Chapter 23 #2
“Speaking of,” Leo said, “give her our black card, so she doesn’t have to stop and ask us to handle a purchase.”
“Good idea.” Orion reached into his back pocket and brought out a billfold. “When I get a chance, I’ll order one with your name on it, but I’ll call and make sure you’re an authorized user.”
I turned over the card and stared at it. “How much can I spend?”
“Whatever you want. There is no limit on it.”
I sucked in a breath. “No limit? I’m not used to such a thing.”
“Get used to it, honey,” Leo said with a wide grin. “You’re with us now.”
“We’re all in,” Orion confirmed.
“Always,” Ares added.
I looked at each of them—these three men who’d somehow become my everything in such a short time. Who protected me, challenged me, and loved me despite the chaos I’d brought into their lives.
“Then let’s throw the biggest, most romantic, most talked-about party Las Vegas has ever seen.”
“And make the Gaming Commission look like villains for trying to destroy us,” Leo added.
I pulled out my master timeline. “According to this, we need to have the final walk-through complete by four p.m. tomorrow. That gives us thirty-one hours.”
“Then we’d better get started,” Orion said.
And just like that, we were at war, fought with ice sculptures, videos, lighting designs, and carefully crafted press releases.
A war where victory looked like four people standing on a stage, unashamed and in love, while the world watched and had no choice but to acknowledge that what we had was real.
I gathered my papers, my mind already racing through the first ten calls I needed to make.
Leo’s phone buzzed. “Frank’s waiting for you in the ballroom.”
“Then I’d better get going,” I said.
Frank Delacorte was a legend in Vegas production circles—fifty-something, gray ponytail, perpetually dressed in black, and capable of making miracles happen with duct tape and sheer force of will.
He met me in the grand ballroom thirty minutes after Leo’s call, his arms already full of equipment cases.
“So,” he said, setting down his load and pulling out a roll of bright yellow blocking tape. “Leo says you want to throw the party of the century. Tomorrow night.”
“That’s right.”
“All this in less than a day?” He gestured at the cavernous ballroom—beautiful but currently empty, echoing, and absolutely not ready for a gala.
“Thirty-one hours,” I corrected.
“Not counting sleep.”
“Who needs sleep?” I pulled out my notebook, feeling the adrenaline singing through my veins. I was energized, and despite the mattress gymnastics, I felt as if I could keep up this pace all day.
Frank’s eyebrows shot up. Then he laughed—a genuine belly laugh that echoed off the high ceilings. “Oh, honey. I like you already. Okay. Show me what you’re thinking.”
I walked him through the vision while he listened, occasionally grunting or nodding. When I finished, he pulled out his blocking tape and started marking the floor.
“Stage here,” he said, stretching tape across the far end of the ballroom. “Main performance area. You want the star field projection behind you during the announcement?”
“Exactly. Like we’re standing under the universe itself.”
“Poetic. I can do that.” More tape. “Dance floor center, obviously. Lounge areas along the sides—conversation pits with the velvet furniture from storage. VIP press area…” He measured with his eyes. “Northeast corner. Soundproofing drapes, elevated slightly so they can see but can’t interrupt.”
“Perfect.”
Frank marked out the press area, then moved toward the entrance. “Red carpet entry is here. Photo backdrop wall with the theme elements—what did Leo say? Neon Elysium?”
“Yes. Bold, modern, Vegas spirit without being garish.”
“I’ve got projection equipment that can create a living backdrop—constantly shifting constellation patterns, deep blues and purples, and gold accents. It’s more dynamic than static signage, and we can program it to change throughout the night.”
“That’s brilliant.”
“Ice sculptures,” Frank continued, moving to mark out stations around the perimeter. “Ricky’s our guy. He can do your Four Hearts centerpiece—I’m thinking four separate heart shapes that interlock at the center, backlit with programmable LEDs so they glow from within.”
I stopped writing. “That’s perfect. Exactly what I imagined but better.”
“Always better,” Frank agreed without modesty. “Additional sculptures here, here, and here for visual interest. Food stations between them keep traffic flowing and prevent bottlenecks.”
He was marking faster now, his earlier skepticism replaced by the focus of a man in his element.
