All That Glitters: Glitz, Glam, and Billionaires

by Michele Hauf

  He deeply regretted feeding her that nonsense about being a Chippendale and would have to find a way to minimize the lie tomorrow. He could tell her the truth, but she might walk away as a result. He wouldn’t blame her; women didn’t like being played for fools. He supposed he could blame it on the booze, but he hated people who used that as an excuse for doing something they shouldn’t have.

  Maybe he’d tell her dancing was only a hobby and he was thinking of retiring. He could tell her about his real job without giving too much away. He was an architect—that wasn’t a lie—but he wouldn’t tell her he owned the company. He could tell her his dream was to create neighborhoods where people could live happily ever after, raise their children, and enjoy everything that was good about the American way of life. He could also mention he breathed life into old homes, giving them a second chance to shine. Wasn’t a second chance at happiness what he wanted, too? He hoped to continue seeing Cleo when he got back from this latest job. He could go almost anywhere, any time. Speaking of which, he’d forgotten to ask Cleo where she lived. He’d learn that, and a lot more about her, tomorrow.

  The phone rang, startling him.

  Who the hell was calling at this time? He picked it up.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, big brother. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

  “No, Liz, you’re not. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?” Not that is was a pleasure.

  “I saw you up to your old tricks tonight and so did Noah Pringle from the Tattler. He saw the kiss and spent most of the evening trying to identify the Cardassian who ordered the five-hundred-dollar-a-pop bottles of wine. I know he was trying to get the information out of my waiter, who’s a good kid—he kept his mouth shut.”

  “Thanks, Liz, but how did you know it was me?”

  She laughed. “I can recognize my own brother when I see him. You have a distinct way of carrying yourself, especially when you used that signature move of yours to knock Thor to the floor. You’ve used it on a couple of my overzealous boyfriends in the past. So, tell me about her. She must be something to have you acting so out of character.”

  “I can’t tell you much except that her name is Cleopatra Jones.”

  “Seriously—Cleopatra?”

  “Yup. I thought it was a stage name or pseudonym, but it’s the real deal. The lady was quite upset when I suggested otherwise. It seems her dad chose it. Probably fell in love with the Liz Taylor version of the story. But who are you to talk? The Liz Taylor version is where your name comes from.” He laughed.

  “Don’t remind me. But what can you tell me other than the fact that she managed to keep your interest for more than two minutes?”

  “Nothing much. She’s an amateur photographer, an only child, raised by a strict dad. Her mom’s dead. Cleo’s not from around here—this is her first trip to Vegas, but wherever she does come from, the people are pretty straight-laced. She doesn’t like being the center of attraction either. Speaking of which, you have to increase security around the convention halls. There were more than a few boys behaving badly down there. Thor was the second one I handled. I reported them both. If you want people to abide by the code of conduct, you have to follow through.”

  “Don’t remind me. I saw a few pigs in action myself. It looks as if she’s brought out the gentleman in you, the guy I used to like, the one who disappeared after Lena threw you over.”

  “Get it straight. I dumped Lena, not the other way around. I don’t care what her society friends think, but my sisters should know the truth. I’m taking Cleo on an all-day helicopter tour tomorrow. Is there a chance Anton can fix me up with a picnic lunch and a bottle of Dom?”

  “Your wish is my command, big brother. Consider it done.” The line was silent a moment. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she said, her voice thoughtful. “I don’t want to see you hurt again. I guess this means you’re not leaving Vegas in the morning?”

  “No. I’ll be staying for the weekend. The housing project will survive without me for a couple of days. You’re off on Sunday, right? Maybe the three of us can do dinner.”

  “No can do. Cedric, Lord Horvath, is taking me to a polo game in L.A. Maybe we can get together for breakfast before you leave Monday. For what it’s worth, your green slave girl has my vote. She got you to take time off to enjoy yourself. Treat her nicely. I don’t want to see you hurt her either. Goodnight, Sam. Love you lots.”

