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  “Once more I’ve decided you’re out of the general rotation.” He examines his well manicured fingernails. “Though not for the same reason as last time.” He casually looks my way, and I can tell he notes my shiver at his sly reminder of what happened the last time he had me in his office. “Theo has asked for you to attend to him for the next week and I’ve accepted. You’ll serve him exclusively starting tonight.”

  I work to keep my face unreadable. It’s not an unheard of offer. Several times in the past I’ve participated in such an arrangement. Like all things in life, there are good parts and bad parts to consider. Though of course, the choice isn’t mine to make.

  “Well?” Mike asks. “What do you think?”

  Normally, I’d reply with snark. Today, it would take too much effort. I only nod.

  “And of course,” he continues, “you’ll get reimbursed. I think five hundred.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek. Five hundred dollars is nothing. It’s a carrot dangled in front of me. I know from times past if I try to collect the money, he’ll tell me he took ‘expenses’ out of it and pass me a twenty.

  “Thank you,” I force myself to reply and I know there’s a bitterness to my voice.

  “Never let it be said I don’t take care of my girls.”

  There isn’t anything to say to that, so I keep my mouth shut.

  He reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a room card. “This will get you into the Player’s Suite.”

  I raise my eyebrow. The Player’s Suite is the best room in the hotel.

  He grins the same ugly grin. “I said I took care of my girls, didn’t I? I knew you’d like the accommodations.”

  Actually, I like my own apartment, my own bed, my own sheets, my bookshelf, and my tub. His expression taunts me, practically begging me to say the smart ass comment dancing on my lips. I don’t give in. “How very gracious. Thank you.”

  “There’s nothing gracious about it, Theo is paying dearly.” His eyes grow dangerous. “And you will too if this next week doesn’t run as smoothly as possible.”

  I nod. “Yes, Sir.”

  He leans back in his chair. “Like I said before, there will be no more walks unless Theo asks you to accompany him. There will be no hanging out with Vicki. And most importantly, there will be no accidental meetings with Isaiah Martin.” He pops his knuckles. “Understood?” “Completely, Sir,” I say, not really surprised that Mike knows everything.

  “For the next week, you belong to Theo and you are to do any and all things he requires. If he tells you to do something, you are to act as though I’m telling you myself.”

  This isn’t anything unheard of. Mike has all his clients sign a contract stating they understand what is and is not allowed. Still, even after all these years, hearing him say it aloud makes me shudder.

  “Yes, Sir,” I say again, but even I can tell my voice is lower.

  “Good girl,” he says, and I swear if I ever leave Vegas no one will ever say ‘good girl’ to me again.

  “Now.” He’s either completely unaware of my dislike of him or choosing to ignore it. “You look a bit rough. I need you to go rest and pack so you can show Theo a good time.” He nods to the passkey in my hand. “Be in his room by seven. Not seven fifteen or even five after. Seven exactly.”

  When he turns back to his laptop and doesn’t say anything further, I stand and walk to the door.

  “Athena?” he calls in the second before I leave his office. “Isaiah Martin doesn’t exist for you anymore.”

  I nod.

  “I need a verbal response so I can be sure you understand. Say it.”

  I clench my teeth before replying, “Yes, Sir. I understand. Isaiah Martin doesn’t exist for me anymore.”

  I am certain he hears the hatred in my voice.

  Chapter Seven

  I trudge back to my apartment, feeling four times my age. In my mind, I’m thinking about what I have to pack for the week ahead, and I grit my teeth. I won’t have any down time at all; at no time can Theo see me as anything less than the most desirable woman he’s ever laid eyes on.

  “There you are. Where have you been?”

  My head shoots up at the desperation in Vicki’s voice. Her eyes are bloodshot and her cheeks wet.

  “Vicki? You okay?” I fumble with my key and let us both inside.

  She doesn’t answer until I close the door behind us. “Something’s going on.”

  “What?” I ask, but her eyes dart around the apartment. “Vicki?”

  “Do you think our places are bugged?”

