Disappointed and disgusted with myself, I searched through the covers, at last finding my phone.
I clicked the home button and checked the notification screen.
“Shit,” I mumbled.
It was one in the afternoon, and I had about a million missed calls, most of them from Jack. This wasn’t any indication of urgency. He rung whenever he had something I needed to sign, and when you run about eight businesses in the heart of Vegas, there is always something to sign. Whatever it was could probably wait, but I figured I’d better get it over with now.
“Jack,” I said, getting him on the first ring. “Whatever it is, just do what you think is best.”
“Are you sure, sir? Wouldn’t you like to hear about the proposals and the—”
“No, you have it under control, I’ll sign anything. Unless you think I need to check your work, like some kind of school teacher?”
“Certainly not, no, no I most undoubtedly have your best interests in mind, and serve, as always, at your pleasure.”
Gross.
But, frankly, I didn’t care what he did one way or another. Perhaps he was in the middle of making the worst deal ever to come across the proverbial Dazzlers desk. So be it. If he ran the business into the ground, it’d be something of a relief.
“Sir?”
I groaned. “I thought we were done for the day, Jack.”
“Just one more thing. There’s a tech investment opportunity, and I know you asked me to keep an eye out for those.”
My ears perked up. Finally, something I was actually interested in! Were it up to me, I’d be living in Silicon Valley this very minute, wheeling and dealing with the Zuckerbergs and Bezos of the world — though, I like to think, with a little less corruption. The only matter that truly piqued my interest at this stage was technology and the future. Everything else was just another dull way to make cash. But the future… now that was full of possibilities.
“Glad to hear it,” I told him, trying to hide just how eager I was. “Go on.”
“So, it’s this app getting developed by some guys out of U of A, and the elevator pitch is this — it’s like Uber, for strippers.”
I sighed. It had been naïve to get my hopes up.
“So you turn on your GPS, and the app, it finds the nearest strippers or—”
“Yeah, Jack, I get it. I’ll pass on the investment.”
“As you wish, sir.”
“That’ll be all.”
I threw the phone back on the bed and kicked off some sheets. Why the fuck was sex — especially sex for money — so prominent in my life? Now it was even encroaching on the one thing that genuinely got me interested, that kept my spark alive. Why was I trapped in this maze where even the most primal acts had to be tied up in cold hard cash? I didn’t begrudge people who made a living this way. It was more so that there was no part of my world that didn’t care about how rich I was. Everyone wanted my money, and no one wanted me.
Except, perhaps, for Kiki.
She hadn’t talked to me as though she wanted a raise. Hell, she’d spoken as if she didn’t mind if I fired her. It was all so… refreshing.
With a great effort, I rolled out of bed and away from my despondent thoughts about Kiki and the chance I’d blown last night. Or, rather, the chance that had been blown by my so-called friends.
After putting a track by The Ramones on the speakers, I went through my morning ritual — shower, brush teeth, wash face, a couple of quick pushups. The penthouse was kept stocked for me at all times, even though I only slept here a handful of days out of the year, if that.
I pulled on a clean gray suit which had been custom-made for me out of Savile Row, and took another look at myself in the mirror.
I was handsome, no doubt about it. Even if I weren’t rich, it wouldn’t be a far cry to think that women would throw themselves on me. But I’d never get the chance to find out if this estimation were true. My money would always hang about me like an expensive cologne, muddying any sexual triumph with the question of, Do they like me, or do they like my cash?
This was too much for early in the morning. Or, um, mid-afternoon.
Nothing to do but go downstairs, get some breakfast and then get the fuck out of Dazzlers. Even a day here was twenty-four hours too much. I always found that, when I stayed and played in the hotel, my thoughts turned dark.
I meandered to the elevator and took it to the lobby, which at one-thirty in the afternoon on a Saturday, was in full swing with weekend tourists and our regulars. I ducked my head down, hoping to make a beeline for my favorite French patisserie, maybe sort out a croissant or two —