Hot on His Heels (What Happens in Vegas) by Margo Bond Collins Page B

room, glancing around at the room. “I’ll just set up in the bathroom here.”
    The blonde followed her. “I’m Emerald. That’s Ruby.”
    Does everyone in Vegas have a stripper name? Sadie pushed the thought aside as uncharitable. Not to mention un-feminist.
    Emerald tossed the dresses onto Sadie’s bed. She narrowed her eyes and leaned her torso back to assess Sadie. “Kamille said you were a little thing. She wasn’t kidding.”
    Sadie tossed a frantic look at Amelia, but her friend, who had retreated to the armchair in the far corner, shrugged helplessly.
    “Okay,” Ruby said, coming out of the bathroom. “Everything’s plugged in. Let’s see what we’ve got to work with.”
    Emerald nodded and unceremoniously pulled the sweater off of Sadie’s shoulders, while Ruby began unbuttoning the blouse beneath it. Sadie’s hands flew up to clutch the collar to her neck. “Wait,” she said, shying away from the two women.
    “Aw, sweetie, you’re not shy , are you?” asked Emerald.
    “Trust me, baby girl,” said Ruby. “You ain’t got nothing we ain’t seen before.” With that, they continued removing her clothing until they had stripped her down to her panties and bra.
    The two women nodded at each other over her head, and Sadie gave up, resigning herself to spending the next few hours in their care.
    Keep your eyes on the prize, Sadie: an evening with an Intertwined employee. Someone who might even know Jocelyn Dellarivier.
    She could endure being measured, poked, plucked, and painted by Emerald and Ruby, as long as it might lead to the information she needed.
    Honestly, their attention was almost clinical, no worse than seeing a doctor.
    Except, of course, that instead of evaluating her health, Emerald and Ruby were evaluating her appearance, the one thing she had always believed didn’t really matter. She was intelligent, articulate, witty.
    How I look isn’t important.
    Moreover, she didn’t have time for this kind of daily ritual. Certainly not if it was going to take hours every time.
    Besides, she didn’t have these women’s expertise—and they weren’t letting her watch what they were doing. The one time Sadie had tried to check the mirror, Ruby had spun her back around. “Not until you can see the final product,” she chided.
    Amelia wasn’t giving anything away, either, keeping her responses limited to the occasional “hmm.”
    The only two things Sadie knew for sure were that she had never been so made up in her life—she could feel the weight of the makeup on her skin and eyes—and that her dress was red. She didn’t know anything else about the dress, though. Emerald had tucked and pinned various parts of it, then whipped it back off of Sadie and retreated to a corner with some kind of sewing kit. When she finished, she reached into one of her bags and pulled out two tiny wisps of lace. “Here, sweetie. Go put these on.”
    A bra and panties, tags still attached.
    Sadie dangled them from her thumb and forefinger. “These will never fit.”
    “Sure they will. Go ahead. We won’t look.” Emerald turned around.
    “I’ll just go into the bathroom.” Sadie sounded more tentative than she intended.
    “Oh, no, honey.” Ruby stepped up to block the door. “No mirrors for you until we’re all done.”
    With a sigh, Sadie gave in and reached back to unhook her own, perfectly serviceable bra.
    She’d been right—the lace scraps barely covered anything. Crossing her arms over her breasts, she said, “Okay. Can I put the dress on now?” She was glad to see Amelia staring intently at her computer. At least her friend wouldn’t ridicule her.
    “I just need to finish your hair first,” Ruby said. “Sit here so I can take out the curlers.”
    It was another fifteen minutes before Emerald tugged the red dress into place, then stepped back and examined her handiwork while Ruby clapped her hands and exclaimed, “Beautiful.”
    “Here.” Emerald set a pair of low heels in