security to protect their privacy. As a publicist, there’s a good chance you will be exposed to information of a sensitive nature, Jamie. Personal information. If you’re going to make a career of working with celebrities, you’ll need to understand that they can’t let just anyone into their inner circle.”
“Michael Kage’s inner circle? In Vegas?” I think I actually giggled. “Yeah, there’s no way I’m passing that up.”
“No thinking about it?” Dr. Washburn asked. “You don’t have any questions for me?”
“Yeah. I’ve got two questions. Where do I sign, and when do I start?”
GETTING ready to go to Vegas was a bit of a challenge. I had to make arrangements for everything without alerting my friends to the fact that there was anything out of the ordinary— a near impossible feat when you considered that my head was about to blow off from the excitement. So many times I almost caved. Almost gave it away. But then I’ve never been good at keeping secrets.
The non-disclosure agreement I signed, with Dr. Washburn and a notary as witnesses, had not forbidden me from mentioning that I had an internship in Las Vegas. It only forbade me from sharing anything that could be considered identifying information or information of a personal nature, just like Dr. Washburn had said.
From what I could understand with the limited information provided beforehand, I would be staying in a hotel owned by Michael Kage’s uncle, Peter Santori. The Alcazar as it was called was a posh five-story hotel just off the Vegas strip, boasting a small casino, a Mediterranean restaurant, and a spa. The website didn’t have much detail besides a few photos of well-appointed guest rooms and a swimming pool lined with colorful tiles.
I couldn’t help but wonder, with all of the flashy themed resorts within a mile on the main strip, why someone would choose to stay at a place like the Alcazar for a couple hundred dollars a night, when they could be right in the middle of all of the Vegas action on the strip for a measly thirty-nine bucks. I knew this because I had used a good portion of the five excruciating days before my flight to research Vegas on the internet. I’d pretty much memorized prices and show times, restaurants and attractions. Funny thing was, I didn’t actually care about any of it. I was just champing at the bit to get out there, and at the moment internet research was as close as I could come.
Many times, I tried to dig up any information on my new client— damn, I loved the sound of that!— but his electronic footprint was nearly non-existent. I discovered a couple of social profiles that I was pretty sure belonged to him, but I was too chickenshit to make a connection with him on any of them.
Besides, I’d be seeing him in person in just a matter of days. The thought of it tied my stomach up in knots and made it hard for me to sleep at night. I wondered what it would be like getting to spend more than a few stolen moments with him. Would he be scary, nice, snobby, or mean? Would I enjoy working for him, or would he send me home with my tail between my legs? These types of questions plagued me day and night until I thought I would lose my mind. And not being able to talk about it was the worst of all.
“What’s got you so worked up?” Braden asked after Trey had left to go home for vacation. “You’ve been really quiet. Not your usual smart-ass self. Is it the breakup? To be honest, I didn’t think it was gonna be that bad on you. You’ve always been so… free.”
“Thanks,” I said with a smirk. “I’m just feeling anxious about summer vacation. It’s been a while since I’ve spent much time at home, and I’m afraid I won’t know how to act. Maybe I’ll want to come back here, you know?”
“Same here,” he admitted. “Every time I go to my parents’ house, I feel like I’m sleeping in someone else’s bed. Does that mean we’re growing up? This condo feels more like
“Michael Kage’s inner circle? In Vegas?” I think I actually giggled. “Yeah, there’s no way I’m passing that up.”
“No thinking about it?” Dr. Washburn asked. “You don’t have any questions for me?”
“Yeah. I’ve got two questions. Where do I sign, and when do I start?”
GETTING ready to go to Vegas was a bit of a challenge. I had to make arrangements for everything without alerting my friends to the fact that there was anything out of the ordinary— a near impossible feat when you considered that my head was about to blow off from the excitement. So many times I almost caved. Almost gave it away. But then I’ve never been good at keeping secrets.
The non-disclosure agreement I signed, with Dr. Washburn and a notary as witnesses, had not forbidden me from mentioning that I had an internship in Las Vegas. It only forbade me from sharing anything that could be considered identifying information or information of a personal nature, just like Dr. Washburn had said.
From what I could understand with the limited information provided beforehand, I would be staying in a hotel owned by Michael Kage’s uncle, Peter Santori. The Alcazar as it was called was a posh five-story hotel just off the Vegas strip, boasting a small casino, a Mediterranean restaurant, and a spa. The website didn’t have much detail besides a few photos of well-appointed guest rooms and a swimming pool lined with colorful tiles.
I couldn’t help but wonder, with all of the flashy themed resorts within a mile on the main strip, why someone would choose to stay at a place like the Alcazar for a couple hundred dollars a night, when they could be right in the middle of all of the Vegas action on the strip for a measly thirty-nine bucks. I knew this because I had used a good portion of the five excruciating days before my flight to research Vegas on the internet. I’d pretty much memorized prices and show times, restaurants and attractions. Funny thing was, I didn’t actually care about any of it. I was just champing at the bit to get out there, and at the moment internet research was as close as I could come.
Many times, I tried to dig up any information on my new client— damn, I loved the sound of that!— but his electronic footprint was nearly non-existent. I discovered a couple of social profiles that I was pretty sure belonged to him, but I was too chickenshit to make a connection with him on any of them.
Besides, I’d be seeing him in person in just a matter of days. The thought of it tied my stomach up in knots and made it hard for me to sleep at night. I wondered what it would be like getting to spend more than a few stolen moments with him. Would he be scary, nice, snobby, or mean? Would I enjoy working for him, or would he send me home with my tail between my legs? These types of questions plagued me day and night until I thought I would lose my mind. And not being able to talk about it was the worst of all.
“What’s got you so worked up?” Braden asked after Trey had left to go home for vacation. “You’ve been really quiet. Not your usual smart-ass self. Is it the breakup? To be honest, I didn’t think it was gonna be that bad on you. You’ve always been so… free.”
“Thanks,” I said with a smirk. “I’m just feeling anxious about summer vacation. It’s been a while since I’ve spent much time at home, and I’m afraid I won’t know how to act. Maybe I’ll want to come back here, you know?”
“Same here,” he admitted. “Every time I go to my parents’ house, I feel like I’m sleeping in someone else’s bed. Does that mean we’re growing up? This condo feels more like
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