“The owner of the hotel would like to meet with you if you’re available.”
I closed my eyes with a muttered curse. I didn’t think Nicolas had been on the plane for my little rant with Aristide. Plus, it had to be at least ten o’clock at night, if not eleven. What the hell was the guy doing here if he owned the damnedhotel?
“It’s late. Please give my excuses and have Aristide schedule something for later in the week if he’s available.”
“Oui, monsieur. Also, the head chef of their Michelin-starred restaurant is on hand to make any of your favorites. I’m told his bouillabaisse is renowned across the country.”
I chuckled before I took another pull from my beer. Somehow I didn’t see myself ordering my favoriteshellfish dish so far away from the ocean.
I looked down at the crowds of people standing along the sidewalk, waiting for the next fountain show. Lovers with their arms wrapped around each other. Groups of guys and girls out to find some fun. All regular, normal people. I wanted to be one of them. Just a guy and not a prat everyone kowtowed to.
Even here in Las Vegas, thousands of kilometersaway from Monaco, the specter of the palace hovered over me, putting distance between me and the rest of society. Whether it was sixty floors up or walking through the casino floor with four bodyguards, I was always apart.
“Monsieur? The bouillabaisse?” For the second time that night, Nicolas’s voice drew me out of my morose thoughts.
It was time to put an end to my sulking.
“Not tonight. Roundup the boys. We’re going out.”
