Just as I suspected, Raymond perks up at the sound of his name. He stops mid-story, diverting his attention. "She recognized me?"
"She did," Naz confirms.
"Nice to know my reputation still precedes me," he says.
"Always will, boss," the guy across from us says. Boss. The word sticks out like a flashing neon sign in the darkness. "As long as Vitale's around to make sure of it, anyway."
I feel Naz tense, his body turning to stone, his arm around me suddenly boulder heavy. I glance at him again, seeing he's glaring at the man who just spoke. Everyone else seems to notice it, too. A few cleared throats and some awkward silent seconds later, the conversation veers back away from us.
Naz still glares, though.
He doesn't relax.
I don't know what the man meant by what he said, how Naz effects Raymond's reputation, but it's clear that Naz didn't like it a bit.
It's a five-hour flight—five long, stuffy hours, as I obsessively look at Naz's watch, counting the minutes. It isn't until we land that I even find out where we're going. I ask Naz a few times but he merely shrugs, leaving me in the dark, until the wheels of the plane touch down again. Naz's arm is still around me, still just as heavy… he hasn't spoken in a while. The others excitedly chatter about this and that, as Naz pulls me tighter to him. "Welcome to Las Vegas."
I turn my head to face him, raising my eyebrows with surprise. "Vegas?"
He nods.
"What are we doing here?"
"What else do you do in Sin City?" he asks. Before I can respond, his hand comes up and grasps my chin, holding me there as he leans down. The tip of his nose brushes against mine before he tilts his head and kisses me—softly, sweetly, barely touching my lips, as he whispers, "sin."
I'm blushing from his public display of affection, but no one notices. They're intentionally not noticing, from the way everyone avoids even making eye contact with Naz now. It reminds me of the fundraiser, how even when crammed in with so many others, Naz has a bubble surrounding him.
He's his own universe.
There are limos anticipating our arrival. I step off of the plane and stand on the tarmac, my body stiff and head foggy from being up in the air all afternoon. The sun is just now going down here, bathing the sky in an orange glow, casting everything around us in shadows. It's warm, almost stiflingly so, but still I shiver when Naz pauses behind me, his hand resting on my hip. People flow around us like we're rocks in a rushing river, unloading bags and taking them to the awaiting cars.
I'm not surprised when Raymond pauses beside us. He seems to be drawn in our direction, his body language nonchalant, but his voice is serious when he speaks. "Don't do it."
My brow furrows. I glance at him, seeing he's staring straight ahead, like he hadn't spoken at all.
Naz's hand on my hip tightens. "I won't… for now."
"That's all I ask," Raymond says.
Their conversation makes no sense to me, over just as quickly as it started, as Raymond strolls away to where the blonde he's with waits. I watch as my bag and dress are placed in the last car in line, along with Naz's luggage. As soon as the trunk is closed, everything situated, the driver opens the back door to the limo.
Naz gently pushes me. "Come on, sweetheart."
I don't resist, walking over and getting in. It's just as pristine as the last one we rode in, impeccably clean, the smell of leather fresh, like no one has ever stepped foot inside of it before, like no one has breathed this air or sat on these seats. Naz slides in beside me and the driver shuts the door, climbing in up front to drive away once the others clear out.
I turn to Naz curiously. "Don't do what?"
He raises his eyebrows. "What?"
"Raymond told you not to do something."
"What?"
"That's what I'm asking you."
He stares at me for a moment as we start to drive, like he's contemplating an answer. Shrugging, he looks away. "It doesn't matter. I'm not going to do it."
"For now?"
His lips curve into an involuntary smile. "For now."
"Will you tell me if you do it?"
"Do you want me to?"
I hesitate. His question is matter-of-fact, and I'm not sure what to say. My instinct is to say yes, of course, but do I really? Something tells me some things are probably better left unknown. "I'm not sure."
His nod is the only response I get.
I've never been to Vegas before, never even thought I'd have the chance. It's surreal, as I stare out the window, watching as the lights of the city come into view. The sky is darkening, the sun fading more and more every second, but the streets show no sign of slowing down. If anything it seems like the world is just now coming to life, lights flashing as people swarm the streets.