“Bar setup,” he muttered, taping off a long section near the east wall. “The champagne tower will be placed at center stage for the midnight moment. I’ll rig special lighting underneath, so it glows when you pour.”
“Can you do that?”
“Can I—” He looked offended. “Honey, I’ve done lighting for productions with budgets a tenth of what you’re working with. Your project is a dream compared to some of the garbage I’ve had to make work.”
“So, it’s possible? All of it? In thirty-one hours?”
Frank stood back and surveyed his tape marks—a complete blueprint of the gala laid out on the ballroom floor in bright yellow lines.
“Possible?” He pulled out his phone and started typing rapidly.
“I’m calling in every favor, every freelancer, every crew member who owes me.
We’re going to need the rigging team here by noon to hang the projection equipment.
The lighting design will be finalized by two p.m. so we can program the sequences.
Ricky starts ice carving at four p.m. and works through the night.
Furniture delivery at six a.m. tomorrow.
Final setup and tech rehearsal at noon tomorrow.
Sound check at three p.m. and your walk-through at four p.m. It’s as good as done. ”
“I hope the brothers pay you well.”
“I have no complaints.” He admitted, “We’re cutting it incredibly close, but it’s doable. This plan is feasible if nothing goes wrong, and all my team members are available. Assuming your budget is as unlimited as Leo suggested.”
“It is.”
“Then we’ve got a shot.” Frank grinned, and I could see why Leo trusted him.
He made a few more notes on his phone. “When you make your big announcement, I need to know how long you’ll be speaking.
I need to know how long to hold the spotlight, when to cue the confetti, and whether you want music underneath or silence. ”
“Leo’s handling that.”
“Good, then I have an idea already. We’ve got thirty hours and forty-five minutes to make this work.” Frank started packing up his tape and equipment. “Tashi?”
“Yeah?”
“This is going to be spectacular—a night Vegas talks about for years. I can feel it.” He headed toward the exit, then paused.
“Oh, and one more thing—you might want to eat something. You’re going to burn about ten thousand calories today, and passing out during your announcement would be disastrous optics. ”
He left before I could respond, his laughter echoing back through the empty ballroom.
I stood alone in the massive space, surrounded by yellow tape marks that represented my vision, my plan, and my last desperate gamble to win this war.
Then I pulled out my phone and started making calls.
Color palette. Cocktail names. Music. Wording. Announcement speech.
I could do this.
I had to do this. First—color palette. I pulled out my phone and texted Leo: Neon Elysium colors. What are we thinking? Deep space blues? Purple? Gold accents?
His response came immediately: Deep indigo base. Purple undertones. The accents are accentuated with rose gold and champagne gold. Metallics catch light better on camera. Sending the palette now.
My phone chimed with an image—a gorgeous color scheme that looked both cosmic and intimate, bold and romantic.
So we’d made one decision, but there were still several hundred more to make.
I decided to check out the area for the VIP lounge and sent Leo another text: The VIP lounge?
Leo: I’m having the Event Planner, Evelyn, work on that. Right now, it’s just a smaller ballroom.
Me: Which one?
Leo: The Selene Room.
Me: Selene?
Leo: The Greek goddess of the Moon.
Me: Thanks.
I set out in search of the Selene room but when I turned a corner, I bumped into someone. My heart stopped when I saw it was Marcus Talbor.
“Well, well,” he said, his voice dripping with false pleasantry. “The woman of the hour. Or should I say, the woman of three men?”
I stepped back, putting space between us. “Marcus. What do you want?”
He smiled, and it made my skin crawl. “Just wanted to deliver something personally.” He pulled a manila envelope from his jacket. “Legal documents. You should probably have your boyfriends’ lawyer look at them.”
I didn’t take the envelope. “What kind of documents?”
“Sexual harassment lawsuit. The lawsuit is specifically against you, although I believe the brothers will also be named as co-defendants for contributing to a hostile work environment.” He held it out like a gift.
“This is bullshit and you know it.”
“Do I?” Marcus’s smile widened. “Because I have documentation. Witnesses. Video footage of you propositioning me in the elevator. Your social media posts suggesting you were sleeping your way to the top. A very compelling narrative about a young woman who used her sexuality to manipulate three powerful men.”
My hands clenched into fists. “You won’t get away with this.”