  “What? No,” I say, but my mind can’t rule out the possibility.

  She bites her lip and turns on my kitchen faucet. “Come talk over here, they won’t be able to hear us over the water.”

  “Are you insane?” But I walk over to stand by her anyway. “Now will you tell me what’s going on?”

  She shakes her head. “Where were you?”

  "I went out this morning and when I came back, I was summoned to Mike's office."

  She drops her head low toward the water running into the sink. "Again?"

  “I wasn't called the first time. I went of my own accord." I’m trying to figure out what’s going on with Vicki, but I don’t have a clue as to what her deal is. The last time I saw her, she wasn’t like this. It scares me.

  But even more so, I’m scared about what will happen if I’m late tonight. I need to get my suitcase, pack, pull my shoes together, probably do my nails. And I really needed a nap. I glance back to Vicki, still standing with her head in my sink.

  "I really need to get busy,” I tell her.

  She doesn't move her head. "This early in the day?"

  "I have to be at hotel at seven. Exactly.”

  "How long?"

  "A week. Now would you get your head out of my sink?"

  She stands up and water drips from the ends of her hair. "You need to come over here.”

  I’m not sure why I keep discounting her warnings. I blame it on the emotions of the day catching up. And the fact that Mike somehow knows everything. I decide some of the blame is Theo’s as well, because why not?

  "Vicki, seriously, stop."

  She leans further into the sink. "I'm telling you, something's going on."

  I walk to my tiny closet and jerk out a suitcase. "You've been one of Mike's girls for eight, maybe nine years, and now all of a sudden, you're worried about someone bugging your apartment?"

  "Honestly, I think — "

  “Can we talk later? I’m exhausted and have too much to do to sit around with my head in a sink.”

  She slams the one-handed lever on my faucet so hard, I’m surprised it doesn't fall off. “Fine. Later."

  I sigh. Great. Now, I've pissed her off. Strike two hundred three for me today.

  "Look." I reach out a hand, but she bats it away. "I'm sure I'll have some down time at some point this week. I'll talk to you then. I bet the Player's Suite isn't bugged."

  Her lips tighten into a thin line. "I bet it is."

  "Then maybe we'll have a chance to talk outside.” I walk to the door and open it.

  She wipes an eye. "You don't believe me, do you?"

  "I'm tired. I'm sore. I have to pack. Dealing with one more thing will send me so far over the edge, I may not find my way back."

  "Of course," she says. "It's all about you anyway."

  She leaves without looking at me again.

  Chapter Eight

  My time with Theo isn't that bad. Granted, it isn't all that good, but comparatively speaking, he’s not the worst I’ve been with. Not by a long shot. During the day, he works from the tiny office in the suite, and in the evening we go out.

  Whenever we’re out in public, if he’s able, he keeps his hand on my thigh, as if I’m going to bolt if given the opportunity. Nights are nights. At times, he is rough and demanding. More often than not, I wake up tired and sore.

  Halfway into our week, Theo opens the door to the bathroom an
d finds me soaking in the tub. I've just taken some ibuprofen and am trying to soak the soreness out of my muscles.

  “We’re doing dinner downstairs tonight," he says, eyes skimming over my body. I don't even bother trying to cover up. "We leave in two hours."

  Play your part.

  I bring the washcloth up to my upper chest and squeeze, letting the water run over my body. "What would you like me to wear?"

  His eyes are fixed on my chest. "I'd like for you to wear nothing, but that would probably get us kicked out of the restaurant. Do you have anything suitable for an upscale bistro?"

  I come to my knees, choking back the ever-growing resentment and hatred. "Sugar, I've got anything you want."

  He undoes his pants. "Come here and prove it.”

  ***

  I feel out-of-sorts and uncomfortable in my own skin at dinner with Theo. I look well enough in my classically simple black dress and spiked heels, but on the inside, I feel itchy.

  I have to play my part, though, and I make myself focus on dinner and the man across the table from me. We’re sitting at a table near the center of the restaurant’s dinning area. A prime location to see and be seen. No doubt part of Theo’s intent.

