Chapter 11 - Tashi
Tashi
I stood in the brothers’ conference room with my laptop open, my phone displaying engagement metrics in real time, and enough nervous energy zinging through me to power the entire Vegas Strip.
“Are you about to pitch something that will give Orion an aneurysm?” Leo supplied, grinning from his seated position.
“Probably.” I pulled up my presentation. “But it will work.”
Orion stood pacing, fingers steepled, expression unreadable. After yesterday’s cold professionalism, I expected resistance. Instead, he just nodded. “Show us.”
I clicked to the first slide with the caption: The My Heroes Tour.
“I didn’t get to tell you all the details yesterday. It’s a Las Vegas scavenger hunt where we visit high-profile Strip locations while I post clues and content. Followers engage for chances to win Olympus Royale gaming credits, with a grand prize luxury weekend stay.”
Ares, leaning against the window with his arms crossed, shook his head immediately. “Absolutely not.”
“Hear her out,” Leo said quietly.
“We’re already dealing with—you know.”
I gritted my teeth. Something was going on they wouldn’t tell me about, and I didn’t like being kept in the dark.
Ares continued, his voice tight. “Kurt Wilder’s looking for any excuse to hammer us with regulatory violations. And you want us to parade around Vegas like we’re running for office?”
“I want to control the narrative,” I corrected, meeting his gaze. “We flipped the narrative that the Olympus Royale is a dangerous place to ‘Olympus Royale leadership is accessible, engaged, and confident enough to show their faces all over this city.’”
“The fire rescue posts already did that,” Orion pointed out.
“Those posts made you heroes. This makes you human.” I pulled up my engagement analytics.
“Look at the comments. People aren’t just impressed—they’re invested.
They want to know you. They want to feel like they’re part of your world.
This tour gives them that access while we maintain complete control of the content. ”
I clicked through slides showing projected reach, algorithm optimization strategies, hashtag targeting, and real-time engagement tactics. With each slide, I could see Orion’s posture shift from skeptical to considering.
“Security concerns?” he asked, looking at Ares.
“If we control locations, timing, and post advance teams—manageable,” Ares admitted in a grudging tone.
“Regulatory concerns?”
“We’re promoting our business,” I said. “Gaming credits as prizes are standard industry practice. Kurt Wilder can’t touch this without looking like he’s targeting us specifically.”
“But in other venues?” Ares said with skepticism.
“We’ll hand them out on the public sidewalk as we exit.”
“That opens up counterfeiting.”
“I thought of that. We don’t give out actual chips but coupons for chips, and use registration numbers on the coupons. And the beauty is that we get to take pictures of the recipients, so we get instant verification upon redemption.”
Orion’s lips twitched. Almost a smile. “And the ROI?”
“Hundreds of thousands of impressions within hours. Booking inquiries from people who want to stay where the ‘heroes’ work. Media coverage we don’t have to pay for.
And most importantly—” I met each of their eyes in turn.
“You get to reshape how Vegas sees you. Not as distant billionaires, but as leaders people want to support.”
Silence stretched for three heartbeats.
Then Leo stood. “I’m in.”
“Of course you are,” Ares muttered.
“Orion?” I asked.
He studied me for a long moment, and I wondered if he was seeing the woman who’d texted him suggestively this morning or the professional who’d just pitched her ass off. Maybe both.
“Let’s do it,” he said. “But we go live tonight. No time for people to overthink or talk themselves out of it.”
“Immediately?” Ares looked like he wanted to argue, but Orion held up his hand.
“Tashi’s right about controlling the narrative.” Orion grabbed his suit jacket. “We move now, we move decisively, and we show Vegas that the Olympus Royale isn’t hiding from anything.”
At eight p.m. I stepped out of the hotel’s front entrance and stopped short.
The three of them stood by the limo, and for a moment I forgot how to breathe.
They’d dressed for going out—not in the tailored business suits I’d gotten used to but in clothes that straddled the line between casual and expensive in a way only rich men could pull off.
Orion wore a navy jacquard dinner jacket over a gray silk shirt, paired with charcoal cashmere slacks. As always, he exuded elegance and control.
Ares had gone for a black sport coat with subtle leopard jacquard that caught the light when he moved, paired with dark slacks and boots that probably cost more than my rent. Understated but unmistakably predatory.
Leo stood between them in a navy dinner jacket with gold embroidered florals catching the light—baroque and bold. Underneath, a crisp white shirt, and tailored dark slacks. He looked as if he’d stepped off a red carpet.
