This Changes Everything (12 page)

Turning, Trixie stared at her with raised eyebrows. “Interesting advice.”

Cleo felt her cheeks get warm. “Drink your damn drink.”

“I’m more than twice your age, you know. I’m full of wisdom.”

“Says the woman wearing mismatched socks.”

“You love my style,” Trixie said. “You just haven’t matured enough to dare it yourself.”

“I dare it all the time,” Cleo said.

When her second drink arrived, Cleo gave in, ordered another for herself, and settled in the seat next to Trixie’s for a few therapeutic pulls at the machine. After a few minutes, she asked, “Are you feeling better yet?”

“I told you. I’m feeling too much better for my own good.” Trixie lowered her voice. “It’s so easy to get hurt.”

Murmuring her sympathy, Cleo pulled the lever. “You can handle it.”

“He’s smart and kind, dark and handsome,” Trixie continued. “What’s not to like?”

“Exactly.”

“If he’s willing to go for it, why not give it a shot? Even if it ends badly, it could be worth it anyway. Life’s short.”

“I totally agree,” Cleo said. After a few long moments, she noticed Trixie was grinning at her. “What?”

“You didn’t realize I was talking about you and Sly,” Trixie said.

Turning away, Cleo looked at the reels. She’d won. An evil impulse struck her to give Trixie a taste of her own medicine. With a straight face, she asked, “How do you know I didn’t?”

Trixie squealed as if she’d won the million-dollar jackpot at the giant machine near the restroom. She flung her arms around Cleo and kissed her cheek. “I’m so glad. You’ve really lifted my spirits. I don’t feel depressed at all anymore.”

Now Cleo felt guilty. “Trixie, I’m sorry. I was just kidding.”

With a wink, Trixie stood and plucked the celery stick out of her drink. “Sure you were.”

“Seriously, I was. I really was.”

But Trixie was already walking away, chomping on her celery. “Enjoy your evening.”

M
idafternoon
, fearing the worst, Sly found Cleo at the blackjack table. Her face was scrunched up the way it did when she was listening to a complicated musical composition. And she was exchanging her empty drink for a full one with the cocktail waitress.

Sly hadn’t wanted to let her get away, but Hugo had convinced him to stay for breakfast.

“She’s so beautiful,” Hugo had said at the table, gazing at his orange juice.

“So, you two…” Sly hadn’t wanted the details, just the basics.

Sipping his juice, Hugo had smiled but said nothing. Sly had given up trying to help and resumed brooding about his own troubles. His confidence, although unlimited thus far in a professional setting, was under strain when it came to Cleo. She liked him, she’d kissed him, but was that as far as it was ever going to go? Was she really not interested? He thought they had chemistry, but maybe he was lying to himself.

“She’ll come around,” Hugo had said after the meal as they hugged good-bye near the hostess station. “Cleo, I mean. I know Trixie will.”

But Cleo hadn’t answered her phone since then, and he’d been searching for her for an hour when he found her at the blackjack table.

“Hey,” he said, touching her shoulder. She’d just finished a round and was preparing for another.

To his surprise, when she saw him, she gathered her chips and got up from the table. “Hey,” she said. “What time is it? My phone is dead.”

“Are you OK?”

“I’m great.” She grinned. “I have a knack.”

“You’re rich.”

“Almost.”

The makeup she was wearing made her eyes look enormous. Some of the mascara had smudged, leaving a shadow on her cheekbone. He gave up fighting the impulse to touch her and brushed it off with his thumb.

Her smile fell. “I need to cash in my chips.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets as she walked away. He wasn’t getting any closer to winning her over. He needed a knack. Or at least a new plan. The going-slow thing wasn’t working. It just gave her the space to ignore him.

He chased after her and waited with her at the cashier. When she was done, they walked together toward the elevators. Silently, he counted the hours before they flew back to San Francisco tomorrow. Thirty. A lot could happen in thirty hours. There were shows, restaurants, clubs.

“I’m going upstairs to take a nap,” she said.

Or nothing at all.

“Will you be all right on your own?” she continued.

“I’ll come up with you and you can tell me about Trixie,” he said. A Hail Mary pass.

“Right! What did Hugo say?”

“Nothing. He’s very old-school. Being a gentleman.”

“I think they… you know. Slept together.”

Lucky them
. “Why was she so upset?”

“I hate to laugh, but her plan backfired on her. Get this—she admitted that she’d been pretending all along.”

“We could tell her we slept together to make her feel better,” he said.

“We can’t encourage her, Sly. She doesn’t realize this is some crisis of yours that has nothing to do with me. She senses your weakness. Single men set off all her alarms. You shouldn’t have encouraged her.”

