Page 25 of East

I’ve always been a boob guy.

She closes the distance between us. “Somewhere private, perhaps?”

Fuck. Is she propositioning me right here and now? I’m usually the one pursuing women, not the other way around.

“My dressing room?” I gesture offstage.

“How about my hotel room?” She slips a key card into my hand. “I’m staying in the Grand Suite at the Bellagio. Are you familiar?”

Am I familiar with the Bellagio? What a question. Of course I am. It’s one of the nicest hotels on the Strip. Spectacular interiors, a huge casino floor with every game you could possibly imagine, and of course the enormous fountain.

“Yes. Yes, I’m familiar.”

“Excellent. I’ll have some bubbly sent up. Shall we go right now?” She runs her long fingernails over my forearm. “My driver is outside.”

She has a driver?

Who is this woman?

And what is she doing at my C-minus magic show?

We get into Rouge’s limo and make the drive to the Bellagio. It isn’t far—the Strip is only a few miles wide total—and she escorts me through the ornate lobby to the elevators up to her luxury suite.

And “luxury” doesn’t do it justice.

It’s like I entered a sprawling estate. I have to look out the window to see the fountain to make sure I didn’t step into a different dimension. A mosaic floor gleams under a glass chandelier. A cream-colored sectional sofa sits at the center of the first room, flanked by two oversized club chairs in a deep sapphire. At the center stands a marble coffee table adorned with a heavy crystal bowl filled with fresh orchids. A limestone fireplace is already lit.

A bucket of ice with a bottle of Dom Perignon champagne sits on the coffee table. Rouge picks it up, rips off the gold foil with her teeth, pops the cork, and pours it into two flutes.

She hands me one. The flute has a design engraved into it. The cardinal directions—East, West, South, North. Interesting. I figured it would be inscribed with the Bellagio’s insignia.

“Are these flutes yours?”

“Oh, yes.” She purses her lips. “I always bring my own glassware with me when I travel. You never know where they’ve been otherwise.”

Okay. That’s weird. But she’s clearly wealthy, if her attire and this suite are any indication. Rich people are often eccentric simply because they can afford to be.

“Do you have the cardinal directions on your glass?” I ask.

She lifts an eyebrow. “Why would I have those?”

“It’s what’s engraved on mine.”

She swishes the champagne in her glass. “Mine features the four card suits. Spades, Diamonds, Clubs, Hearts. I have two other flutes inscribed with other symbols.”

“What are those?”

She furrows her brow. “Do you really want to discuss glassware when we could be discussing your career?”

My career? What the fuck?

Oh, shit. Is she going to offer to finance a big show for me?

Is it going to be a tit-for-tat situation? Like, am I going to have to sleep with her to get it? Sleeping with this woman would hardly be a chore. I’d do it for free. But if I can get a better show out of it while also getting my rocks off…

That’d be a fucking coup.

She gestures to the couch. “Please, sit.”