Page 125 of Gilt

“Yes?” she snaps. For a second, I almost swear her eyes flash a demonic red, but that’s probably just me.

“The truth.” If Monroe expects me to keep quiet about this discovery, then I’m going to need to know why she’s doing it in the first place.

“The truth is in short supply these days.” She drops into a chair and stares out the window at the sparkling city lights. Even in the daylight, Vegas flashes its best smile, calling tourists to come hither with promises of good luck and good fortune. Monroe’s gaze grows distant, as if she’s as lost to this city as anyone else.

“Why?” I continue. “You have everything. Why throw it away?”

“You think I’m throwing it away?” Her head whips around so she can glare directly at me. “Do you know what Vegas is? A place for dreamers. It’s easy to lose your way here. Ask your daddy.”

“Ask yours,” I counter coldly.

She flinches but shrugs it off with a hollow laugh. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she goes on. “You can either lose yourself, or you can make yourself.”

I’m pretty certain that Monroe West already has it made, but I keep the thought to myself. If I keep provoking her, I’ll never get my answer.

“My father made himself into a mogul. Everyone expects me to spend the rest of my life in the spa or shopping. I don’t have to work.” Her eyes flicker over to check if I’m listening. I nod for her to continue. “But I don’t want to be another parasitic heiress. God knows the world has enough of those.”

“You want to be a hooker instead?” The question slips out, and I clamp my mouth shut. When you operate at my level of sarcasm, it’s hard to contain it.

“I’m not a hooker,” she says with a withering look.

“Escort,” I correct myself, tacking on a “sorry.”

“My father made his fortune on gamblers. He made money on money. Jameson gets to take over that empire. No work. No hardship. It’s just his.”

“I doubt he sees it that way.” Defensiveness flares in my chest at the mention of my boyfriend.

“Of course not. He, like most men, has the luxury of being able to complain about his circumstances while still taking advantage of them.” She wags her finger at the space between us. “We don’t.”

Now I’m in the same class as Monroe? Will wonders never cease? Although, I don’t expect that our two-girl Breakfast Club is going to meet again after we leave this room.

“There’s plenty of money in Vegas. It’s almost an insult to make money on money.”

“So you’re going to make money off sex?” I guess.

“I’m going to build my empire on sex,” she corrects me. “The youngest madam in Vegas history. I’ve learned the trade from some of the best, and let’s face it, I’m well-educated.”

I thought back to English class. I suppose you don’t need a spectacular grasp of the classics to run an escort agency.

“I won’t have any competition.” She leaves the last statement lingering in the air as bait.

I bite. “And why is that?”

“Because they’ll all be terrified that I’ll reveal that they employed me while I was underage. Instead, I get to play the part of business savant,” she concludes.

She already has the part of idiot down, I think.

Monroe studies me for a moment. No doubt, wondering what I think of her now. “If things don’t work out with Jameson, I might have a job for you.”

“I don’t think we should be in business together,” I say dryly. Having Monroe as my high school enemy and my pimp is a bit much to swallow.

“You know where to find me,” she says, unfazed. “If you’ll excuse me, I have better things to do with my day, and you must have…something to do with yours.”

Like your brother.

When she leaves, I settle onto the bed and stare at the ceiling above. Various shapes emerge from the spackle like pieces of a mysterious puzzle. There was one question I didn’t think to ask Monroe: why would The Dealer want to out her? I’m beginning to question if my eyes were playing tricks on me before. I check my phone for a response, but there is none. When I open Instagram, the photo is gone.

It looks like The Dealer got my message and made a move after all. It should be a victory, but instead, it feels like I’ve painted a big target on my back.