“I came for Hugo,” he said. “He’s not faking anything. I’m here to help.” That was true enough. He checked his phone. “Set your alarm before you fall asleep. I’m taking you to dinner and a club. Reservations are at seven for the first, none needed for the second.”

“We should invite—”

“We’re not inviting anyone,” he said.

She stared at him. “Well, I don’t know…”

“What are you afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid of you, I’m afraid of your… crisis.”

“I think maybe it’s not my crisis you’re worried about,” he said. “It’s your own.”

“I am fully crisis-free, my friend.”

“Good. Then you’ll have no problem spending a few hours having a good time.” Waving his phone, he pivoted on his heel and began to walk away. “Be ready at six thirty.”

He was ten steps away when she called for him to stop. If she insisted on not coming, he didn’t know what he would do. Strip, maybe. Get her a T-shirt that said TECH MOGUL DIRECT TO YOU.

“Where should we meet?” she asked.

Cleo didn’t go back to the room for a nap.

How could she sleep? Her conversation with Trixie had been nagging at her all day. And she was nine hundred and fifty-three dollars richer than she’d been a few hours ago. Ironically, she’d only gambled the thousand she’d won from Sly in Carmel, and instead of losing it as she’d expected, she’d doubled her money.

No wonder people got addicted to gambling.

Risks could pay off.

Even if it ends badly, it could be worth it anyway.

She pushed that thought aside. In fact, she pushed all thoughts aside. Her natural caution had been eroding since she set foot in Sin City. By the time she got home, she’d be a pile of sand.

Therefore, right now, she’d go shopping. She’d brought an old dress she wore on gigs, and although it was black and stylish, it could use a little something more.

Within the hour, she found the
more
she needed. The shoes were more expensive than they should’ve been, but they had bows, buckles and silver glitter that made them sparkle like radioactive angels in a disco. They were perfect. She wouldn’t have spent so much at home, but she wasn’t at home, was she?

Life’s short.

Because the killer shoes exposed her toes, she headed over to get a pedicure in the nail salon she’d seen near the pet boutique. It was busy and they made her wait. After forty minutes, when it was pushing five thirty, she was considering giving up and going upstairs to get dressed without the pretty toes when they finally led her to a seat.

She melted into her massage chair throne, kicked off her boots, and glanced at the pair of empty seats next to her, wondering why she’d had to wait so long.

“Those are reserved,” the cosmetician said, clasping her bare foot. “But they’re late.”

Videos of relaxing forest settings played while her hands and feet soaked in a tub of flower-petal-dappled hot water. She closed her eyes, let the electronic fingers in the chair vibrate out the tension in her back and legs, and saw Sly’s face. His grin. Felt his lips slid across hers, warm and hungry.

With a sharp inhalation, she opened her eyes and glared at the relaxing forest. So very relaxing, a forest. And empty. She’d never seen Sly in a forest.

The young woman on a stool at her feet confirmed her choice of polish and began massaging her feet and calves with jasmine-scented oil. “Eye wrap?”

“For me?” Cleo asked, then realized how stupid her question was. As if she’d want the woman scraping her toes with metal implements to wear one. “Yes,” she said quickly. “Please. Thanks.”

The woman waved and an older man rushed over and placed a chilled, padded, sea-green mask over eyes. “Good?” he asked.

“Fine.” She exhaled, enjoying the coolness. “Thank you.”

Just as she was deciding she needed to do this more often (although it was hardly in her budget, even with a knack for blackjack), she heard a couple of noisy women arrive and sit in the empty recliners to her right.

“I can’t believe how late it is,” one of them said. She had the silly, high voice of a helium-breathing eight-year-old.

“I know. We got up just in time for dinner.” The second woman was hoarse, as if she were ill or had been screaming all night. Given the city they were in, it could’ve been either one. Or both.

“Will your sister be mad about Monique and Kelsey skipping her dinner?” asked Helium.

“She couldn’t care less about my friends,” Hoarse said. “Especially now. I’ll be impressed if she shows up herself.”

“I don’t think she should’ve told you about it,” Helium said. “Given you’re getting married next week. It’s bad luck.”

Unwillingly drawn to their conversation, Cleo wished she could close her ears as easily as she closed her eyes. She was grateful when her neighbors were interrupted by the salon staff for a few minutes as they confirmed their procedures from the menu.

“I told her Dylan was bad news,” Hoarse continued when the Platinum Deluxe Mani-Pedi was settled. “Cheaters always cheat. And she had it coming, anyway. Karma, you know? Not that I can tell her that.”

The woman holding Cleo’s hand tapped her wrist lightly. “Relax, please.”

Cleo had been digging her nails into the vibrating armrest. With effort, she uncurled her fingers and tried to keep them limp for the delicate beauty operation underway.

Of all the nail salons in the world, Ashley’s little sister had to walk into hers. Liz. And hadn’t that helium-voiced woman been in the elevator the night before?

