Jamie and I are chatting as we walk, debating whether we want to go out for dinner or just have drinks in the bar and then go back up for room service. I pause, reaching out for Jamie’s elbow.
“Did you see—?”
“What?”
But I shake my head, feeling silly. “Nothing. Just thought I saw someone I knew.”
“Who?”
I shrug. “Probably no one.” I hook my arm through Jamie’s. “I say we go with shopping, then drinks, then grab some sushi.” I point to a placard advertising a new Japanese restaurant that has just opened inside the hotel. “After that we can either crash in the room with a pay-per-view movie or go try our luck at the tables.”
“Or we could find a club and go dancing?”
“You have to work tomorrow.”
She makes a face. “True. Maybe tomorrow night.”
I nod, though I’m secretly planning to veto that come tomorrow. I love to dance. But I love it most when I’m dancing with Damien.
We’re in the owner’s suite on the thirty-fifth floor, and the first thing we see when the bellman opens the double doors is the amazing view down the Strip through the wall of floor to ceiling windows. It’s early March, so the sun has already set, and the lights of the city beyond the glass fill the room.
There is a huge kitchen, four bathrooms complete with Jacuzzi and steam shower, a living room, a media room, an exercise room, and two master bedrooms, each with their own private entrance.
The entire suite is more than twice the size of Jamie’s condo, and despite having experienced the power of Damien’s money many times over now, I have to admit I’m at least as wowed as my best friend.
I tip the bellman, who tells us to pick up the phone if we need anything at all, and when I turn back, I find Jamie in the middle of the huge living room, her arms out wide as she turns in a slow circle. She comes to a stop, meets my eyes, and then grins. “Can I just say how fucking awesome it is to have a best friend who’s married to a bazillionaire?”
I match her grin with one of my own. “Funny, I was just about to say how awesome it is to actually be married to one.”
Chapter 3
The bar closest to our bank of elevators is called Rain and has a water theme, including walls that feature streams of water running down them in what appears to be a permanent loop.
Jamie and I sit at the bar, which is made of a hollowed out slab of marble filled with water and covered with glass. Goldfish swim in the water, back and forth in this makeshift river. It’s whimsical and fun, though I have to wonder what the fish think about the whole thing.
“They love it,” Jamie says. “I mean, they’re goldfish. Usually the most they can aspire to is a bowl in some kid’s bedroom. This is the big time for them.”
I laugh and have to concede that she has a point. And then we both raise our glasses and toast the fish.
We’ve been down here for an hour, chatting and drinking and trying to firm up our plans for tomorrow.
“So shopping is definitely on?” Jamie asks. “I’m in the mood to do serious damage to my credit card. And you get some sort of discount here¸ right?”
“Only in the hotel stores. We go out into the mall, and you’re on your own.”
“Fair enough.” She sips her martini. “After lunch, then? I have the first interview at ten and the next at eleven. And after that, I’m done.”
“Are you ready?”
“Absolutely.” She’d read over her prep material a little bit in the limo and then again before we came down here. “And I’ll get up about six to give it another go-over. Don’t worry. This isn’t my first time playing a reporter.”
“I just want you to rock it,” I say. “This might lead to a full-time job, right?”
“Maybe. Gloria kind of hinted around. But I’m not going to get my hopes up. I’m just going to take my check for this gig and run. Straight to Michael Kors,” she adds with a laugh.
I roll my eyes.
“You should come down with me tomorrow. Watch the interview. Or at the very least, scope out the trade show. It’s mostly about games geared toward smartphone users.”
“I’m tempted,” I admit. “But I’ve pretty much decided that my goal for the weekend is to be as unproductive as humanly possible. So while you’re slaving away, I’m going to be drinking mimosas by the pool.”
“You bitch.”
“And completely proud of it.”
Jamie grins, then slides her hand into her purse. She stops mid-motion, then catches my eye, her expression sheepish.
I know exactly what she was doing—she was going to check her phone to see if she’d missed a call or text or email from Ryan.
I know, because I’ve done the same thing a half dozen times since we arrived at the hotel. And there hasn’t been a single word from Damien.
“We’re pathetic,” I say. “Two fabulous, smart women out on our own, and we can’t even go an hour without checking for a message from our significant others. Seriously, how girly and needy are we?”
“I’m not being girly and needy,” she says firmly. “I just keep expecting him to ask me what I’m wearing under my clothes.”
I raise a brow as I take another sip of my drink. “And what are you wearing?”
Her grin is slow and devious. “I’ll never tell.”
I laugh and we clink glasses. But I remain silent on my own relative state of undress. And, yes, I do feel naughty.
Which reminds me…