Chapter 4
Four
RHEA
“ G ood luck today.”
My eyes narrowed at the message on the phone Micah had gifted. It was the first time in the near week since our phone call that it had chimed with any sort of notification.
I wasn’t using it.
I didn’t know if I was being superstitious or simply stubborn, but something about carrying it around with me was a little too… complicit.
Like I was accepting my role in whatever weirdness he’d brought into my life, and I was not.
I turned the phone’s screen off without responding, then turned the whole device off for good measure, before tucking it back in the drawer where I’d left it initially.
Now, I could really ignore it.
The goal was to pretend none of this had even happened, to go right back to my life before this little… disruption.
I had things to do, like getting to this meeting at Reverie on time.
Early , actually.
I’d been on track before the distraction of the phone, and if I wanted to make a good impression, I had to hustle.
This was a real opportunity, one that finally had a name after Jackson had teased about putting my name in for a position and Kingston Whitfield had made it clear I was actually being considered.
Curator of Client Experience, Recoverie .
It wasn’t director of anything yet, like my end goal, but it had a good ring to it, and it was a new endeavor for the resort— not the time to bring on just anybody. Pulling me into a role like this spoke—at least in my head—to a certain level of trust.
They knew I could, and would , deliver.
As long as I stayed focused.
So, I shook off thoughts of Micah, tuned out the hum of other people’s minds as I stepped off the elevator, and headed Reverie’s office wing. My palms were damp with nerves, heart racing from probably a little too much caffeine this morning.
The atmosphere shifted as I moved through the security checkpoint. It was cooler, quieter, calmer back here, well away from the casino floor.
At the reception desk, the woman behind it offered a warm smile. “Rhea Dawes?”
“Yes,” I nodded.
“They’re ready for you,” she said. “Third door to the left.”
“Thank you.”
I took a breath, then walked forward.
Ready.
The third door on the left was cracked, just enough for me to gently push it open and step into a sleek, minimalist space that somehow still felt warm. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in desert sun and a view of the Vegas strip, filtered through sheer drapes. The conference room smelled like something botanical and expensive, more spa than casino boardroom.
Which made sense with the Recoverie logo etched into a glass pane on the far wall.
Behind a long table, Kingston Whitfield and a woman I recognized all too well, but had never met, stood to greet me.
“Rhea,” she said, extending her hand first. “Nice to finally meet you in person. I’m Delaney.”
“Of course,” I gushed, hesitant to touch her, but knowing it would send the absolute wrong impression if I didn’t.
People said often to not meet your heroes, advice informed by the not-so-rare possibility that the people you admired might actually be awful. The thing was, for me, it didn’t even matter if they were good enough actors to keep their aintshitness under wraps.
I was about to see exactly who this woman was.
Like it or not.
Her hand was warm, her grip firm, her smile... honest.
And then the flashes came.
A client on her massage table, sobbing tears of relief to not be in pain.
Opening a large box, revealing a stack of books inside with the words, The Delaney Protocol, emblazoned across the covers.
Delaney’s smile dropping as she stepped away from applause at a podium to take a phone call. Furiously, tearfully whispering that she couldn’t fix someone who didn’t care to be fixed.
Quickly, I let go of her hand, embarrassed to have seen something so deeply personal. I never planned to dig around in their heads anyway, but this was exactly the extra little nudge I needed.
I had to tune their thoughts out.
“You okay?” Delaney asked.
“Yes,” I was quick to respond, smiling. “Just a bit of nerves.”
Kingston chuckled, then nodded at the chair across from him. “You don’t need to be nervous. This isn’t an interview. It’s more about… alignment. The position is already yours.”
“I appreciate that,” I said, taking the seat he’d offered. “Still… thank you both for the opportunity.”
I hadn’t known she was going to be part of this endeavor, though I should’ve expected it, honestly. When Jackson mentioned what Recoverie was, even the idea felt very… Delaney Protocol.
“Recoverie is a hybrid wellness space,” she said, her voice smooth and sure. “Therapeutic services, concierge-level care, hospitality support, all as an extension of the spa services here at Reverie. With the right team, the goal is to expand, first to the resort property in LA, and then… beyond.”
There was a distinct starriness in her eyes, that ambition which made her so admirable to me. In the Vegas hospitality industry, Delaney was well-known behind the scenes and out front, with wellness weekend retreats that got full bookings and rave reviews every time.
She was a phenom.
“Back to present though,” she grinned, “I think this is going to be a game-changer. Again, with the right team.”
Kingston leaned back in his chair, nodding toward me. “That’s where you come in, Sunny.”