Cleo’s head was spinning with the comments about Dylan and karma.

Had he cheated on Ashley? How could that be? He’d destroyed everything because of how much he loved Ashley. How much he wanted and needed her.

So much more than Cleo.

“I still think she should’ve waited to tell you,” Helium said. “I think it’s really annoying she might spoil everything for you. This is totally your time, you know?”

“Yeah, it sucks. She confronted him last night. At least he’s gone now though. Flew home this afternoon to pack up and move out.” Liz sighed, and the noises coming from her massage recliner changed from a slow throb to a staccato hum. “My mom’s going to have to pretend she’s not happy about it. She never liked him. His first wife, the one they cheated on, used to play at our house when I was little.”

Cleo rolled her head away, hoping Liz didn’t have a photographic memory for human profiles.

Helium’s voice rose to glass-shattering heights. “What?”

“They were friends in high school,” Liz said. “I don’t remember her. I was little. But my mom told me.”

“That’s sick,” Helium said. “I’ll never look at Ashley the same way ever again.”

Cleo’s wished she knew Helium’s name so she could call her something more complimentary in her mind.

“Like I said. Karma.” Liz let out a long sigh. “Let’s not talk about it. It pisses me off and I’ve already got a headache.”

“Good thing the wedding isn’t until next week,” Helium said with a laugh. “We’ve got another night to party.”

Liz mumbled something in agreement, and their conversation turned to the details of a honeymoon in Kauai.

Cleo gazed blindly into her eye mask. How was she going to get out of here without Liz seeing her?

How was she going to get out of here without throwing up?

Dylan had cheated on Ashley. She couldn’t wrap her head around it. How could he ruin two marriages doing the exact same, horrible, stupid thing?

Gentle fingers removed the eye mask. “You’re all done,” the young woman said. “Want the dryers?”

Turning away from her neighbors, Cleo looked down at her neon-cranberry toenails and shook her head. She noticed a small purple clipboard holding her bill sitting near her left hand. Rather than deal with a credit card, which would take too long, she plucked several twenties out of her purse and handed them over. “I don’t need any change.” She reached down for her boots.

The woman nodded politely at the huge tip, then hurried to help her with her shoes. “Careful. No sandals?”

Memories were washing over Cleo. The night Dylan told her that he’d never felt that spark with her that he had for Ashley. That she was his best friend and he loved her, but that he was
in
love with Ashley, that Ashley aroused a passion in him that Cleo never had.

Belatedly realizing the woman didn’t want to ruin her pedicure, Cleo lifted the box of new shoes, and the woman, smiling, took them out and carefully slipped them on Cleo’s freshly presentable feet.

Did Dylan’s new woman arouse a passion that Ashley never had? Is that what he told her last night, here in Las Vegas as they celebrated Liz’s wedding?

It was almost enough to make Cleo feel sorry for her.

She got out of the salon without glancing at Liz or Helium, then went directly upstairs to the room.

When she got to the door and pulled out her key, she noticed she was humming a cheerful pop song to herself. And had just sashayed down the hallway in her sparkly new shoes and cranberry neon toes like a happy prom queen whose daddy had just replaced her totaled Bimmer.

Chagrined by her
schadenfreude
, she bit her lip and went inside to get ready.

Her good mood only got better after she’d put on her dress and touched up her face.

He was a bad guy, a horrible husband, and she was sorry other women had the misfortune of falling in love with him and believing his lies, but…

It hadn’t been her fault. The divorce, the humiliation, the pain—it hadn’t been her fault. Somehow, deep down, she’d been carrying this boulder in her heart that hinted at a difficult truth: she hadn’t been desirable enough to satisfy him. The way Ashley was.

Except Ashley wasn’t either, and Ashley was classically gorgeous, sexually adventurous, and rich too.

Shoving her cash, ID, and a credit card in her purse, Cleo flew out of the hotel room, eager to find Sly and tell him everything. He brought flowers every year on the anniversary of her divorce, and a bottle of vodka for the date of the wedding. He would understand what this meant to her.

She found him standing next to the waterfall fountain with his back to her. Although he wore a charcoal suit and blended in with many of the other men, she recognized him instantly—the way he stood with one hand in his pocket, weight balanced more on his right hip, his dark hair curling at his collar. When he turned and saw her, he smiled, eyes shining, but otherwise didn’t move.

Thoughts of Dylan Baker fell away.

With each step that drew her closer, Sly’s gaze burned brighter. She became aware of her own bare shoulders, her exposed cleavage, the slit up her skirt. It wasn’t a special dress—she’d worn it a dozen times before—or maybe it was, she just hadn’t known it before. Maybe she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

If Sly was the one looking at her.

When she was several feet away, she stopped to catch her breath. They stared at each other, neither saying a word.