Chapter 6: Surprised

Rafferty drove us to Summerlin in the borrowed catering van.

He parked it at the end of a road lined with date palms and walls the color of cream.

The gates were twelve feet tall, black iron, and they opened on their own.

I sat very still with my hands in my lap.

I had practiced, in the shower, what my face should do.

"There's something I have to tell you," Rafferty said, and cut the engine.

His knuckles were pale on the wheel.

"Before we go in. I should have said it on Friday."

I turned to look at him.

I had wondered all day how I would feel at this exact moment.

What I felt was a little guilty, and a lot hungry for whatever he'd say next.

"I'm listening."

"My name is Wexley. It's not a common name. It's the name on the building where you work."

He said it all in one flat breath, then waited.

I put my hand over my mouth.

"The hotel," I said. "The Wexley Las Vegas."

"I own it. The group, all eleven of them. I'm the CEO."

"You said you drove a catering van."

"I lied."

"You said you were between jobs."

"I lied about that too."

I let my mouth fall open the slow way.

It was the worst performance of my life.

He bought every second of it.

"Say something," he said, quietly.

"You let me marry you in a chapel with a plastic Elvis."

"I did."

"You slept on my couch."

"For one night."

"Rafferty!"

I hit his arm.

He winced, then he almost smiled, and under his breath he said something I took for nerves.

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