s attention shifted to her. “No one has ever accused me of being so interesting.”

“That just means they didn’t know you. Or you didn’t let them.” Monique studied her. “In my line of work, I’ve met many powerful women—women who would make you stop and stare. Not because of their looks so much as their sheer force of personality. I’d sort those women into two categories: fire and ice.”

“What’s the difference?” Ottilie asked.

“Fire—filled with passion and fury, they will get fired up about anything. Formidable women. And ice—cold as an Arctic snowstorm. They’ll show you nothing but walls, nothing but contempt, too, if they think you’re unworthy.”

“You think I’m a powerful woman,” Ottilie murmured. “Like them.”

“You are.”

“So, which am I? Fire or ice?”

“Neither. You’re glass.”

“You feel I’m so fragile?” Ottilie asked incredulously. “That I’ll shatter easily?”

“Tempered glass,” Monique clarified. “Reinforced deep within. Not easily broken.”

“Why glass at all?”

“When it suits you, Ottilie, you become invisible. Yet you are piercing, incisive, and strong, deceptively so—powerful enough to withstand the storm. You see through everything and everyone. You are a sphinx of glass. A queen of shards. The first and last I’ll ever meet. That’s ‘why you.’ You are utterly fascinating.”

Ottilie bowed her head under the unexpected praise, feeling more profoundly understood than she ever had. “Thank you for seeing all that in me. It’s unexpected.”

Monique reached for her hand. “Always.”

Ottilie allowed the contact. A little, warm tingle went up her fingers.

Surprising.

With her thumb drawing circles over the back of Ottilie’s hand, Monique said, “I want to know you so much better, and I’ll be direct: I want to share myself with you. Mind and body. That’s not something I do often. Despite my job, I allow no one to touch me intimately. But with you, I would love that. I would love you to know all of me. I would be honored to make love to you. If you’ll have me.” Monique looked suddenly uncertain, her cheeks reddening. She glanced away as though convinced Ottilie would dismiss her instantly.

Instead, fingers still tingling, Ottilie was warmed by the heartfelt request. “Thank you for the offer. I’ll think about it.”

“You are so unknowable,” Monique said. “I wish I could know more of you.”

“You already know more about me than most people. And probably more than I’m comfortable with. But…perhaps it’s time I got more comfortable. I’m starting to feel as though life is passing me by. I’m too young to feel old and too old to feel young.”

“You’re not too old for anything,” Monique murmured. “I’d love to show you just how young you still are.”

Ottilie considered her words. She rather liked that thought. Not too old for anything.

“But…” Monique looked uncharacteristically anxious. “If you agree, not in my room. I don’t want to be anywhere near my room at the moment.”

“Because of the singer?”

Monique gave a faint nod. “I do have my other suite, but it’s not very cozy as I use it as my investment company office. Besides, that’s work and I want you purely for pleasure.”

Ottilie hesitated. “It’s been a long time since I’ve said yes to a proposal like this.”

“Thank you for considering it.”

“How do I know you’re…” She hesitated, unsure how to ask politely. “Safe? I understand your side job has…certain risks. Health risks.”

“It’s so you to ask.” Monique smiled and added, “More people should.” She reached for her phone and scrolled through it. “My last medical results. Received five days ago. I get checkups regularly.” She held it out to her.

Ottilie studied the results and glanced at her. “I don’t have anything like this for you. I haven’t been with anyone in years.”

“Then I’m even more honored if you choose me now.”

“I barely know you,” Ottilie said, pausing. “And yet I feel that I do.”

“I barely know you,” Monique repeated back. “And I would love to. I don’t want you to leave before I know all of you.”

“There is that. I’m leaving soon. One last loose end, and I’m done.”

Monique joked, “I hope that loose end plagues you for weeks. Months!”

“Flatterer,” Ottilie said, realizing she was quoting Monique from days ago. “What would I even do with you? I’m not sure I remember how.” She kept her words light, but inside, uncertainty brewed. Her hand reflexively clenched in Monique’s.

“Fortunately, this is my area of expertise,” Monique said soothingly.

Still Ottilie hesitated. “I’m a complicated woman. I’m aware I’m hard to read. Hard to know. If I were a book, most people wouldn’t bother finishing it.”

“I would read every line. Worship you, cover to cover.”

“Would you understand what you’d read, though?”

“If you’d let me, I’d like to try to read the Book of Ottilie. Will you?” Monique held her gaze seriously. “Let me?”

Gone was the empty flirting. Ottilie saw only earnestness and a burning promise. Monique would worship Ottilie. To her surprise, her palms were now slick. “I suppose I should say…”

Monique drew in a breath.

“Yes.”