  The waiter, a young man I recognize from previous dinners, waits on our table, and after he takes our entrée orders, I realize I’ve said less than ten words to Theo. Not a wise move considering my recent run-in with Mike. I clear my throat, and Theo looks up from swirling his wine glass.

  “So, Sugar,” I say. “Tell me again what it is you do.”

  He immediately launches into a near monolog about his business, allowing me the opportunity to ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ at the appropriate times. Simple as that. He gets to talk about himself, and I pretend to listen and pay attention. I mean, really, what harm does it do? It’s not like there’s going to be a quiz at the end of the night.

  While Theo drones on and on about all the great and wonderful things he’s done for his company, I tune into the nearby conversations of the diners around us. It never hurts to be in the know about what’s happening around you, after all.

  A deep laugh catches my attention. I smile at Theo, run one finger around the rim of my water glass, and delicately look to my right.

  Isaiah.

  Two tables away.

  I place my hands in my lap, afraid I’m going to knock my glass over.

  I hope he doesn’t see me.

  Theo stops talking long enough to take a bite of his salad. Fortunately, he’s so caught up in telling the story of himself, he doesn’t notice my inattention.

  I smile at him. “That sounds absolutely fascinating.” Though, truthfully, I have no idea what he’s been saying. For all I know, he spent the last few minutes reciting all fifty states and their capitals.

  Fortunately for me, he must have spent a few words talking business, because he nods and starts again.

  Blah. Blah. Blah.

  I glance to my right again. Isaiah is dining with someone I don’t recognize. I strain to see if I can hear what he’s discussing, but it's no use. The dining room is too loud, and if I move my chair closer to the right, Theo will notice.

  At the moment, he’s bragging about something his vice president said.

  “Unbelievable,” I say, at what I hope is an appropriate time.

  He snorts with self-satisfaction, and I risk another glimpse toward Isaiah’s table. At the same time, I try to keep Theo’s attention by pressing my shoe against his lower leg and running my foot up his shin.

  And lock eyes with Isaiah.

  For one long moment, neither one of us move. Then, his gaze travels to my outfit and flits across the table. Down to rest under the table where my foot still rests on Theo’s calf.

  Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no.

  Nothing at first, but then understanding dawns, and Isaiah’s mouth drops open. He closes it quickly. I spin my head back to Theo.

  “Everything okay?” He glances around the dining room.

  The room seems much too quiet.

  “Just peachy, Sugar,” I assure him. The me of two weeks earlier would have laughed and ran my hand across the table to subtly brush his fingers. Reassure him. Play him.

  But I know Isaiah is watching my every move, so I drop my foot to the floor and give a toss of my head.

  “I wonder where our food is?” I ask. Pretend Isaiah isn’t there. “Feels like it’s been ages since we ordered.”

  The undercurrent at the table has changed somehow, and even Theo is smart enough to notice.

  He looks again in Isaiah’s direction. “Maybe we should leave,” he says.

  “Oh, no.” I reach my hand out and then pull it back before it can find purchase with his. “You don’t want to miss the tuna. It’s out of this world.”

  He gives one more quick glance around the dining room, scrutinizes my expression, and nods. “Why not,” he says. “We have all the time in the world.” He raises his glass. “To tonight.”

  Raise your glass, I tell myself. Raise it.

  But my body knows Isaiah is still watching and in my mind, he’ll know exactly what I’m toasting.

  Across the table, Theo’s eyes narrow. I fumble for my glass and in doing so, knock it over.

  He lets out a string of cuss words and jumps up, dabbing his napkin at the ever-growing wet spot.

  “Oh my word,” I say. “Would you look at that? I am such a klutz. At least it’s just water.”

  I take a deep breath and draw upon my ten years of experience. Act like you’re in control. Like you know what you’re doing. That everything is going exactly like you planned.

  A waiter passes by and I hold out a hand to stop him. “Excuse me,” I say, with a little wink. “I seemed to have knocked my water over. Be a dear and send a busboy over, would you?”

