Page 126 of Heart Over Heels

“Very helpful,” I muttered.

The cop didn’t respond as he marched us toward the exit and shoved us out the door without giving us a chance to grab our bags or even change. A moment later, we stood in the parking lot, where I held Zephyr’s hand and wondered how many lives a single corpse could ruin before sunrise.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-SIX

Darby

Being kicked out to wander the Strip in tear-away clothes and four-inch heels wasn’t nearly as salacious as it sounded. Showgirls had been doing it for decades, and if I’d had the foresight, I would have turned it into a marketing opportunity—taking our show on the road, so to speak. Instead, I was practically stomping toward the nearest bus stop while fishing into my top for the wad of bills I’d earned earlier in the night.

I usually had other ways of getting what I wanted in this town, including free rides. But tonight, I wanted to park my ass in a seat, not a lap. So, despite the bus system being technically cashless, I figured I’d try my luck with a generous “tip.” I was certainly susceptible to bribery, and I’d learned others were too.

It wasn’t cheap, but it was effective. With a minimal amount of dickering, I secured seats for myself and my troop of bewildered strippers. All that remained was deciding where to go.

After the night and day we’d had, sleep was the priority. Fortunately, Las Vegas had no shortage of beds for the weary and overexposed. I was, quite literally, burdened with choice.

While the other dolls got settled, I weighed the options and landed on the most logical one. The Crowndell Hotel had always been open to us. Its owner, Vaughn Ashford, was a longstanding client of mine, and the accommodations were nothing to sneeze at. My boys deserved the best in rest, and they would have it.

I passed Zephyr off to Oz, who was as capable a nursemaid as any. But while relieved of that burden, I was buried beneath a dozen others. The dolls trusted me. Beck trusted me. And that kind of faith was a pressure all its own.

By the time we stepped off the bus onto the Crowndell’s sidewalk, my focus was laser-sharp and my patience nonexistent.

The hotel loomed before us, a structure made of black glass and pink neon, with an interior full of tufted leather and suggestive lighting. Normally, I appreciated the blend of chic and kinky, but tonight I couldn’t summon the energy to care.

The dolls fell in line behind me—Colt was tugging at his underwear again—and we wove our way across the casino floor. Between the chaos in my head and the clutter in front of me, it felt like forging our way through a storm, straining toward the one clear thing in sight. A place to sit. To breathe. To stop.

The check-in desk gleamed under stark white light, all marble and polish that was far too bright for my mood. The young couple checking in ahead of us made up the entirety of the line, and a single receptionist worked the counter. She handed over keycards and directions to the nearest elevator before sending the couple on their way.

Our turn.

We needed rooms, and if I’d had Beck’s black card, I could simply have paid for them. But I was empty-handed except for my dwindling wad of tip money, and hotels required a line of credit for incidentals and damages. Which meant I needed tocircumvent the usual channels and take my problem straight to the top.

I drew a breath, put on a pleasant face, and stepped forward.

“Good evening,” I said, gripping the edge of the counter to hold myself steady. “I’d like to speak with Mister Ashford, please.”

The receptionist looked me over from the top of my teased hair down to the hem of my white satin apron, then she peered past me at the dolls gathered in an awkward clump. Their Clue costumes were a bit worse for wear. Colonel Mustard’s jacket was missing a button, and Professor Plum had lost a shoe at some point and failed to mention it, and when had Mister Green put on a hoodie?

Returning her attention to me, the receptionist shook her head. “Mister Ashford isn’t available at this hour, miss…” She trailed off, fishing for a name, credentials, or maybe just a reason to pretend this wasn’t happening in her lobby.

“Funny,” I said, my voice laced with more spite than sugar. “He expectsmeto be available at this hour seven nights a week.”

Her eyes widened.

Satisfaction sparked and then faded just as fast. The ruin of my night wasn’t her fault, and making an ass of myself would end this negotiation before it began. I exhaled, shook the tension out of my shoulders, and pasted on another smile.

“Just give him a ring if you would.” I nodded toward the desk phone. “Tell him it’s Luxe.”

Again, she scrutinized my entourage. Oz remained as steady as ever with Zephyr drooping into him, Colt had one hand shoved down his pants—no doubt gone fishing for that cursed G-string—and Callum and Elliot looked two breaths from collapse.

Sidestepping, I cut into the receptionist’s line of sight and reclaimed that scrap of dignity. We weren’t performing now. Thehotel lobby wasn’t a stage, and my boys deserved at least the illusion of privacy.

She didn’t speak again, just lifted the receiver and started dialing while I expelled a sigh of relief.

While she waited on the call, I noticed a dish of hard candies near the end of the counter. It reminded me of Beck’s stash of suckers, and I figured a certain sad incubus could use a pick-me-up.

Walking over, I grabbed a few and carried them to where the other dolls were quietly waiting. Zephyr looked at me with wet eyes when I offered the candy to him and anyone else who wanted a piece.