Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Lexi
It was happening.
My suitcase sat by the door, containing my laptop, a logical mix of hoodies and jeans, three backup chargers, an encrypted VPN hotspot, and exactly zero clothing items considered “fun” by normal people standards.
Not exactly the usual equipment for a wild weekend in Atlantic City, but I had my own standards, and they were the ones going with me on this adventure.
Slash leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his gray sweater, the soft knit stretched across entirely unfair biceps.
His dark hair was still damp from the shower, his chin and cheeks freshly shaved.
He was giving me that look, the one that said he was proud of me for going on the trip despite knowing my aversion to crowds and partying, and he loved more me for it.
“You ready?” he asked.
I adjusted my backpack nervously. “Define ready. If you mean, have I optimized my phone and laptop for end-to-end encrypted communication? Yes. If you mean, am I packed with appropriate clothing and emotionally prepared for group spa time and nonstop girl talk? That’s debatable.”
“The Pap App indicates our friend is nowhere in the vicinity,” Slash said. “You should be good to go. But just in case, I walked around the neighborhood a bit and didn’t spot anything out of the ordinary.”
“Thank you.”
He pushed off the wall, closing the distance between us in three steps. His cologne hit me first, clean, sexy, and thoroughly distracting. “I’ll miss you, cara.”
“I’ll miss you, too, Slash.”
Outside, Gray honked, so I savored a moment more of his embrace before opening the door.
The crisp November air rushed in, carrying the scent of fallen leaves and impending awkwardness.
Pulling me into his arms one more time, Slash kissed me for a long, lingering moment and then touched my cheek with his fingertips. “Take care of my wife, okay?”
“Only if my husband promises not to overdose on alcohol, cigars, and junk food,” I replied. “Hangovers count against you in terms of having fun.”
His laughter followed me as I put my suitcase in the back and climbed into the car behind Gray. Basia blew Slash a kiss and Gwen immediately started in about road trip playlists. Slash just stood on the porch, leaning against the rail, looking like he should be posing for an Italian men’s magazine.
As we pulled away from the curb, I had the sinking feeling my girls’ weekend was going to require more than gallons of wine, encrypted Wi-Fi, and backup chargers. It was going to require cake-level emotional resilience…and, dang it, my husband had eaten the last piece.
The car ride to Atlantic City was…educational, to say the least.
I learned that Gwen’s taste in music could summon minor demons, Basia’s unborn child already had a more sophisticated wardrobe than I did, and Gray, despite being a highly trained CIA analyst, had no patience for Jersey traffic and a deeply concerning fondness for creative hand gestures.
By the time we hit the Atlantic City Expressway, I was seriously reconsidering my decision to attend. But I dutifully updated Slash via text that I was still alive.
We rolled into Atlantic City just before dusk. Neon signs flashed everywhere, and I caught the faint scent of salt water from the window I’d cracked miles ago to help combat motion sickness.
“Oh my gosh, look at this place!” Gwen practically bounced in the passenger seat, clutching her phone and snapping blurry photos of the landscape.
Basia, looking impossibly chic with her baby bump, examined the towering hotels. “Atlantic City is gaudy, over-the-top, and smells of regret. I love it.”
Gray remained unimpressed, steering us through the traffic with one hand while probably analyzing the latest terrorist threat in her head.
“We’re going to have so much fun,” Gwen said, practically vibrating with excitement. “Come on, I won us a totally free suite. Four nights of luxury and girl talk. It’ll be like a slumber party.”
Lovely. I debated how to best respond when the towering facade of the Orchid Royale Casino and Resort suddenly loomed ahead.
A few words immediately leaped to my mind. Gaudy. Massive. Gold accents. Glittering windows. I definitely reconsidered my decision.
Gray, however, pulled into the hotel valet parking, completely cool and unbothered while Basia reapplied her lipstick, not worried about the fact that we could be walking into a backdrop to several FBI investigations.
We piled out of the car as Gray turned over her keys for a card receipt and a suspiciously chipper bellhop whisked away our luggage.
We walked into a lobby of marble floors, pretentious chandeliers, and enough gilded mirrors to make even the most secure people question their hairstyle and clothes.
And I was not secure by any stretch of the imagination.
“This is so extra,” Gwen whispered to Basia, eyeing a flowing waterfall installation by the elevators.
Basia grinned, patting her bump. “It’s Atlantic City. Extra is mandatory.”
Gwen led the charge to the check-in desk while Gray found the bathroom. Basia and I trailed behind Gwen. I looked around the lobby, calculating how many Wi-Fi networks I could break into from this location. My estimate was alarming.
“Reservation for Gwen Sinclair,” Gwen said to the receptionist, producing her prize certificate like a golden ticket.
The receptionist, a tall guy with hair sharper than his suit, tapped the computer and smiled.
“Oh, yes. You’re the big winner from our most recent prize promo.
Congratulations.” He slid over our key cards.
