1. Nora #2
“I didn’t say yes.”
“You absolutely said yes.”
“I said ‘if’ at best.”
She lunged forward and wrapped both arms around me before I could dodge her properly. “I love you.”
“Ew, you’re sweaty.”
“You still love me.”
I shoved at her shoulder halfheartedly. “Barely.”
“Liar.”
I looked back down at the flyer one more time before tossing it onto the table. “If we’re doing this, we need waxes.”
Valentina gasped dramatically. “You’re really committing.”
“And haircuts.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“And I’m not wearing one of those cheap masks if they’re ugly.”
She clutched her chest. “Who are you and what have you done with Nora?”
I pointed at her. “Don’t make this weird.”
Too late.
She was already dancing badly around the apartment while I grabbed my wallet off the counter and checked how much cash I had left before payday.
Same survival instinct. Different personalities.
That was probably why we worked.
The Uber driver kept checking on us in the rearview mirror after we left the city behind.
I understood why.
Most people heading this far outside Vegas weren’t carrying old duffle bags that looked like they’d survived war zones.
Mine sat across my lap with the strap wrapped twice around my wrist out of habit. The faded blue canvas had originally belonged to my mother before she died. One zipper only worked if you tugged it carefully to the left first.
Valentina’s army-green bag looked even worse.
We’d left Black Rock with those bags years ago.
Everything else in our lives had changed around them.
“You girls sure this is the right address?” the driver finally asked as desert stretched endlessly around us.
Valentina smiled easily. “Yep. Why?”
He laughed a little. “Just not much out here.”
I looked out the window again.
The estate finally appeared a minute later behind tall iron gates and stone walls that looked more like a private resort than somebody’s house.
Security lights lined the long driveway even though the sun hadn’t fully set yet, and farther back, I could see the massive shape of the main house rising against the desert.
My stomach tightened again.
Too isolated. Too much security. Too quiet.
“See?” Valentina said under her breath beside me. “Rich people weird.”
That actually helped a little.
The gates opened automatically as the Uber rolled forward.
I noticed cameras immediately. A guard booth too. Two men in black suits standing near the entrance.
The driver whistled softly. “Damn.”
No kidding.
The estate was enormous up close. Cream-colored stone, dark windows, balconies wrapping around the upper levels. Landscaping manicured perfectly, despite being in the middle of the desert. Water features. Palm trees. Expensive everything.
I automatically started mentally calculating what one month of utilities here probably cost.
The Uber stopped near the front entrance where several other girls were climbing out of rideshares with luggage and garment bags.
Nobody looked older than twenty-two. Most looked nervous.
That didn’t help my mood.
“You’re doing the thing again,” Valentina murmured.
“What thing?”
“The serial killer face.”
“I don’t have a serial killer face.”
“You absolutely do.”
I ignored her and climbed out of the car instead.
Heat wrapped around me immediately despite the approaching evening. Dry desert air. Expensive perfume drifting from the women nearby. The crunch of gravel under tires.
One of the suited men approached us with a polite smile that never fully reached his eyes.
“Welcome,” he said smoothly. “Checking in for the gala staffing event?”
“Yes,” Valentina answered before I could.
He glanced between us briefly. Assessing.
I didn’t like that either.
“Names?”
“Valentina Cruz.”
“Nora Martin.”
He checked something on a tablet before nodding. “Perfect. You’re right on time.”
A woman approached then, older than the rest of us by maybe ten years. Tall. Blonde. Immaculately put together in a cream pantsuit that probably cost more than my car.
“Ladies,” she said warmly. “I’m Colette. We’ll be overseeing hospitality staff this weekend.”
Her smile was easier than the man’s. More practiced maybe.
“You can leave your bags with us for now,” she continued. “We’ll get everyone settled shortly.”
“No thanks,” I said immediately.
Valentina shot me a look.
Colette didn’t seem offended though. “Of course. Follow me then.”
I hated that I already felt rude.
The inside of the estate somehow looked even more expensive than the outside. Marble floors. Massive chandeliers. Fresh flowers everywhere. Soft music filtering through hidden speakers.
The air smelled cold and clean. Too clean.
I became hyperaware of my Walmart tank top and denim shorts immediately.
Valentina didn’t seem bothered at all. She walked beside me like she belonged there already, dark hair swinging down her back while she openly stared at everything.
“Holy shit,” she whispered under her breath.
I elbowed her lightly.
“What?” she muttered. “I’m poor, not blind.”
Colette led us through a long hallway into a massive central room already crowded with women.
Maybe forty total.
Some sat on couches talking nervously, while others checked their phones or picked at catered snacks arranged across long tables.
Everybody was attractive. Like weirdly, uncomfortably, carefully selected attractive.
That thought settled unpleasantly in my stomach.
I scanned the room automatically. Exits. Staff doors. Security cameras.
Then forced myself to stop.
Nothing bad had happened. These people had been polite. The room was full of women, not chained-up victims.
I needed to calm down.
“You okay?” Valentina asked quietly.
“Fine.”
“You’re doing the jaw thing.”
I unclenched my teeth deliberately.
“See?” she said softly. “Relax.”
Easy for her to say.
A few girls smiled at us as we moved farther into the room. One brunette around my age waved us over toward a cluster of couches near the windows.
“First time too?” she asked once we sat down.
“Is it obvious?” Valentina asked.
