their backyards, as teenagers they’d worked whatever odd jobs they could, and as adults they’d enjoyed the casinos as they were meant to. But she’d also do whatever her uncle needed no matter how it might hurt her.
“So what’s the play?” he asked, handing her a glass. He often felt like he lived to serve Alexa. Whatever she needed, he did. It was a mutual codependence, as long as he never tried to press her to talk about feelings. Ever since her parents died she’d cut herself off from anything too serious.
“I don’t know,” she said, sounding a little lost. “I have to clean up my image, I guess.”
“So how do you want to do that? I can take over the media aspect of it, make sure content of you doing wholesome stuff gets shared in cyberspace.”
She nodded. “That’s good, but I need to do more. Like practice abstinence and wear a chastity belt, apparently.”
He laughed at the impossibility and she smacked his arm, unamused.
She slumped down into the back of the couch and he put his arm around her shoulders, breathing in the light apple scent of her hair. She’d used the same shampoo and conditioner since high school and it tugged at his gut like it always did.
“I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” Carter told her, letting go of her to take a fortifying drink of his martini.
She stilled then, looking over at him speculatively.
“I don’t like that look,” he drawled.
“I need a fake fiancé,” she announced, clapping her hands together. “That would solve everything!”
“And exactly how would that solve everything?” he pressed. Perfect, he thought. He was about to leave for a year just as she decided to get fake-engaged to some random Vegas loser.
“Think about it,” she insisted, kneeling on the couch and facing him. Her hair fell over her shoulders in thick chestnut waves as she moved. “For example, if you and I got fake engaged, it would solve all my problems. We don’t have to invent a backstory because everyone in town already knows we’re close, and spending more time together wouldn’t be terrible because we actually like each other. It would be the quickest way to get everyone to believe that I’ve settled down.”
“Wait, you want me to be your fake fiancé? Uh, no way in hell.”
“Why not?” she asked, her head doing that cute little tilt it always did when she was curious about something. “If you’re worried about San Francisco, I think a month is more than enough time to convince people I’m a changed woman.”
Why wasn’t it a good idea for them to pretend to be engaged? he mused. Maybe because their friendship had become a game to see how long he could be in her presence without throwing her down on the nearest surface and fucking her until they both couldn’t remember their own names? Yeah, maybe that was why.
“I just don’t think I’ll have time. There’s a lot to do before the move.”
She looked slightly crestfallen, but a fake engagement was just too much to ask of him.
“You could stop dating for a while,” he suggested. “You’d get the same result.”
“Maybe,” she agreed. “But it will take longer.”
“Yeah, but that’s a good thing, right?” he reasoned. “You don’t want your uncle to sell the casinos right away. In the meantime, maybe you’ll think of a way to change his mind.”
The possibility seemed to at least distract her. “I’m too wired to talk about this now. Let’s get out of here.”
He nodded and followed her out of the office, relieved that he’d put an end to the fake fiancé thing.
They stepped out of the elevator onto the ground floor and the crush of the Friday night crowd was instant sensory overload. The electronic whirring of machines, the tinny clink of coins and the underlying bass beat of rumbling conversation was enough to drive a decent person to recklessness. The anonymity was liberating.
When they finally stepped outside into the bright lights of Vegas, he could tell that Alexa needed to blow off some steam and wasn’t surprised when she grabbed his arm.
“Come on,” she urged, pulling him across the street to Elysium. “Let’s gamble and make bad decisions.”
“So much for reinventing yourself,” he pointed out.
“Tomorrow,” she promised with a wink, shoving open the front doors to the towering casino.
AS SHE’D KNOWN he would, Carter waited for her while she played several hands of blackjack even though he hated gambling. She won her last hand with twenty-one and turned around to celebrate with Carter, but he wasn’t there.
She collected her winnings and left the table, roaming around until she finally found him in the grand lobby talking on his cell. As he spoke, a deep crease formed between his eyebrows and he ran an agitated hand through his already mussed hair. He was completely oblivious to the women around him doing everything but stripping to try to get his attention.
She waded through the crowds, intending to apologize for ignoring him, but when she reached him he didn’t notice her, either.
It was positively demoralizing, as she was literally right in front of his face. Both of them were married to their jobs, but he could at least acknowledge her existence. She put an arm around his waist just to see if she could get his attention away from work, but he barely glanced at her. Instead walked out of her arms as he barked at someone about profit margins.
Flustered, Alexa watched him walk away before turning her attention to the rest of the lobby.
Her gaze stuck on the glass art installation. It was an explosion of color and light and fanned out over most of the lobby’s ceiling, the flower pinwheels stunning in their intensity. Customers’ phones all pointed up to capture the joyful riot of bold-colored flowers. But the pictures people took wouldn’t capture the significance of the glass sculpture, the subtle striations of color in the individual pieces, or the delicate and thoughtful way the flowers had been arranged and hung to maximize the light. So much of it would be lost in translation.
Her parents had taken her to see it as a teenager when the casino first opened. It was one of the last things they had all done as a family before her parents died.
She glanced back at Carter, but he was still on the phone.
Skirting the perimeter of the display, she found the piece she wanted. The bright magenta flower with a dark red center that fanned out to the palest of pink on the ruffled edges had been her mother’s favorite. She’d been Alexa’s best friend. She’d told her mom everything, from getting her period, to her first crush, Perry Knightly, who now sat on the Las Vegas City Council, and all the little inconsequential things that made up her life. But since her parents died, she’d had trouble opening up to people, because having to wade through the abyss of that kind of grief to get to happiness again felt insurmountable.
She
