Chapter 8
Ellie
Ileave the office with a smile. A smile that follows me all the way to the parking garage.
It also earns me two head nods and a wink from random guys on the strip sidewalk that I wasn’t even aiming for.
It isn’t until I am in my rundown yet still thankfully running Honda that I let the smile fall from my face.
And fall it does. Along with my stomach and composure and everything else.
It’s not that I didn’t know that I was going to have to work some nights.
It literally said in the contract that I would have to accompany Damien from time to time to the Opal Room.
I guess I just didn’t think my first day on the job would be the first night of it.
He sort of failed to mention it at all, which means that I am not scrambling for a sitter.
I exhaust my normal people, which include my neighbor Amy and my friend Alyssa.
Amy is headed to Disney, of all things, with her husband and kids.
Alyssa’s whole house has the flu. Lovely.
That means I have to call my sister. I dial her number on speaker as I pull out of the garage.
I know she’ll say yes (she loves Luca like her own) but I also feel bad.
Rachel and Chance have been in wedding planning mode, and I hate asking for favors.
“Hey!” she answers with the energy I wish I had.
“Hey,” I answer.
“Uh oh. What’s wrong?” Did I mention how well my sister knows me? Well enough to know my whole mood, full-blown, from one word.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I start in. “I just got off work.”
“Oh my God, that’s right! You just started the new job today!
I’m so proud of you, Ellie! How was it?” That’s another thing she’s impeccable at.
Being happy for me. It’s like she is in charge of the spotlight and while it is often on herself, she has this way of turning it on me once in a while, making me sweat and fidget because I’d prefer to live my modest little life behind the scenes.
“It was good. It was…very informative,” I answer because I can’t exactly tell her about how my boss is hot, but I’m trying to ignore it even though at some point I’m going to have to sleep with him.
“Informative?” she snorts. “You make it sound like you got a job in accounting. Girl! What’s it like to be working on the suit and tie side of the hotel industry again? A hotel on the strip nonetheless. You can’t sit there and tell me you didn’t miss it.”
“I did,” I say, and there’s a hint of sadness in my voice, because I was excited for the job. When I got the interview, I nearly jumped for joy. Until I realized just what kind of job it was. Now it feels sugar coated. I’m not entirely sure what’s under that sugar coating.
I guess I’ll find out soon enough. As in later tonight.
“Well then, why do you sound so indifferent? Does your office suck?” She asks, and this time I’m the one snorting.
“No, my office is amazing. Unreal, actually. It’s nicer than my apartment.”
“Yeah!?” she beams. “So…is it the people you work around? Let me guess. They’re all snobby. Or transplants. Nothing is worse than a snobby transplant that just wants to live and work in Vegas so they can party all the time.”
“I actually haven’t met many of my co-workers. But the baristas are nice.”
“The baristas are nice?” I don’t have to be able to see my sister’s face to know what her face looks like. It’s not great. “Ellie. I know you’re hesitant to love the job because your last good job ended so abruptly. But I really have a good feeling about this one.”
You mean because the last job ended in my boyfriend having an affair, ruining my professional reputation and me getting pregnant only days into my slut era?
I don’t say that, of course. Instead, I say, “Maybe you’re right.
I think I’ll feel better about it once I get used to the schedule.
Speaking of the schedule…I have to work tonight… ” I trail off, holding my breath.
“You work nights?” she asks.
“Not every night. There’s just certain…after hours…things…that I guess we can’t take care of during the business day,” I answer.
“After hours? Sounds scandalous…” she jokes with a giggle, and I’m glad she’s not around to see my cheeks turning three shades of red.
“Totally,” I giggle nervously. “So I was wondering…my usual babysitters are busy tonight. Do you think there’s any way you could watch Luca?”
“Absolutely,” she says immediately, further deepening my guilt.
“It won’t be all the time, I swear. And I’m sure I’ll have a planned-out schedule soon so I can make arrangements ahead of time,” I ramble.