The girl laughed. “A little.”
She introduced herself as Bri. Beside her sat two other girls named Kayla and Jess, both from California. They’d apparently done private luxury events before and kept talking about celebrities they’d served drinks to like that was normal.
I mostly listened.
Valentina blended in instantly. She always did.
Within ten minutes she had everybody laughing, while I sat beside her sipping bottled water and watching the room carefully without meaning to.
More girls kept arriving until nearly every seat was filled.
At exactly five-forty-five, Colette returned alongside the suited man from outside and another woman similarly dressed in black.
“Alright, ladies,” Colette called pleasantly. “Welcome officially. We’re very excited to have you here this weekend.”
Conversations quieted immediately.
“The event hosts value discretion, professionalism, and presentation above all else. If you complete the weekend successfully, this opportunity can open doors for future high-end hospitality work.”
That sounded rehearsed. Maybe all corporate speeches sounded rehearsed.
I folded my arms loosely and listened.
“There are a few important rules,” she continued. “Phones are permitted only inside your assigned suites during off-hours. Once the gala officially begins tomorrow evening, phones will remain secured until event completion.”
Murmurs moved through the room.
“We’ll provide all uniforms, masks, jewelry, cosmetics if needed, and event-specific attire. You are expected to maintain appearance standards throughout the weekend.”
Another pause.
“Lastly, guests are not to be photographed, discussed publicly, or approached outside designated interactions.”
Still normal enough.
Wealthy people liked privacy.
I kept reminding myself of that.
“Now,” Colette said brightly, “let’s get everyone familiar with the property.”
The tour lasted almost an hour.
The estate seemed endless.
Ballroom. Indoor pool. Multiple lounges. Private gardens. Dining hall large enough to fit half our apartment building.
The ballroom itself made several girls audibly gasp when we entered.
Massive crystal chandeliers hung overhead while staff adjusted lighting around a black-and-gold masquerade setup already partially assembled. Long tables lined one side of the room waiting for decorations. Elevated stages sat at opposite ends beneath velvet drapery.
Everything looked dramatic in an expensive way.
Fantasy, as Valentina called it.
“Jesus,” she muttered beside me.
I understood the reaction. The place barely felt real.
Armed security stood near almost every major doorway, though in a way that I’m sure was meant to be comforting and not aggressive.
“You’d think the president was coming,” one girl joked nearby.
Nobody answered. Eventually we were guided toward a quieter residential wing upstairs where Colette explained sleeping arrangements.
Four girls per suite. Shared bathroom. Kitchenette.
Living area. Mandatory curfew after training sessions.
The suite Valentina and I got assigned to sat near the end of a long hallway overlooking the desert.
Inside, it looked bigger than our entire apartment.
Cream couches. Flat-screen TV. Granite countertops.
Two bedrooms with queen beds instead of bunks.
I stopped just inside the doorway for a second.
“You alright?” Valentina asked softly.
I nodded once and answered, “Yeah,” even though I honestly didn’t know what to do with spaces this nice.
The other two girls assigned with us arrived a few minutes later carrying matching pink suitcases that probably cost more than my monthly paycheck.
One introduced herself as Dani. The other as Sierra. Both seemed really friendly and very normal. That helped too.
For the first time since arriving, the knot between my shoulders loosened slightly while everybody unpacked and talked over each other about outfits and jobs and where they were from. Valentina immediately claimed one bed by throwing herself across it dramatically.
“I’m never leaving,” she announced.
Sierra laughed. “Same.”
I set my duffle carefully on the dresser before unzipping it. Inside sat exactly what I packed for the few days we were going to be here. My bag was carefully folded and organized while I knew Valentina’s bag looked like somebody had stuffed clothes into it during a rush to escape a house fire.
Dani watched me organizing my side of the bathroom counter and smiled slightly. “You’re one of those people.”
“One of what people?”
“The organized ones.”
“Somebody has to be.”
Valentina snorted from the bedroom. “She alphabetized our canned food once.”
“I was bored.”
“You were stressed.”
Same difference honestly. The suite gradually filled with overlapping conversation and makeup products scattered across counters and the smell of hairspray and perfume. It felt strangely normal despite the setting.
Girls getting ready for work. Girls trying to impress each other. Girls pretending not to care about the money. I caught Valentina watching me from across the room at one point. Less sharp now. Like she knew I was finally settling a little.
At seven-thirty, we all headed downstairs together for the first training session. The ballroom looked different now under dimmer lighting. Softer. Richer somehow. Staff moved quickly between tables arranging glasses while music drifted through hidden speakers again.
A waiter handed each of us champagne flutes almost immediately. I hesitated. Valentina took two.
“Relax,” she murmured, handing me one.
The champagne tasted expensive enough that I drank more than I meant to. Around us, girls laughed easier now. Conversations flowed louder. Staff encouraged mingling while explaining drink service expectations and guest etiquette.
For the first time in years, I let myself stop planning three steps ahead for a few minutes. I sat beside Valentina at one of the ballroom tables while she flirted harmlessly with another bartender from Phoenix and listened to girls debate which celebrities might attend tomorrow night.
My shoulders slowly loosened. The music softened into the background. The ballroom lights glittered overhead like something out of a movie instead of real life. And somewhere beneath all my caution, buried deep enough that I almost missed it, I felt something unfamiliar trying to surface.
Excitement.