Delaney’s eyebrows went up. “Sorry… Sunny?”
“A nickname, inspired by my sandy hair,” I explained. “A blend, really… Name is Rhea, like ray … of sunshine, blah, blah, blah.”
“Okay, I love that, and I think our clientele will as well, right?” she said, directing the question at Kingston, who nodded.
“They already do; it’s why she’s perfect for the role.”
“Right,” Delaney agreed. “Listen, you’ll be dealing with…athletes, entertainers, executives… the kind of clientele that doesn’t always feel safe being vulnerable, even when their minds and bodies are on the brink. Recoverie is going to be a place where they can both get themselves together, and fall apart a little. Quietly. Off the grid.”
I nodded, absorbing the idea. “So… I’d be what? One of the first faces they see?”
“Exactly,” Delaney confirmed. “And hopefully the one they associate with a certain degree of safety. That means anticipating needs before they’re voiced, following up without smothering, knowing when to leave people alone, and when to press a little.”
I smiled.
Honestly… this wasn’t that different from what I already did in bottle service.
This just came with daylight hours, more clothes, and better health insurance.
“To be clear, we’re not opening a med spa,” Kingston said. “We’re consulting with Desiree Byers for discretion, Logan Byers for organization, Alicia Pelletier for security. Sports medicine doctors, substance rehabilitation, licensed therapists, physical therapy, and anything else we might think of. Full-spectrum support for people whose bodies and minds are under constant, public pressure.”
I nodded. “I get it. It’s not… lemon water and cucumbers on the eyes.”
“It might be exactly that, sometimes,” Delaney added. “After they’ve cried their eyes out in group therapy or finished a follow-up on their knee surgery. Either way, they’re going to need aftercare. If it’s safe, legal, and supports wellness, it’s on the table. But… an important element here that we can’t neglect is… these clients have money. Often, obscene levels of it. I’ve already had to make it clear to a couple of folks that ass is not part of the service menu.”
I laughed. “Oh, I’m very well versed in creative—and blunt—ways to communicate that.”
“There will be some familiar faces,” Kingston spoke up. “Celebs you’ve served at the club, seen on TV. I know you’re not starstruck, but… be careful. There was some energy with Micah McKnight the other night that… I don’t know.”
As soon as those words left his mouth, my mouth dropped.
I was quick to get it closed, but still… damn.
Just… right under the bus like that, huh?
“He was at Dream the other night,” Kingston explained to Delaney, glancing between us. “Rhea did the welcome. It wasn’t anything crazy, just… not nothing .”
I cleared my throat, trying to keep it light. “He got a little handsy. I corrected it,” I shrugged, “No big deal.”
“Oh, he mentioned you,” Delaney said, casual as fuck, like that wasn’t the wildest thing she could’ve followed up with. “He’s one of the athletes we’re trialing Recoverie with. He came in after the title fight.”
“Ah, I see,” I said slowly, processing. “Would I be expected to work with him?”
“Him and a few others,” Kingston said. “But again, we’re trialing. We’re not ready to launch yet. You’ll most likely have a few more shifts at Dream; if you want to, that is. Maybe throw a party or something.”
“Of course,” I nodded, “Uh… anyone else I should keep an eye out for?”
“Santiago Ruiz,” Kingston answered. “Soccer. He likes Dream. He likes you ,” he added, and I rolled my eyes.
“Most heterosexual men like me, is that a crime?” I asked.
“A curse maybe,” he chuckled, “but no, not a crime. And I hope it doesn’t seem like I’m picking on you. I’m trying to prepare you.”
“Yes,” Delaney agreed. “Some of these clients are going to test the boundaries. You’re here to create an experience, but you’re not anyone’s emotional support girlfriend.”
“Even if they try to pay like it,” Kingston muttered.
“Got it,” I said. “I’ve been navigating blurry lines for a while. I’ll keep mine clear.”
Delaney nodded. “Good. And if anything ever feels off, come to me. No hesitation.”
I smiled. “Absolutely.”
“Perfect,” she said, standing. “We’ll follow up next week.”
Kingston stood too, giving me a nod. “Welcome to the team, Sunny.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Really.”
As the door shut behind me, I let out a quiet breath and let the smile stick.
I was… excited.
This felt good, like a perfect next step.
And I was ready.
Then I got back to the elevator, and remembered that text from Micah.
Good luck today.
Had Kingston talked to him about me? Had Delaney mentioned me taking this job in their conversation?
I had no idea.
But now I understood… Micah was going to be impossible to simply ignore.