They looked like an ad campaign for sin.
Leo spotted me first. A slow grin spread across his face as he let out a low whistle. “Look at you.”
Both Orion and Ares turned their heads sharply, twin glares landing on their brother.
“What?” Leo said, hands up in mock surrender. “I’m just appreciating—”
“We can all see her,” Ares said flatly.
“You look lovely,” said Orion. He gazed at me intently, at the black chiffon dress that draped provocatively between my breasts with a flared skirt that hung in clingy folds.
Orion took my hand and guided me into the limo, an extra-large model with spacious seating toward the back and front of the vehicle.
I settled in next to the far window, and the men entered, Orion sitting too near me.
Leo picked up a chilled bottle of champagne from a compartment under his seat and poured flutes for each of us.
“To a successful ‘My Heroes’ promotion!” he said with a twinkle in his eye.
“Restaurant first,” I said, checking my phone, where I’d already posted the initial teaser. “High-end, nighttime crowd, good for showing you interact with staff and guests naturally.”
“Naturally,” Ares repeated flatly.
“You know, like humans.” Leo elbowed him. “Smile. Wave. Pretend you don’t mentally calculate threat assessments every three seconds.”
“I calculate them every two seconds. That’s why we’re still alive.”
I laughed despite myself. “That. Right there. That’s the content people want.”
We pulled up to Carbone, where I’d called ahead to warn them we were coming. The ma?tre d’ looked thrilled and terrified in equal measure.
“Gentlemen,” I said as we walked in. “Just be yourselves. I’ll handle the content.”
What followed was controlled chaos in the best possible way.
Orion spoke with the sommelier about wine pairings, his knowledge and genuine interest clear. I filmed it, posted it with the caption: CEO who actually knows his Burgundy from his Bordeaux. #OlympusFamily #KnowYourBillionaires.
Leo chatted with a young couple celebrating their anniversary, recommending his favorite spots on the Strip and insisting their next meal be on the Olympus Royale. The couple looked starstruck. I got it all on video.
Ares—surprisingly—helped an elderly woman with her chair and spent five minutes discussing his favorite Italian dishes with her. When she asked for a photo, his smile looked almost genuine.
I posted everything in real time and watched engagement numbers climb.
“We’re trending locally,” I said as we left the restaurant. “Next location?”
“Bellagio,” Orion decided. “Show we’re not afraid of the competition.”
The Bellagio casino floor was precisely the spectacle I’d hoped for. Other patrons noticed immediately—the Kolykos triplets walking through like they owned the place, which, in spirit they kind of did.
People started taking photos. Then selfies. Then approached for autographs.
“This is insane,” Leo said, signing a napkin for a woman who called him her “casino daddy.”
“This is marketing,” I corrected, filming everything.
Ares positioned himself so he could watch the crowd while still being in frame. Orion charmed an investment banker who wanted to talk strategy. Leo made a kid’s day by giving him a chip and telling him to “save it for when you’re twenty-one.”
My phone was exploding with notifications. Shares. Comments. Individuals were tagging their friends in these posts. Local influencers were reposting our content.
“Next,” I said, riding the high. “We need nightclub energy.”
XS Nightclub at the Wynn was perfect—all lights and bass and beautiful people. The manager spotted us immediately and ushered us to VIP before I could explain we wanted to be visible.
“Actually,” I said, “we’d like to be on the floor. With everyone else.”
The manager looked confused, but the brothers understood.
We waded into the crowd. The music pounded. Lights strobed. And everywhere we went, people recognized them.
“Holy shit, that’s the Olympus guys!”
“The ones from the fire rescue?”
“Are they single? Asking for a friend.”
I filmed it all. The energy. The excitement. The way Leo danced with a bachelorette party. The way Orion bought a round for a group of Marines. The way Ares stood guard but somehow still looked like he was part of it.
My phone died. I switched to my backup battery and kept going.
By the time we piled back into the limo, I was exhausted and exhilarated in equal measure.
“Numbers?” Orion asked.
I pulled up the analytics. “Three hundred thousand impressions. Five thousand new followers across the platforms. Booking inquiries are up forty percent. And—” I showed them my phone. “We’re trending nationally.”
“Nationally,” Leo repeated.
“People are creating memes. Fan art. Shipping you with each other and with me.” I scrolled through the comments. “Someone started a petition to make you honorary Vegas mayors.”
Ares actually laughed. “That’s ridiculous.”
“That’s success,” I corrected.