The limo drives past hotels, names I recognize—Venetian, Caesar's Palace, Flamingo, and the Bellagio—before pulling straight up to the MGM Grand. I stare up at the hotel with wide eyes, the vast building glowing green, the name burning bright yellow in the darkness. I gape at it as I climb out of the limo. I feel like I've stepped into another world.
Naz gets out, pausing beside me. He looks less than impressed, like this is just another place on the map, a stop along the road of life, but to me it's life altering. Someone carries our bags as we're ushered straight through a remote entrance, Naz's hand pressed to my back again, leading me, but not letting me fall behind. The private lobby we're taken to is elegant, secluded away from the main entrance, the sort of place I expect Naz to stay—cool on the surface, relaxed, while a world of turmoil exists just a few steps away.
It moves like the speed of light around me. We're led away from the lobby, to the elevators, where the man carrying our luggage presses the button for the very top floor.
The penthouses.
A man—a butler, it turns out—accompanies us upstairs and opens the door to our suite. As soon as I go inside, my eyes widen. The vast space in front of me is unlike anything I've ever seen before. I look around in shock as Naz converses with the man by the door.
The suite rivals even Naz's house in style. There's a dining room, a little kitchen, a living room, and even a space with a pool table. The black and white checkered floor stands out against the dim brown and yellowish tones of everything else as I trudge along, footsteps faltering when I come upon the wall of glass. I peer out, stunned to see there's a pool up here.
The butler departs when Naz refuses a guided tour, leaving us alone. I turn to Naz, leaning back against the cool glass and peering at him as he strolls forward, taking off his coat. "Like it?"
"Like it? It's amazing."
"It's nice," he agrees, hanging his coat on the back of a chair. "The upstairs is even nicer."
I gape at him. "Upstairs?"
"Of course," he says, motioning toward a set of stairs off the side. "Where do you think the bedroom is?"
I don't wait for him to say anything else, flying right by him and up the two sets of stairs. I pause when I reach the top, gasping so loud Naz hears me downstairs, based on the sound of his laughter.
"Told you," he calls out.
The upstairs is elegant, with two bedrooms and the largest bathroom I've ever seen. I could drown in the massive tub, the shower an immense glass box that's damn near as big as the dorm room back at NYU. I step inside of it, spinning in circles, completely baffled. I can see the lights of the city through the windows from the shower, can see down to the landing leading to the first floor.
When I emerge from the bathroom, Naz is in the master bedroom, shifting through his things. I pause in the doorway, shaking my head. "Who else is staying here?"
"Nobody," he says. "Just us."
"There are three freaking beds. Why do we need three beds?"
"We don't," he says, cutting his eyes at me. "We might try them all out before the weekend's through, though."
I smile. I like that plan.
He's pulling clothes out and hanging them up in the closet, putting
things where they go like he's moving in. I leave everything in my bags, not even sure what I packed, but I'm certain it's not worthy of hanging in a closet of that caliber. He glances at me as I pick up a little binder from the bedside stand and flip through it. Room service.
"Are you hungry?" he asks.
"Uh, yeah, a little." I can't remember the last time I ate. "Can we order something?"
"We can," he says, "but how about we go out somewhere instead?"
"Where?"
"Wherever you want to go." He finishes what he's doing as his phone starts ringing. He pulls it out, barely glancing at the screen before answering stoically, the conversation short and full of nothing more than 'yes' and 'no's. Hanging up, he slips it back away and turns to me. "I need to run an errand… won't take more than a few minutes. Why don't you shower and change, and we'll hit the city?"
"Okay," I say, glancing around the room, my eyes falling on the garment bag. "Should I wear the dress?"
"No, save that for tomorrow."
"What's tomorrow?"