“Won’t I? The whole hotel’s buzzing. Tashi George and her three billionaires are throwing the party of the century to celebrate their unusual arrangement.”
“I don’t need to explain anything to you.”
He dropped the envelope at my feet. “You’ve got forty-eight hours to respond to the lawsuit. The deadline means that the news will break just before your Gaming Commission hearing. Funny how that worked out.”
“I don’t know what your game is.”
“It’s not a game, Tashi,” he said in a dark voice. “It’s business.”
The cruelty in his voice—the calculated way he twisted everything—made something inside me snap.
“You’re right about one thing,” I said. “I’m not playing a game.”
Marcus’s expression hardened. “You think you’re special.
You think because they’re fucking you, that makes you untouchable.
But you’re not. You’re just another employee who got in over her head.
And when this lawsuit hits, when the media gets hold of it, when the Gaming Commission sees yet another scandal—”
“Ms. George?” A woman’s voice cut through the confrontation. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
I turned to see a polished woman in her forties approaching—expensive suit, tablet in hand, the unmistakable air of someone who managed chaos for a living.
“Evelyn?” I guessed.
“Yes. Leo said you wanted to discuss the VIP lounge setup?” She glanced at Marcus with professional coolness. “Am I interrupting?”
“Not at all,” I said. “Mr. Talbor was just leaving.”
Marcus looked between us, clearly calculating whether to push further. Then he smiled that poisonous smile again. “I’ll be in touch,” he said. “Enjoy your party planning, Ms. George. I’m sure it’ll be memorable.”
He walked away, leaving the manila envelope on the floor between us.
Evelyn waited until he disappeared around the corner before speaking. “Should I be concerned about whatever is in that envelope?”
I bent down and picked it up, my hands steadier than I expected. “Right now, I need to focus on the Selene Room.”
Evelyn studied me for a moment, then nodded. “The Selene Room is this way. I’ve already pulled furniture options and lighting schemes based on the Neon Elysium theme.”
“You’re fast.”
“I’ve worked with the Kolykos brothers for five years. Fast is the only speed they understand.” She led me down the hallway, her heels clicking efficiently. “Leo mentioned you need the space ready by tomorrow evening for VIP guests and press. Intimate but impressive. Private but not isolated.”
“Exactly.” I followed her, shoving Marcus’s envelope into my bag. I’d handle it later. Right now, I had a lounge to design.
“The Selene Room is smaller than the main ballroom—capacity around fifty people comfortably,” Evelyn explained as we walked. “Floor-to-ceiling windows on the west wall with views of the Strip. Original hardwood floors. Acoustically treated so conversations stay private even when the room is full.”
She opened a set of double doors, and I stepped into a space that was somehow both intimate and grand. High ceilings, elegant architectural details, and those promised windows that would showcase the Vegas skyline at night.
“It’s perfect,” I said.
“Good. Because here’s what I’m thinking.
” Evelyn pulled up images on her tablet.
“Low seating clusters—velvet sofas in deep indigo and purple, accent pillows in rose gold. High cocktail tables around the perimeter for minglers. A small bar setup in the northeast corner. Soft lighting—no overhead fixtures, just strategic up-lighting, and candles.”
“And the windows?”
“Sheer drapes we can close for privacy or open for the view. I’d recommend keeping them open until after the main announcement, then closing them so this becomes a true retreat space.”
I looked at the room again, imagining it filled with press and VIPs, the brothers and me circulating, and the careful dance of managing media while maintaining intimacy.
“How quickly can you have it ready?”
“Furniture arrives at six a.m. tomorrow. My team can have it staged by noon. Final touches by three p.m. You’ll have time for a walk-through before the main event.”
“You’re a miracle worker.”
“I’m a professional event planner in Las Vegas,” Evelyn corrected. “Miracles are in the job description.” She made a few notes on her tablet. “The Selene Room is handled. Trust me.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Thank me after tomorrow night when you’re standing in that main ballroom with three men who love you, and the whole world is watching.” She left before I could respond, efficiency in motion.
I stood alone in the Selene Room—the VIP retreat, the private space where we’d escape between carefully orchestrated public moments—and pulled out Marcus’s envelope.
I didn’t open it. Not yet.
First, I needed to call Ares.
He answered immediately. “What’s wrong? You okay?”
“I need to see you.”