CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Jennings
“Thanks for picking me up,” I tell Rhys as I sling my bag into the boot of his Tesla. He slams the lid and wraps his arms around me in his typical American bear hug, slapping me on the back with enthusiasm. I pat his back half-heartedly and glance at his car. “New?”
“Yeah. Got it when I made the move to Vegas. You want to drive it?”
“No, Rhys, I’m drunk.”
“From the plane?” He shakes his head in judgement. “They don’t even have any decent liquor on board.”
He’s not wrong. But I made do just the same.
“It’s not yet three o’clock and you’re drunk on cheap liquor,” Rhys summarizes as he looks me over. “And you didn’t bring your new lady friend.”
“My lady friend?” I glare in his direction but he likely misses it, as I slipped shades over my eyes the moment I cleared the automatic doors and stepped outside. Bloody desert is brighter than the surface of the sun. “You’re a tosser.”
“Daisy,” Rhys says as if he needs to clarify. As if I have multiple lady friends, Jesus.
“Do you have any bourbon at your suite? Better yet, have the hotel bars been stocked yet?” I ask as I open the passenger door. The queue of cars picking up passengers at McCarran is three deep and the shrill whistle of security attempting to manage the chaos is not helping my mood.
“Plenty of liquor, I promise you,” Rhys tells me as he slides behind the wheel. “How’s Nan?”
“She’s fine.” I slump in the seat and get comfortable, flipping the visor down to block out the sun. “The hospital kept her one night as a precaution but she’s fit as ever. Dropped her off with your mum yesterday. Slept in your old bedroom and your mum made me pancakes for brekkie.”
“Lucky bastard.”
“She sent biscuits for you. They’re in my bag.”
“The shortbread?”
“The very same. I think she’s worried about you.”
“Worried? Why?”
“I believe she’s concerned that you’re living in a casino and hooking up with women of questionable moral character.”
Rhys laughs. “My mother did not say ‘hooking up.’”
“Nah, I think she just wants you to call more often. In any case I assured her you’re still a virgin and that you’ll call this weekend.”
“Thanks. Owe you one.”
We’re silent as Rhys merges the car into traffic. Once we’re past the airport loop and onto Swenson he asks again about Daisy.
“You bloody Americans are so nosey.” I groan.
“I can tell you about the dancer of questionable moral character I fucked last night, if you prefer.”
“Jesus, Rhys.” I close my eyes behind my sunglasses and rub my temple, a headache already forming.
“So what happened? Talk it out, buddy. I thought this girl was going to make an honest man out of you.”
“Honesty wasn’t her strong suit, as it turns out.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah.”
He’s silent once again and I’m hopeful that’s the end of his inquisition. It’s not, of course. Because hoping has nil to do with reality.
“So what I’m hearing is that you need more liquor before I get the story.” Rhys taps his fingers against the wheel as we’re stopped at a red light.
“Where should I start, you nosey fucker?”
“The beginning. And stop sighing at me like a little bitch.”
“Fine,” I agree. Then I try to recall where this week went so horribly wrong. “She was hiding something. From the very first night she was hiding something.”
“As were you,” Rhys points out like an annoying prick.
“Whose side are you on?”
“Don’t be such a woman, Jesus. This chick’s really got you wound up tight.”
“You’re right.” The light turns green and we cross Tropicana Avenue. The Vegas Strip is a few streets to the left but impossible to miss. Daisy was impossible to miss too. “Let’s walk the property so I can see what’s been done since my last visit. I’ll tell you the rest when I’ve had another drink.”
We spend the better part of two hours walking around the new hotel. Vegas is the complete opposite of everything I’m used to. Massive and gaudy to my eye, but profitable, and that I can appreciate. The Windsor is set to open in just under a month. At just under two thousand rooms it’s considered small by Vegas standards. A boutique behemoth. What a ridiculous oxymoron.