My question prompts him to smile as he steps toward me, cupping my cheek, brushing his thumb across my lips. "Why don't we focus on tonight before you start worrying about tomorrow? We waste too much time looking for the next thing and not appreciating what we have right now… and right now, what we have, is endless opportunities. The sky isn't the limit in my world, Karissa. There is no limit. You want it? You got it. Whatever it is."
"Anything?"
"Anything," he swears. "Just name it."
"A bacon cheeseburger."
He laughs. "A bacon cheeseburger?"
"Yes."
"Okay then." Leaning forward, he kisses me before turning away. "Shower, and we'll hit the town for bacon cheeseburgers."
Naz leaves, and I scour through my bag, cringing. Had I known we were going to Vegas, I would've borrowed some of Melody's clothes. I end up settling for black pants and a pink top, nothing unusual for me, but at least it isn't jeans.
I head into the bathroom and strip out of my clothes, turning the shower on warm. I step into the glass box, letting out a deep sigh of contentment. Water blasts me from all angles, the pulsing spray feeling like a massage.
I lather up from head-to-toe with the sweetest smelling soap. Closing my eyes, I stand there, letting the water cascade around me as it rinses away the bubbles, steam building up and fogging the glass. After a minute I reopen my eyes and glance around, freezing when I catch sight of something down on the landing.
Naz is standing there, staring up at me.
A shiver ripples down my spine. I can feel his gaze. I probably should be unnerved by the fact that he's watching me, but I feel a tinge of excitement. Maybe I do like the idea of being caught.
Hesitating, contemplating, I step closer to the glass wall and peer down at him as I run my hands up my stomach and to my chest, palming my breasts. A smile slowly spreads across Naz's face as he shakes his head and walks away.
I turn back to the water and finish my shower, stepping out when I'm squeaky clean. I get ready, putting on my clothes and adding a dash of makeup, doing my best to fix my hair, when I hear movement on the floor below again. Naz returns, stepping into the bathroom as I apply lip-gloss in the mirror. He strolls over, pausing behind me, his hand on my hip as he leans down and kisses my neck. "You're a vixen."
"And you're a voyeur."
He laughs. "Guilty."
He's already ready, of course, not needing to change, looking and smelling just as fresh as he had when he picked me up from the dorms. I don't know how the man does it, always looking as put together as a work of art. I slip on my shoes and take his hand as he leads me from the suite.
A man stands outside our door. Naz nods as we stride by but says nothing. I glance at him curiously, even more surprised to have another waiting by the elevators for us. The man presses the button and the door automatically opens. Without having to utter a word, the man steps onto the elevator with us and presses the button for the ground floor. As soon as we reach it, Naz nods again.
We start to walk away, heading into the bustling casino, when I turn to Naz. "It's kind of weird how they cater to you."
He looks amused by my assessment. "Their service is top-notch. Anything you ask for, they'll make it happen."
"Anything?"
"Yes, anything," he says. "Even bacon cheeseburgers."
He takes me straight to a restaurant… an upscale world-renowned sort of place with a name I can't pronounce run by a man with an accent I assume to be French. All it takes is Naz saying his last name, Vitale, and we're taken right inside, led straight to a small empty table in the back, just as a waiter descends upon it, carrying plates of food. My brow furrows as I slide into the seat Naz pulls out, stunned when a burger is set in front of me.
I gape at Naz when he settles into his seat, a plate identical to my own in front of him. "You called ahead?"
"I mentioned to the concierge that you wanted a bacon cheeseburger," he replies, "so he made it happen."
It's unfathomable to me, being waited on hand-and-foot, but I say nothing as the waiter brings us drinks—the non-alcoholic kind.
I pick up the burger to take a bite. It's got a peculiar flavor to it, bitter like balsamic vinegar, and is topped with some kind of green that reminds me of spinach. I chew the bite slowly as I pull off the top bun and scrape off all the leafy shit. My gaze shifts around the table as I frown.
"What's wrong?" Naz asks. I meet his gaze, seeing he's watching me as he takes a bite. He seems to like it, considering he takes a second bite right away.
"There's no ketchup on the table."
"There usually isn't in a place like this."