  He said goodnight and hung up the phone. Going into the washroom, he took two acetaminophen tablets, and drank two glasses of water. Rehydrating would ease the hangover. He turned off the lights in the suite and went into the bedroom. He removed his robe and crawled between the sheets naked as he always did. He hadn’t completely lost his arousal. He was sure he’d dream of Cleo tonight, and unlike last night, his dreams would be more fact than fiction, but the anticipation of what would come tomorrow would make their lovemaking even sweeter.

  A herd of elephants pounding on her hotel room door, demanding admission, echoed through Cleo’s head. She opened her eyes, and immediately shut them, blinded by the sudden brilliance of the sun. Steeling herself against the brightness, she gingerly raised her eyelids and looked around the room. Mitch hadn’t made it back last night.

  The thunder at the door repeated itself, and she sighed. That must be her now, and she’d misplaced her key. She glanced at the clock—six forty-five. Great. She needed about five more hours sleep. The hammering at the door resonated through her head once more.

  “Hold your horses, I’m coming.”

  Throwing back the covers, she stood, swayed slightly, and then padded across the carpet. She hadn’t put on the security lock because Mitch hadn’t been back when she’d fallen into bed and gone to sleep—passed out would be more accurate. As she opened the door, the pithy comment she’d meant to deliver died and her mouth gaped open.

  Instead of Mitch, a straight-faced room service attendant stood in front of the door, a white cloth-covered cart in front of him. Had she ordered this? Atop the tray-table stood a large pot of coffee, a carafe of orange juice, the makings of a Continental breakfast, and the most incredible rose Cleo had ever seen.

  “Good morning. If you can move over a bit, I can get by.” It took a few moments for the server’s words to register before Cleo realized she had to get out of his way. She stepped back from the door, and he rolled the cart into the room. The aroma of the fresh-brewed coffee tickled her nose and worked its way into her brain. She didn’t remember ordering this, but it was manna from heaven. Looking around, she reached for her purse.

  “What do I owe you?” she asked, digging for the wallet inside her oversized bag.

  “It’s all been taken care of.” He stopped, moved around the cart to remove the table that stood between the two stuffed chairs in front of the window, and placed it out of the way. He slid the cart between the chairs and locked its sides open. Before she could remove any bills from her wallet, the man turned and smiled. “Have a good day.” He walked back to the door and closed it behind him.

  Cleo stood there and stared. She reached for the beautiful green and white rose, sitting in an elegant crystal vase, and let its scent envelop her. She’d never seen such a stunningly, unique flower in her life. It was hard to believe it was real. The two-toned bloom, an eye-catching vivid green only a few shades lighter than her skin last night blended with white, was otherworldly, and its petals felt like silk. Not fully opened, but not a bud either, the rose was flawless. Closer examination showed there were no thorns along its woody stem. Unlike most cultured, designer roses, its aroma was strong, and this one blossom alone seemed fragrant enough to perfume the entire room. She reached for the small white envelope with her name on it.

  Morning, beautiful.

  We’re all set for the day. You’ve got free access to the salon this morning if you still want to photograph the flowers. The security guard will let you in. The helicopter’s waiting for us at the Henderson Executive Airport. B
ring some warmer clothes for tonight. It gets cold in the desert even in July. I’ve taken care of everything else. See you soon.

  Love,

  Sam

  The note was handwritten, but she doubted he’d actually held the pen. The handwriting was too missish for a man like Sam. His signature would be bold, like he was, larger than life, and convey all of his masculinity.

  She reread the note and paused.

  Love Sam didn’t really mean anything. It could’ve been added mindlessly by whoever took the order for the rose, no doubt in stock for the convention. If they had unusual orchids, green and white roses had to be a snap. If her heart jumped when she read the “L” word, then it was on her. She put the note and the rose down on the cart and poured herself a glass of juice and a cup of coffee.

  Why did she always have to overanalyze things? Why couldn’t she just enjoy the moment? The man might not have wanted to take her to bed last night, but he was still interested, and this proved it.

