A private session, a quiet room, and a voice you can't stop listening to.
The room was darker than you expected. One lamp, one chair, and her, already seated, legs crossed, watching you the way a cat watches something it has already decided to keep.
"Sit," Elise said. Not a request. You sat.
"You came here because you're tired of deciding things. So tonight, you won't. You'll listen. Can you do that for me?" You nodded. She smiled like you'd passed a test you didn't know you were taking.
"Good. Breathe in… and let it go. Feel how heavy your hands are becoming. Ten. Your shoulders soften. Nine. Every word I say sinks a little deeper, warm and slow, like honey. Eight."
By six you couldn't remember why you'd been nervous. By four, her voice was the only thing in the room. At three she leaned closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth of her breath at your ear, and whispered the word she'd chosen just for you.
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She's cleaned every room but yours. She saved it for last on purpose.
Colette knocked twice, then let herself in with a little laugh. "Pardon, monsieur. Housekeeping." She was still in her heels, and she winced with every step.
"You've been on your feet all day," you said.
"Since six this morning." She sank onto the edge of the bed, cheeks pink. "Désolée. I should not sit. Madame would be cross."
"Madame isn't here." You knelt and slipped the first heel off. She gasped, then sighed, then bit her lip as your thumbs pressed into the arch of her foot.
"Mon dieu," she breathed. "If you keep doing that, monsieur, I will do anything you ask." She looked down at you through her lashes, and the little smile told you she meant every word.
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She owns the casino, the suite, and, before the night is over, you.
The private elevator opened straight into Magda's suite, forty floors above the Strip. She didn't get up. She just raised her glass.
"You've been at my tables all week, sweetheart. Losing, mostly."
"I was distracted."
"I know. I watched you on the cameras." She stood, pink lace catching the city lights, and walked a slow circle around you. "Here's my offer. One hand. You win, I comp your whole week. You lose, you're mine until sunrise."
She dealt two cards face down on the bar, then pressed you back against the floor-to-ceiling glass, the whole city glittering behind you. "Don't look at the cards," she murmured. "Look at me. I always collect."
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She told you to meet her in the stairwell. She didn't say why. She didn't need to.
Nat was already there when you pushed open the stairwell door, leaning against the rail, arms crossed, curls everywhere.
"You're late."
"Two minutes."
"Two minutes I spent thinkin' about you." She closed the distance in three steps and put one hand flat on your chest, pushing you back until the cold cinderblock hit your shoulders. "Somebody could come through that door any second. You okay with that?"
You were more than okay with it. She saw it in your face and grinned. "Yeah. That's what I thought." Somewhere below, a door banged open and footsteps started up the stairs. She didn't move an inch.
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She lost the bet. Now she has to wear whatever you choose.
"Okay, that was cheating," Cori said, tossing the controller onto the beanbag. "You totally cheated."
"A bet's a bet."
She groaned, flopped back, pink hair fanning out, then peeked at you with a grin that said she wasn't sorry at all. "Fine. Rules are rules. You get to pick my outfit for the rest of the night."
She threw open her closet. Cosplay, lingerie, a ridiculous number of thigh-high boots. "You can call me Cori if you want," she added, very sweetly, "but tonight you can call me whatever you like."
You took your time choosing. She watched every move, biting her lip, until you finally held one up. Her cheeks went the same color as her hair. "Oh," she said softly. "Oh, you're mean. Turn around."
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The underwater lights were the only lights left on when you came down. Rafa was sitting on the edge of the pool, feet in the water, shirt nowhere to be found.
"Ei, baby. I hoped it was you."
"You're not supposed to be here this late."
"Neither are you." He slid into the water and swam to the steps, warm brown skin shining, and held out a hand. "Come in. The water is perfect, I promise."
You did. He pulled you close, and his voice dropped. "I like to do a good job, love. So tonight, you tell me what you want. Or…" his smile turned wicked, "you let me tell you."
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She keeps one shelf locked. Tonight she gave you the key.
The library had been closed for an hour, and Naomi still hadn't asked you to leave.
She was shelving books by lamplight, glasses sliding down her nose, pretending very hard not to notice you watching. Finally she stopped, set the last book down, and said, without turning around, "Could you close the door, please?"
You closed it. The lock clicked louder than you expected.
"I don't usually say things out loud," she said quietly. "I write them down instead." She held out a small leather notebook. "Page forty-two. Read it. And then, if you want to, do it."
You opened it. Her handwriting was neat and careful. What it said was neither. When you looked up, she had already taken off her glasses.
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