“Honey, you really don’t have to worry about it. It’s not a big deal, really,” Rachel says casually.
“Are you sure? I know you’re busy with wedding planning. And I feel bad that I can’t help you more,” I say.
“Ellie. You have been busy yourself. You’re starting a new job and getting your life on track. And besides, I’m always more than happy to help you with your little man. He’s my favorite baby that was ever born.”
I feel a sharp scratch in my heart. I hate the implication that my life has been off the tracks.
I also hate the sadness I can hear in her voice even though she’s doing her best to hide it.
Every day that goes by that Rachel is not pregnant is just a reminder that she has everything in the world except the one thing she truly wants.
Which is another reason I remind myself that I have to do this job, no matter what it entails.
That evening after Rachel picks Luca up, I change out of my dress. The one that Damien said was too long. It falls exactly one inch below my knees. But I guess in this industry, every inch counts. And in the case of women’s attire, longer isn’t better.
I’m not really sure what to do about that either.
As I rummage through my closet in search of something, well, shorter, I am kind of at a loss.
It’s not that I don’t have work attire, but most of it is more professional than sexy.
As I dig further into the back, I am able to find a red cocktail dress from years ago that I wore on a night out with Rachel.
It’s not exactly something I’d normally wear to work, but I’m not used to my work shift being at a gentleman’s club either.
I slip into the dress paired with the silver heels I bought to go with it and look at myself in the mirror.
Jesus Christ. I look like I’m getting ready for a date, and a hot one at that.
Honestly, the whole thing feels a little wild.
Okay, it feels very wild. But I know there’s no backing out now.
I have less than thirty minutes before I am supposed to be at the Redwood.
That was the only instruction Damien gave me.
Be at the Redwood at nine thirty. No earlier or later.
I take a deep breath. I don’t know if I am ready for this. But I look at myself in the mirror again.
My nails are painted.
My hair is curled.
My makeup is dramatic.
My lips are glossed. The same color as my dress.
I am as ready as I’ll ever be. As I drive to the hotel, the night is alive in a way only Vegas lights up.
In this city, every day is made to feel epic.
Like a best-kept secret that you want to show only this corner of the world.
And while the residential side of Vegas is where I spend the majority of the time, I look around and realize this is the city where anyone can be anything they want.
Including me. So as I park my car and grab my small clutch bag that is only big enough for my keys, wallet and phone, I look in the mirror one last time.
My hair is perfect. My makeup is spotless. For the first time in years, I look like a woman. Not a mom. Not a receptionist. Not a waitress. But a desirable, mysterious, confident woman.
“You can do this,” I tell myself in the mirror as I step out of the car.
I parked in VIP, per Damien’s instruction.
My heels clack on the pavement as I walk to the front entrance of the hotel.
I am wearing a black peacoat, also per Damien’s instruction.
You will take it off only once we enter the Opal Room.
I use the word instruction, not request, because Damien isn’t the kind of man who asks for anything.
He simply states what he wants, what he expects, and people listen.
I figured that the moment I walked into the interview.
Before I even knew what the all-inclusive benefits were, I could tell what kind of man he was.
He was intimidating, and yet…I couldn’t help but want to please him.
I’ve never really said that about a man in power before.
A black Jaguar rolls up to the curb, and I suck in a sharp breath. Damien told me the driver would be here at nine thirty on the dot, so I assume this is him. I take a step towards the car when suddenly the back door on the driver's side of the car opens and out steps Damien.
Black button-down, fitted enough to showcase his tight chest muscles.
Black slacks would definitely showcase something as well if he isn’t careful.
But I think the thing that has my breath stuck in my throat, my body frozen in place, is the way he is looking at me as he rounds the car and opens the other door for me.
“Are you ready, Annelise?” he asks. Ready for what, I don’t know. But whatever it is, I suppose I’m going to have to be.