  After doctoring her coffee the way she liked it, she reached for a croissant. The throbbing in her head was no doubt courtesy of the gallon of champagne she’d drunk last night. She went into the bathroom and took two extra-strength acetaminophen tablets, followed by two large glasses of water. The last thing she wanted was one of her blinding headaches, the kind that occasionally incapacitated her for days. Lifting her hand to her lips, she recalled the mind-blowing kisses from the previous night and sighed. What a night she’d had!

  The door opened, and Mitch breezed into the room carrying her Klingon costume and wearing one of the hotel’s signature white terrycloth robes. Cleo could see she was glowing. She hummed a vaguely familiar tune—Mitch never hummed. She tossed the costume onto the bed and smiled at Cleo.

  “Morning, sunshine. I didn’t expect you up yet.”

  Cleo laughed and cringed slightly as it made the pounding in her head worse. “Who are you, and what have you done with my best friend?”

  “Very funny.” Mitch stuck her tongue out at her. “For your information, I had an incredible night. Charlie is … skilled.” She chuckled. “And we have so much in common. Do you know he has one of my space rocks? He doesn’t know it’s mine of course, and I didn’t volunteer that information. He’s got all the original Star Trek television shows, too—on VHS. He has a television and a VCR just for watching them at his house just outside the city where he spends his down time. What is that delectable aroma? Coffee! The gods be praised.”

  “Yep. Sam sent all kinds of goodies along with a note about today.” She indicated the cart by the window. Concern bloomed in Mitch’s face. “Did he beg off? Charlie said Sam had originally planned to leave Vegas today, but he’d changed his mind and decided to stay for the weekend—apparently something he rarely does. When the man makes up his mind, he can be extremely stubborn about changing it.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Cleo’s voice dripped sarcasm. “He didn’t beg off. He made arrangements for me to get pictures of some of the rare flowers in the dance lounge and wanted to remind me to bring warmer clothing for this evening. He thinks I’m unfamiliar with the temperature drop in the desert at night. I’m the one with the cold feet. I’m not sure I have the nerve to go through with this. What if someone sees us together? Plus, he’s going to ask questions, and you know what a dismal liar I am.”

  Mitch frowned and turned back to look at her. “What are you talking about? Of course you’re going through with this. So what if someone sees you? All they’ll see are two incredibly good-looking people enjoying the sights and one another. Remember the way he was dressed in the Voodoo Lounge? I doubt he’ll wear something that screams ‘I’m an exotic dancer.’ As for asking questions, he’ll want to get to know all about you. More than seventy-five percent of your cover story is the truth. You’re an intelligent woman. Be yourself. He’ll love you. I do. Let me shower and then we’ll talk. Be right out,” she said stepping into the washroom, leaving Cleo to ponder the problem alone.

  “Lord, if you’re on my side, I need help.” She reached for the coffee, praying for a miracle.

  Ten minutes later, the sound of running water stopped, and within a matter of minutes, Cleo looked up to see Mitch standing in the bathroom doorway, wrapped in a bath sheet, rubbing her blonde hair dry.

  “I don’t know what to wear,” Cleo complained pointing at the clothing she’d laid out on the bed. “Nothing I have seems to work for an all-day date. Maybe this is a sign, and I should just beg off.”

  Mitch put her hands on her hips, her look one as stern as any Cleo could deliver. The woman was good at talking her into things, especially when, deep down, they were things Cleo longed to do in the first place. Sometimes, she needed a nudge to step out of the box, but she’d never gone so far beyond her self-imposed limits before. Lord knew she wanted to do this, but could she? This date was like playing Russian roulette—if she got the full chamber where someone recognized her or him, everything was over.

  “Give your head a shake! You’re just making excuses. You’re going to spend the day with one of the most gorgeous men in Vegas. Carpe diem! Seize the moment, Cleo. Come Monday morning, sexy Orion slave girl Cleopatra Jones disappears for good, and C. C. James, teacher extraordinaire, returns and, I hope, packs her bags and moves to Alamo. Get with the program. Today, you’re going to knock him on his ass, and he’ll be begging to take you to bed tonight. Believe me, you need another night with him to survive the rest of your virtuous life.”