We picked up the property under two years ago. Another developer had abandoned the project mid-construction, left near completion, but vacant. Viewing the property was eerie. An abandoned ghost town filled with untapped potential. Flash-forward to today and it’s anything but still. Workers everywhere. Casino tables in place. Slot machines being delivered and rolled in as we watch.
Rhys found the property, convinced me and the board of the potential, and here we are. The original plans were reconfigured to fit our vision and our corporate brand. We were able to turn the property around much quicker by renovating what the previous owner had started as opposed to starting again with new construction.
“Well done, Rhys,” I tell him as we make our way to the executive apartments. There’s a separate floor with living quarters for the senior staff of the hotel, should they choose to live on site.
“Thanks.” He runs me through the projected occupancy rate for the remainder of the year. Numbers well within reach. I’ve already run the numbers myself and am projecting this venture will become the highest source of revenue for our company within eighteen months.
But I’m not interested in business at the moment. This trip is superfluous business-wise. I came to drown my sorrows, truth be told. “Show me what Vegas has to distract me.”
Rhys’ eyes light up and he claps me on the back as the lift doors open ahead of us. “I know just the thing.”
Famous last words.
Four-ish drinks later I’m telling him everything. He’s taken me to some bar his buddy owns. In Henderson, for fuck’s sake, but at least it’s not a strip club. He offered, of course he did. He offered hookers too after I passed on the strippers and I wondered if possibly his mum wasn’t right to be worried about him.
“So I go running back to the hotel like a fucking knob,” I tell him. “We missed the farewell dinner due to the accident. It was late by the time Nan was admitted, so I’m rushing back to the hotel. Desperate to see Daisy even though she’s clearly a bit of a nutter.” We’re sitting at the bar and I motion for another drink.
“Clearly.” Rhys is doing his best to keep up with my drunken ramblings. He’s a brilliant friend.
“And the wanker of a driver is going into her room.”
“Ah.” He winces in reaction to my misery.
“Right! The guy she said she’d nothing going on with. Walking into her room at quarter past ten in the evening.”
“Lying whore.” Rhys shakes his head in empathy.
“Don’t call her that.” I scowl at him and pound back the shot in front of me.
“Sorry.” Rhys holds up a hand in apology. “I thought we hated her. Got it. We’re not there yet.”
“Maybe it was the driver she was trying to get back at. By picking me up that night. Do you think?”
“Maybe.” He shrugs, because there’s nothing much else to say, is there?
“I don’t think it was normal behavior for her though. Picking me up in the bar. She was fairly awkward at it.”
I sip at the bourbon I’m consuming between shots and try to run through the events in my head again. My memory is cloudy at present.
“Her pussy was fucking nirvana.” I’m not certain what that has to do with anything but in my drunken state it feels important to mention. “And her mouth, bloody hell.” I drop my head into my hands on the bar top.
“I’m not saying a word,” Rhys mumbles before tipping his own glass to his lips. He tossed his keys to the bartender an hour ago and settled onto the stool for the long haul of watching me get drunk and listening to my rambles.
“I think she misled me.”
“With her magic pussy?”
“Yeah, exactly.” I glance around. “Do they have any food in this bar? I think we should eat.”
“Nah. We’ll have the car swing through In-N-Out Burger on the way back.”
“We don’t have the keys, Rhys. And you can’t drive a Tesla drunk. I know the damn thing drives itself, but that can’t be allowed. If that’s allowed, next thing you know people will be strapping their kids in and sending them to nursery in a car with no driver! Society has gone to hell.” I shake my head and think about waving a fist in the air like an old man. Because I’m fucking old.
“Car service will pick us up,” he replies, holding up his mobile. “When we’re ready.”
“Fuck,” I groan. “I don’t even have a phone. Lost it during the accident. My dick is dry and I’ve got no mobile.” I glance back at the bar and knock back the remainder of my drink in one gulp and stand, albeit shakily.
“Okay, I guess you’re ready now.” Rhys taps a contact on his mobile with one hand and signals the bartender with the other.