“Welcome to the Orchid Royale. You ladies enjoy your stay in the penthouse. You’re going to love it. ”
“Penthouse?” Gwen said, her eyes widening. “I thought I won a suite.”
“Lucky for you, you’ve been upgraded.”
Gwen squealed, clutching key cards for each of us, and turned to Basia. “OMG. We’re going to live like queens.”
Basia grinned as Gray rejoined us, and Gwen giddily gave her the news about the room upgrade. We rode the gold-trimmed elevator, everyone talking at once except for me, who quietly contemplated the many ways this trip could go wrong without even having to invoke my little black cloud.
Apparently, the penthouse had its own floor, the top one, and only our key cards could get us there.
Once at the top floor, the elevator doors opened with a discreet chime.
A waft of cool, filtered air spilled into the private foyer.
There was a small area outside the elevator before the door to our room, to leave an umbrella or sit down.
Gwen keyed us in, and we crossed the threshold into the penthouse, the door swinging shut behind us as we entered.
“Holy cow,” Gwen breathed as Gray whistled under her breath.
The top-floor penthouse of the Orchid Royale Casino wasn’t just fancy—it was the kind of place that made you instinctively check if you were dressed appropriately to enter (which I wasn’t).
Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the entire suite, giving a sweeping view of Atlantic City’s glittering skyline in the deepening dusk.
The boardwalk below flickered with glittering lights, and the ocean was a dark, rolling expanse, reflecting the casino’s neon glow in streaks of yellow, red, and gold.
Inside the living room, everything gleamed.
Soft, golden light from the lamps warmed the space.
A curved sectional in soft dove-gray leather wrapped around a marble fireplace that flickered red, yellow, and blue with gas-fed flames.
An enormous flat-screen television hung above the fireplace.
A low glass coffee table sat in front of the sofa, the kind that looked fabulous until you set a bowl of popcorn on it with a little too much enthusiasm.
Something I could see myself doing, so I mentally reminded myself to be careful.
A mahogany bar stood nearby, stocked with several bottles of different-colored liquors ready to be poured into one of the crystal tumblers that sparkled like diamonds. To the left of the bar, a sleek kitchenette gleamed with white counters and cabinets and what looked like a fancy espresso machine.
Our suitcases already sat to one side of the sectional, neatly lined up with no porter in sight.
I pulled out my phone, snapped a few photos, and texted them to Slash.
I sent a caption, telling him we’d been upgraded to a penthouse.
Definitely bonus points for me on the fun meter.
It was a good sign to start out ahead on our wager.
Gwen purred with happiness as she bounded into the living room and spun around like she was auditioning for a reality show. “We have arrived, ladies.”
Basia strolled into the room and dropped onto the plush sofa. “I’m not going to lie. This is pretty sweet, Gwen.”
“Right?” Gwen said, grinning. “There are two large bedrooms with two double beds each and an en suite bathroom.”
“Want to room, Gray?” I asked and got a nod. Although I’d roomed with Basia in college, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to relax if she got a weird midnight craving. And while I liked Gwen, I wasn’t certain I could handle her current level of enthusiasm, either.
Gray went to get her suitcase, pulling it toward one of the rooms. I followed her, lugging my stuff behind. It was a sleek space with two beds, crisp white bedding, and an unsettlingly large portrait of a seagull above the dresser.
“That picture reminds me of my wedding,” I said as I unpacked my chargers and backup chargers. “The one that ate my dad’s sandwich and caused me to clock him.”
“I remember,” she said. “I wrote the emergency medical plan and it didn’t cover you knocking out your dad with a candlestick. I’d never felt so underplanned.”
I winced at the memory of that. “Yeah, well, can I cover the portrait with a pillowcase? It’s giving me the creeps.”
“Knock yourself out,” Gray said and then looked at me over her shoulder. “And you know I didn’t mean that literally, right?”
“Right,” I said as I tucked a pillowcase over the portrait. “And thanks for letting me room with you.”
Gray hung up a windbreaker in the closet and smiled. “I get it. And I’m happy with this arrangement, too, so it’s a win-win.”
“Good. That makes me feel better.”
I finished unpacking my suitcase and went out into the living room. Basia reclined on the sectional, rubbing her stomach. “Who is ready to win some money?” she asked cheerfully.
“Me!” Gwen said, grabbing her handbag. “Let’s go.”
“I’m feeling a bit nervous about casinos,” I started. “I’ve never been to one before. What if I suck at cards against an experienced dealer?”
“You’ll never know until you try,” Gray said, patting me encouragingly on the shoulder. “Come on, give it a shot. We all have faith in you. Besides, we’re here, so we might as well check it out.”
“I guess you’re right,” I said, remembering my bet with Slash. If I was good at cards at home, hopefully that would translate to a casino.
Slinging my purse over my shoulder, I followed them toward the door. After all, my math and card skills might earn us some money and provide the framework for having a lot of fun for the weekend.
I was about to find out.
Surely nothing could go wrong with four women walking confidently into an Atlantic City casino.