"This is why I like places not like this," I mutter, "because they have ketchup on the table."
He motions for the waiter, who makes his way over to us. Naz tells him to bring us some ketchup and the man nods, scurrying off to return a moment later with a little dipping bowl filled with what I guess they assume to be ketchup, but it looks a hell of a lot like stewed tomatoes with how chunky it is. I dip my finger in to taste it, cringing. There's that balsamic vinegar flavor again.
"What's wrong?" Naz asks again. His voice has a slight impatient tone to it. I shake my head, pushing the ketchup aside, and put the bun back on to take another bite. I can feel Naz's eyes, his question lingering over the table, my brushing it off not good enough for him. "Karissa, what's wrong?"
"Nothing," I say, offering a tentative smile. "It's fine."
"You're not using your ketchup."
"Yeah, uh… if you can call it that."
He reaches over and picks up the bowl, doing just what I did—dipping his finger in to taste it. He makes no face, no sound, but as the waiter walks by our table he reaches out and thrusts it at him.
The waiter stalls, wide-eyed, and takes the bowl. "Problem, sir?"
"Ketchup," Naz says, his voice even. "I asked for ketchup."
"Yeah, this is—"
"Not ketchup," Naz says, finishing his sentence. "Heinz 57 is ketchup. That's not ketchup. I don't know what the hell it is, but I asked for ketchup, so I expect to receive ketchup."
The waiter scurries off once more as I gape at Naz. He continues to eat, unaffected, as the waiter returns within moments with a new bowl of what is undoubtedly ketchup this time. I thank him, staring at the bowl, hesitating, as Naz lets out an exasperated sigh. "Now what's wrong?"
"It's just that, if ever someone were to poison your food, this might be the moment," I say, staring at the ketchup.
"You think it's poisoned?"
"Or at the very least spit in."
I'm worried I'm aggravating him, not trying to be difficult. I pick up my burger to take another bite, resigned to just forcing it down because I'm too hungry for this shit, when Naz lets out a laugh—loud and genuine. He pushes his chair back to stand up, holding his hand out to me. "Come on."
I glance at his hand before meeting his eyes. "Where are we going
?"
"To get you what you really want."
I put my burger down and take his hand, following him out of the restaurant, past our confused-looking waiter by the door. We stroll around, passing dozens of restaurants, some bearing the name of celebrity chefs, before Naz pulls me into a busy sports bar.
This place is a world of difference from the other, like night and day. The bar is barely confined chaos, loud and bright, with people wearing jeans and ball caps, drinking beer and yelling at the TV. The smell of greasy food wafts through the air, making my stomach growl.
Naz grabs a table dead center of the room, where a waitress appears with menus. I order a Coke, practically bouncing in my seat, as Naz hands the menus right back. "A beer. I don't care what, just make it in a bottle and keep the top on. And two bacon cheeseburgers."
The woman scribbles it down and departs with a smile.
When our drinks arrive, I sip on my Coke as he pulls out his keys, using a bottle opener to pop the top on his beer. He takes a swallow. His face contorts with disgust, his expression making me laugh. "Not good?"
"Beer never is," he says, holding his bottle out to me, offering some.
I hesitate. "Are you sure?"
"It's your birthday."
"Tomorrow."
"Close enough."
"I still won't be twenty-one."
His lips curve with amusement as he holds it closer to me. "I feel like we've had this conversation before. Is my little jailbird having second thoughts about sinning in Sin City with me?"
"Of course not."
"Then take it."
I take the beer from him and drink, grimacing. It's disgusting, but I take a second swallow and push it back across the table to him before anyone catches me.
The food comes out quickly—a juicy burger on a fresh roll, grease dripping when I bite into it. It's so good I moan, dramatically rolling my eyes in the back of my head. "Now that's a bacon cheeseburger."
Conversation is playful as I stuff myself, whereas he only eats half of his burger, instead filling up on alcohol. I sip enough from his bottles to catch a buzz, my head a little fuzzy and my body light like somehow I've learned to defy gravity and float into the sky.