One Exquisite Touch (The Extravagant #2)- Lauren Blakely Page 0,5

that’s what the occasion calls for. I dress quickly, knot the bow tie, and slide a book inside my inner jacket pocket before grabbing my necessary ticket for admission.

A black Venetian mask.

Hardly anyone knows me yet in this city, which makes the dress code all the better. I like it that way. Keeps everyone on their toes.

Where nearly everyone should be.

With the mask in my hand, I head back down the elevator to the fifth floor. Braxton waits for me, pacing.

I bet he never left.

I hand him my phone. “Call yourself, then you can conference in the producers, and I’ll show you how it’s done.”

“Thank you,” he says, doing as I say, then handing me back my phone and listening on his as we make our way down the grand staircase that leads into the casino.

As we go, I chat with Kelly, one of the producers, bending on a revenue term that was always flexible but standing firm on the length of the residency. With a sigh, but the kind that tells me I’m getting my yes, she says, “That will work.”

“Excellent. We couldn’t be more thrilled to have The Exquisite Show here. I’ll hand you off to Braxton, who’ll wrap up everything. By the way, how’s your father? Is he doing better after that horseback riding fall?”

“So much better. He should be back on Cinnamon in no time. Thanks for asking.”

“Glad to hear,” I say.

“And, Cole?”

“Yes, Kelly?”

“Your offer was very competitive. You were up against a number of other properties, but we’re confident The Invitation is the right hotel for this show.”

I smile. “I’m glad you feel that way, and you’re correct—it’s the best venue, and we can’t wait for you to see what we do with it.” I hand her off to Braxton, telling him quietly to “Finish it off.”

“Yes, sir,” he says, then spins on his heel, and I head past the high-roller tables, taking in the smell of money, the clink of glasses, the slide of chips—chips that’ll land in the house’s favor.

Well, most of them.

I sigh contentedly, like I’m sniffing a good cognac. Better yet, a delicious perfume on a gorgeous woman. This hotel reeks of opportunity, of possibilities that can’t be denied, of corners you want to peek behind, places you want to enter.

When I reach the revolving door, my longtime business partner, Daniel, is waiting for me, leaning against the marble column, a curious look in his light eyes. Like me, he’s also dressed in black tie.

“Did you get The Exquisite Show after I buttered them up?”

“You?” I snort. “I’m sorry, did you offer high then flex on a term, or present them a fantastic offer that benefits all involved?”

“No, but I took the producers out to a delectable dinner on the Rue de Rivoli last month. Or had you forgotten?” he asks as we head to the waiting limo. He is the charming one. No doubt the English accent helps. But I have my own store of charm too. Of the gruffer, more direct variety. We started this company more than fifteen years ago, and have grown it to worldwide acclaim and success. We complement each other—not quite good cop, bad cop, but more like opener and closer. It works, the way we hand off deals, and the way I run the American properties and he handles the European ones, after launching the Asian hotels.

I scoff. “Do I look like a fucking amateur?”

Daniel laughs. “You don’t want me to answer that.”

“Of course I made it happen. That’s what we do.”

“That’s absolutely what we do,” he echoes as we slide into the back seat of our sleek, air-conditioned stretch limo. “And tonight, we should celebrate our wildly successful first week here in Sin City. Especially since I’ll be returning soon to London.”

“Such a rough life.”

“And for you as well, sharing all the riches we make,” he says.

That sparks an idea. A passion, if you will. Something we haven’t indulged in since the last hotel we opened in Bali more than a year ago. “Speaking of sharing,” I begin, stroking my jaw, lifting a brow. “It has been a while since we played our favorite game.”

His eyes gleam. “I was thinking the same thing too. And really, who are we to let Camus down?”

I laugh. Daniel and his erudite quotes. “Camus? Are you really still quoting Camus?”

“It was my degree subject, philosophy.” He lifts his chin and speaks like an orator. “You are forgiven for your happiness and your successes only if you generously