“Welcome to Las Vegas, Ms. Robinson,” the man says, offering me his hand.
“Thanks,” I respond, still feeling awkward about these moments, though it occurs at each stop—except for our brief stay in Odessa, where we had to bring in our bags and check in at the front desk like everyone else. Aside from New Orleans, every other hotel we’ve stayed at Tyler scans something from his phone into the elevator when we arrive, and we find a stack of key cards and a welcome gift that is always in the form of food, usually fruit and desserts from their renowned restaurant that the area is known for.
Nessie is wearing a pair of blue denim shorts that are fashionably distressed and a blouse that falls off one shoulder. She meets me on the sidewalk, her hand sliding into mine as she silently checks in with me. Are you okay?
I nod to confirm I am, and she gives me a gentle smile. “I look like a bum,” I tell her, watching more people exit the hotel who look at us with mild curiosity before looking away. Everyone staying here is loaded, unimpressed with Tyler’s extravagant car.
“No one cares,” Nessie assures me. “You should drink some more Gatorade.”
I chuckle. “Just to see Tyler’s expression when I tell him that I need to pee again.”
She laughs outright because we had to ask him to pull over three times, extending our drive by over an hour.
We step into the lobby, the same sweet and rich perfume that is in the air of all Banks Hotels greets us, but unlike the others, this hotel was made for guests just as much as it was made for tourists not staying here, the lobby more opulent, with wider halls to accommodate more foot traffic. A series of fountains is in the middle of the lobby, with small seating areas arranged throughout the space.
“Let’s go,” Tyler says, leading us through the extravagant space. Cooper, Nessie, and I trail behind him, trying to take in each detail. The elevators are gold with a hammered finish that, like most things in the hotel, adds a sense of wealth and style. We pass them, stopping at the end where the elevator has a stone finish.
We get inside, and Tyler flashes his phone. “Welcome, Mr. Banks,” a speaker in the elevator says as the doors slide shut.
“This is ridiculous,” Coop says, shaking his head.
When the doors reopen at the top floor, the shock and amazement that hits me each time we walk into one of the rooms is even stronger as this room might be the most extravagant of them all, which is fitting, considering this is the city of lights, known for glamour and everything being over the top. I try to count the chandeliers, each dripping with beveled glass and opulence. As in New Orleans, there are multiple seating areas, each tied together with matching furniture and massive area rugs.
We pass all of them, then follow the wall of windows into the kitchen. It’s small and gourmet—made for looks rather than use, I’ve realized. I’m sure most who can afford to stay in this room have little to no use for the kitchen unless they have a personal chef who travels with them, which strangely seems like a reality as we tread into our ninth day of living in this extravagant lifestyle.
“Champagne,” Nessie says, stopping at the counter where the bottle sits in an ice bucket, surrounded by a small mountain of chocolate-dipped strawberries, a full charcuterie board, and a small bottle of whiskey.
“Damn, this looks good,” Coop says, inspecting the charcuterie board that has started to become a staple with our last few stops.
“We should make a toast,” Nessie says, reaching for the champagne. “Ty, do you have to work much, or do you have the weekend off?”
Tyler picks up the bottle of whiskey and twists it around in his hands. “I have to get some work in. This location has been under new management for six months, and during that time, half the staff has turned over.”
I stare at him—it’s difficult not to stare at Tyler—because the moody and bossy and confounding man is easily the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. All angular lines and chiseled features, perfectly mussed hair, and lips that are so distracting you can’t help but stare when he talks and imagine what it would feel like to kiss him. Mix that with the devious glint in his eyes and the rewarding feeling of catching one of his rare smiles, and it makes it nearly impossible not to stare. I wonder if he’s regretting last night—if that’s why his gaze seems almost glacial today. Is it because he told me that girl meant nothing? Because he revealed a thin sliver about caring what I thought?
The thoughts compound and overwhelm me, making me feel suddenly exhausted all over again. I wish I had allotted some of our time yesterday in the desert to talk about this with Nessie. Maybe she would have some insight, or at the very least, an unbiased opinion.
Nessie screams as the top of the champagne pops as Cooper opens it. She follows it with laughter that Coop joins in, and for a second, I feel a sense of melancholy as my attention turns to them. I don’t know how I didn’t see that they were perfect for each other years ago. I’m envious of how determined they were to be together and how completely smitten they are. How quick they are to laugh and how both of them seem on a constant quest to bring the other one happiness.
Cooper fills four glasses with the bubbly liquid. “To Vanessa and her wild sense of adventure that thankfully led her back to me.”
I grin, shifting my gaze to Nessie. “To Tyler, for hooking us up on the most epic adventure ever.”
They turn to Ty, who’s standing beside Nessie. “To being halfway done with this exhausting trip,” he says, his expression once again
