“Need me?” she says, batting her young eyes. “Can’t live without me?”
I nod. “Something like that, yes.”
“I will have my inevitable hangover slept off and my business heels strapped on. You can count on me, boss.”
“Good to hear.”
I turn my head, scanning the wet, slippery roads again as we take a sharp corner, passing the Las Vegas strip. The sun is setting and the lights are just starting to flicker on, signaling the beginning of a standard weekend Vegas adventure.
“And...” Paige nudges me with her elbow, “how will you be spending your weekend?”
“Preparing for a week of meetings,” I answer.
She scoffs. “Oh, come on. That’s it? This is Las Vegas.”
“I grew up here,” I say, amused. “I’ve already done it all.”
“You’ve done it all?” she asks, doubtful. “You’ve done all the Vegas?”
“Yes.”
“Have you been to the top of Stratosphere Tower?”
“Yes.”
“Have you seen Celine?”
“Yes.”
Her face screws up in disbelief. “Oh. No, you have not.”
“Yes, I have,” I say, raising two fingers. “Took my mother for her fiftieth birthday two years ago.”
Paige hums and sits back in her seat. “Well, have you had a quickie, drunken wedding?”
I bite my tongue. “Paige...”
She throws up her hands. “All right. Fine. Spend the weekend in your room watching pay-per-view po—”
I glare at her.
“Nature documentaries,” she says instead. “While you’re doing that, I will be out on the streets, living it up, and gambling away my life savings just like any other self-respecting youth.”
“Have fun,” I tell her with a laugh. “Just be back—”
“—at the hotel Monday morning,” she says with me. “I got it, boss.”
The taxi takes another turn and I peek out my window again as the car slowly comes to a stop in front of the hotel in the guest drop-off zone.
“Botsford Plaza,” the driver mutters as he turns around in his seat. “Need help with your bags?”
I shake my head as I pass him cash to cover the fare, plus a little extra for not killing us. “No, we’ll manage. Thank you, sir.”
He smiles at his fistful of money. “Hey, enjoy your stay.”
Paige and I climb out and walk around to the trunk. Rain pours over the awning, splashing the concrete several feet behind us. The trunk pops open and I grab Paige’s bright blue suitcase from inside and set it down beside her.
“Thanks,” she says as she slides the handle out.
I nod and grab my own plain black suitcase before closing the trunk. I tap it twice and the driver bolts off toward the street, eager to catch his next fare. If this rain picks up, I imagine he’ll make bank tonight carting tourists from one end of the strip to the other and back again.
Paige rushes toward the entrance and bows to the doorman. He smiles as he holds the door open, his gaze purposefully lingering on the back of her pencil skirt as she passes by him.
I take a moment to look up. My eyes glide over all thirty stories, silently counting until I reach the gigantic, golden B at the top. By some miracle of timing, the light turns on as I stare at it, illuminating the darkening sky.
The Botsford Plaza Hotel. Luxury at its finest.
I walk to the entrance, rolling my suitcase slowly behind me. The young doorman flashes a smile and admires my suit as I draw near.
“Welcome home, Mr. Botsford,” he says, holding the door wide-open.
I bow my head. “Fred,” I greet him as I keep walking inside.
Home. Not exactly. But I can understand why he said it.
I’ve spent over half of my life here at the Las Vegas branch. We all have; myself and my little brothers, Hayden, Ira, and Jonah.
GHIJ. Yes, that was on purpose.
If there’s anything our father, Kingston, wanted to instill upon his four sons, it was the importance of a work ethic. We shadowed him from a young age, coming straight here after school to learn the family business, but we weren’t exactly sitting in on business meetings or bossing around his numerous secretaries.
We started from the bottom.
First, it was janitorial. And the maintenance crew. Then, once he was satisfied with the callouses on our hands, we moved up to valet drivers and doormen and housekeeping. Strangely, my personal favorite was the latter. At least there I could sneak off with a handful of pillow chocolates at the end of my shift.
Finally, once we knew the ins and outs of every aspect involved with maintaining his strict standards, he put us at the front desk and we started our slow tutelage toward his office. Toward becoming him.
In the end, only two of us stuck around as active players in the family business. I frequently travel to other locations, training new staff and overseeing the builds of new locations while Ira, a former Marine, is Head of Security of the Las Vegas branch. Hayden, my Catholic twin born just ten months after myself, was drafted into the MLB just before he graduated from high school. My baby brother, Jonah, hit it big with his band.
I walk across the gold-decorated lobby, my eyes casually roaming the faces in the crowd. You see the same types of people in every lobby of every Botsford Plaza, from Los Angeles to New York and even Paris to Rome. Rich. Privileged. Often famous. My great-grandfather started this business with one goal in mind: to be the place to stay for the aforementioned rich and privileged.
He succeeded. As did my grandfather. And my father.
I suppose I will, too.
I pause in line behind Paige to patiently wait for the woman at the counter to finish before we can check-in. The woman is dripping wet from her shoulder-length black hair down, leaving a puddle beneath her shiny, red heels.
“I don’t understand,” I overhear. “These reservations were made six months ago.”
My ears perk to the familiar voice.
Rian, the young man behind the counter, doesn’t blink and manages a decent sympathy face. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he says, gesturing at
