RHYS

"Where is Lydia?"

I've located Vince in his office at Double Diamonds and I've skipped formalities. I'm so far past the mood for polite behavior with this asshole.

"I sent her to look at some property," Vince replies, unbothered by my arrival or attitude. He's not even looking at me, too busy on his laptop to bother. He's probably tallying the night’s receipts, or placing an order for pole sanitizer, fucking dirtbag. "Did you want her back?"

I tell myself that killing him will only delay getting to Lydia. “Yes, I want her back, asshole. What hold do you have over her, Vince? How much does she owe you? Name your price so we can be done with this charade."

"Another million would change things," he says slowly, leaning back in his chair as he examines me with interest.

"Fine. I'll wire it to you today and then you're done with her. Now tell me where I can find her."

"You're an idiot." He leans forward in his chair again and pins me with a stare. "And never speaking to Lydia again is going to be problematic for me."

"Why is that?"

"I'm married to her best friend, for starters."

I stare at him, waiting for the words to make sense. "You married Payton?" I feel like I'm missing something. I drop into the chair across from Vince and take the edge off my glare. Just a bit. I'm not ready to be wrong about Vince yet. Besides, he's still an asshole regardless.

"Yes. I married Payton, God help me. As far as Lydia is concerned, you are the only person who can't see straight through her if you haven't figured this out by now."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"She's transparent as fuck. You don't even know how lucky you are. I wish Payton was so transparent. I have no idea what the fuck she's thinking or where she even is most of the time."

"What are you saying exactly?"

"That auction was all for you. Prostitution isn't even legal in Clark County, Rhys. The entire thing was a setup. Do you think I'm running half a million through my books for the sale of a virgin? This is a gentleman's club, not a brothel, you dumb fuck."

"Yeah, like there's no prostitution happening in Las Vegas," I counter. "We both know that's not the case."

"Sure enough. But not through me. I'm running a legitimate business here."

Fuck my life. We stare at each other across his desk and I know he's telling me the truth, I'm almost certain of it. But, fuck. Have I really paid this little attention?

"What about that guy I was bidding against? Stan?"

"Stan is my maintenance man and that suit cost me a grand. I'm sending you the bill for that, by the way."

"There was an email," I counter. "A newsletter."

"A newsletter," he repeats back to me like I'm an idiot. "Sure, I sell sex through a newsletter, Rhys. I gain subscribers through newsletter swaps with all the other brothels in the state," he deadpans and yeah, I see it now. I'm an idiot. "We get together at Starbucks and brainstorm ways to cross-promote," he continues. "You've found us out. Good job."

"I get it. The newsletter was fake," I fill in but it's unnecessary because Vince isn't listening to me anyway.

"That was Canon's idea. I told him it was too stupid to be believable but he said—”

"Yeah, I'm an idiot. I got it," I interrupt, anxious to get to the part where I find Lydia and fix this. I wave my hand for him to continue.

"He said you were really distracted," Vince continues. “And that the visual would help get you here."

Canon has always loved a visual.

"Wait. How did Canon get involved in this? I still don't understand where this entire plot came from in the first place."

"Lydia," Vince replies like I'm especially slow. "It was all Lydia's idea. From what she told me, you two had a thing in a bar but she thought you had a paying-for-it fetish because you couldn't seal the deal with her."

Vince could not be any less impressed with me right now. He just held up two fingers and bent them in the universal air quote gesture while he said 'paying-for-it fetish.'

"I don't—"

"I don't want to know," he interrupts with a shake of his head. "I called Canon to find out if anything she was saying was real or if he needed me to call the police to report that you had a nutcase following you around. Canon confirmed that the two of you did have a thing." He air-quotes again here when he says 'a thing' as if it's ridiculous to him. "And he was quite taken with Lydia's grand plan to seduce you into admitting you were interested in her by staging an auction. I was feeling especially charitable that day, as it were, so we collaborated on how best to get you here."

I make a mental note to cut Canon's staff. He really does have too much time on his hands.

"So what was the money for? Why the hell did you goad me into half a million if all of this is fake?" I ask, but my mind is racing with how epically I’ve blown this with Lydia.

"I'm not a stranger to charitable donations, Rhys. Getting you to fund a charitable cause was the least you could do to reimburse me for my time."

"You're a real dick, you know that?"

Vince shrugs. "It was for a good cause."

"The cause being?" I question. "Gold-leaf nipple pasties for everyone?"

"Lydia didn't want the money," Vince replies, ignoring my dig as he drags a finger across the mousepad on his laptop. "I was gouging you for my own entertainment. And the cause, of course," he adds, flashing a sardonic grin at me.

"Right. The cause. Which is?"

"New campground," Vince retorts, flipping his laptop around to face me. "For the Girl Troopers of Greater Las Vegas. Found a great property out at Red Rock, but the property is lacking a suitable cabin. There's one there but it was abandoned a decade ago and the agent said it's uninhabitable. Plus you know how hot it gets here,” he says, brow rising in meaning. "A pool would be a nice addition. For the campers."

"That's what you need a million for?"

"Yeah. Assuming Lydia likes the property. I'll get the land into escrow, then hire a general contractor to level the existing cabin and build something up to code. Add in a pool, maybe a tennis court. Then we'll donate it to the Girl Troopers."

"She'll want to renovate." I sigh. "She'll want to save whatever dilapidated structure is still standing with some romantic vision of its historic charm. Even if it's a pile of shit from the 1980's. We'll need to hire someone who can renovate or use whatever's left of it to build a porch swing or some shit like that. It'll make her happy."

"Fine with me." He shrugs. He pulls a Post-It from his desk drawer and scribbles down the campsite address before passing it over to me. "Are we done here? I'll send you a receipt for your charitable donation. Don't let the door hit you on the way out and you might still catch her there."

"Thank you, Vince."

"She's too good for you."

"I know. I want her anyway." If it’s not too late. It can’t be too late because I can’t go back to a life without Lydia in it.