  The waiter knows who I am, of course, but since everything in the hotel is one long, drawn-out play, he acts his part, gives a little bow and leaves with a gracious, “Yes, ma’am.”

  I turn my attention to Theo. “I am so sorry.”

  His expression hints at anger. His eyebrows wrinkle and his nostrils flare. “Well, then,” he says, very serious like. Very dry.Very slowly. “We’ll finish our dinner and you can make it up to me later.”

  I sit there and stare into Theo’s You-Will-Make-Up-For-Spilling-Your-Water-And-I-Mean-Good expression, and I tell myself one way or another I am leaving Vegas.

  Just play your part. Just play your part, I repeat the lines that have always gotten me through such times in the past. Gradually, I pull myself together. I give Theo my best seductive smile. “Sugar, by the time you close your eyes tonight, you won’t even remember this.”

  The busboy shows up right at that second and artfully removes the soiled tablecloth. By the time new linens appear and my glass is refilled, the angry expression leaves Theo’s face. We’re finally alone, and I look to my right again. I first notice Isaiah, because he’s who I’m looking for. But he’s not looking at me, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “Do you see someone you recognize?” Theo asks.

  I snap my head back and mutter curse myself internally. What if Mike had tipped Theo off about Isaiah? That was all I needed. “No. Yes. What?” I stammer.

  “At the table over there.” Theo nods his head in Isaiah’s direction. “Something or someone must have caught your attention.”

  I curse at myself some more, because not only is Theo pissed, I recognize who Isaiah is talking with.

  Mike.

  And Mike is watching me. I can handle this situation in various ways. For one, I can pretend I hadn’t seen him, but our gazes had locked over Isaiah’s head, so I’m sure that won’t work. That leaves somehow acknowledging him. And after our time in his office, I know he won’t appreciate bold and sassy.

  Subtle and sly it is. And while it was never, ever, acceptable to lie, according to my Granny, all Southern women know the benefits of telling selective truths.

  “It was nothing.” I ignore Isa
iah and give a quick wink to Mike. “Just someone I thought I knew.”

  Theo looks to my right and scans the crowd. I give his leg a gentle push under the table to turn his attention back to me.

  “I’m still not sure if it’s anyone I know.” My foot moves further up his leg. I drag the heel of my shoe up his shin. “After all, what does it matter when I’m sitting here with you?”

  Theo clears his throat, obviously caught off-guard. “Right,” he says and turns back to his food.

  I give myself a pat on the back. Way to defuse the situation. I pretend to take a sip of the wine the waiter inadvertently gave me after replacing the tablecloth.

  Mike suddenly appears behind Theo and places a hand on his shoulder. “How’s the dinner tonight?”

  I thank my lucky stars I’d only pretended to sip my wine. Had I taken an actual drink, I’d probably spewed it all over myself. I wipe the smug grin off my face, replace it with a dutiful smile, and nod to Theo.

  “Theo, Sugar.” Fortunately, my voice doesn’t shake. “How’s dinner so far?”

  Theo stands up and shakes Mike’s hand.“We had a little accident earlier, but it’s all been taken care of. And Athena’s assured me the tuna isn’t to be missed.”

  “An accident?” Mike raises an eyebrow at me.

  “Just a little spill,” Theo replies.

  “Do I need to,” Mike looks straight at me, “clean anything up?”

  “Oh, no,” Theo answers, clearly missing the hidden subtext. “Your dining staff is superb.”

  “Yes,” Mike says. “They are.” The implication, of course, is his escort girls leave a lot to be desired. Theo, however, once again proves he’s not the brightest light in the Vegas sky and completely ignores the subtle jab.

  Mike chats with Theo for a few more minutes, and I force myself to look anywhere but in Isaiah’s direction. The diners directly in front of me. The mural on the ceiling. My gaze follows our waiter to our table, and I watch as he places our entrees down. I’m not hungry anymore, and I know my tuna will taste like cardboard.

  “I really hate to hear about your spill,” Mike says to Theo. “Dinner’s on the house tonight.”