  Cleo shook her head. “Fine, but I haven’t even had one. He carried me because there was a big wet spot on the rug downstairs, gave me another of those delectable kisses, and then when I was hornier than I’ve ever been in my life, he closed the door and left. I have no idea what went wrong.”

  “He was probably being a gentleman. You were more than a little wasted. Charlie didn’t say much, but I gather some rich bitch dumped Sam last year and he had a hard time with it. He’s probably being careful, and as you take being careful to extremes, you should appreciate that. Give the guy some credit, but play your cards right, and tonight could be the night.” Mitch grinned. “I’m certainly hoping for a retake.”

  “If something goes wrong and I lose my job, I’m moving in with you, and I’ll recite ‘I told you’ so for the rest of my days. Hand me the tote bag I bought yesterday.”

  Mitch opened the closet and pulled out the kitschy, red beaded souvenir bag. “You’re exaggerating. No one loses a job just for being seen with someone. Here you go.”

  She turned to Mitch. “Tell that to the teacher who attended a bridal shower where a stripper was hired. Some stranger posted her picture on the Internet, and she was suspended last year.”

  Cleo opened the bag and tossed in the sixty SPF sunscreen she would need to keep from looking like a cooked lobster in the desert sun. She added the new pair of skinny jeans and the yellow, three-quarter-length sleeve, cotton t-shirt she’d bought yesterday, ballet flats, and a lightweight jacket. Not the sexiest outfit in the world, but it would do the trick.

  “Okay. Here are my choices. What do I wear for a day of fun, sun, and seduction? Considering I only have four outfits to choose from, this shouldn’t be that difficult.”

  Mitch took the towel she’d been using to dry her hair and hung it on the doorknob. She replaced the bath sheet with another of the hotel robes, walked over to the coffee pot, and poured herself a cup. Cleo watched the look of satisfaction on Mitch’s face as she inhaled the rich aroma. Cup in hand, she sat in one of the chairs next to the cart and studied Cleo.

  “This isn’t about clothes. You’re really rattled, aren’t you?” Mitch took a sip of the rich, black brew.

  “Yes I am, and I’m not sure what’s bothering me most: the fact that I’m considering doing this or the fact that I want to do it so badly. I don’t live on the edge and take chances. It’s as if some alien entity has taken over my mind. I’m not sure I’ll ever be content again in Gordon’s Grove with the humdrum life I had wit
h Dad. Even if I get the transfer to Alamo, life isn’t going to be any more exciting than it is now. Sure, you’ll be closer, but Dad will be farther away, and I’ll probably spend half my off-duty hours on the phone trying to resolve one crisis or another. I’ll never get another chance to experience life like this, and if I don’t do it, I’ll probably regret it, but if I do, will I ever be satisfied with what I have again?”

  “In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never had a hard time making a decision about anything because you’ve never had to make a tough one. When you always play by the rules, that’s what happens. No one’s asking you to sacrifice yourself on the altar of Ba’al—you’re not going to be doing anything wrong. You’re going on a date with a dancer. If he danced on Broadway, it wouldn’t matter. Why make such a big thing about this?”

  “You’re right. If he was a Broadway star, it wouldn’t affect things the way it does unless the show itself was questionable. I’ve told you before teachers are held to a higher standard than anyone in any other profession. It’s a double standard, but whether I like it or not, that’s my reality. Lots of things are legal in this day and age, but if I’m caught doing them, someone has the power to say I offended the community in some way, set a bad example, and I can be suspended. At worse, my license to teach can be revoked. If I tell a joke and someone finds it offensive, it’s enough for a black mark on my record. Dad’s last words to me before I left were to be sure to avoid being seen doing anything that could upset anyone. Dating a man who takes his clothes off for a living wouldn’t go over well, but Mitch, I want to do it. Now help me figure out what to wear before I lose my nerve.”

  “Wear whatever you like; you’ll look good in anything. Clothes don’t usually matter to you. I don’t understand what the problem is. You’re going to be in a helicopter most of the day. Sam’s plans have you flying from one end of the state to the other. Wear something comfortable and practical. As usual, you’re overthinking this, but since you insist, start with a process of elimination.”