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“Yes?” For a moment Sam questioned herself. It had been a hellish travel day, and now she wondered if she’d given the wrong name. But Hart was the one she’d been born with, and as boring as Samantha was, it had been hers from day one. “Yes,” she repeated, more certainly this time.
“Can I see some identification?”
It wasn’t the request that had Sam scratching her head, since it was standard practice to give ID when checking in, but the girl’s flagrant disbelief that she was who she claimed had Sam thinking, What the heck?
“Okay.” Sam rifled through her purse. Finding her driver’s license, she handed it to the girl.
“My apologies for the formality, Ms. Hart. It’s standard procedure for us with VIP guests. I’m sure you understand.”
Sam reclaimed her ID, and it was her turn to gawk at the desk girl. Had she said VIP? Was it possible Muriel had managed to do something right for this trip? Considering all the screw-ups thus far, a VIP suite would be a nice apology. Perhaps it was a belated Christmas gift?
As long as it wasn’t getting charged to her credit card, Sam didn’t really care.
“Yeah. VIP. Sure thing.”
The girl waved over a bellhop, and he relieved Sam of her suitcase and carry-on. “Jeremy will show you to your suite. We’re here for you twenty-four-seven, and of course you can expect the utmost discretion from our staff.”
“Thanks. I think.”
Jeremy the Bellhop was off and running with Sam’s things before she had a chance to ask any more questions. In the elevator he pressed a button for one of the top floors, and Sam’s heart began to sink, her pulse elevating and a nervous sweat dewing her forehead.
What if this was going on her credit card?
The higher the numbers on the elevator ticked, the more uneasy she became, adding an extra zero to her total bill for every ten floors. At this rate she’d have to sell books until she was seven hundred in order to recoup her losses on this stupid trip.
Forget killing Muriel, that was too easy. By now the old woman had surely earned some kind of Chinese water torture, or an elaborate scheme involving bamboo shoots.
It was hard to be mad at the old woman, though. She’d apologized profusely so many times. And after about six hundred chocolate chip cookies, Sam was five pounds heavier and a lot less angry. Mistakes happened, but she was still stuck in Vegas nursing a nauseated gut as the floors got higher and higher.
The elevator finally stopped, and Sam’s imminent heart attack told her she’d be mortgaging her store when she got home. And her house.
Jeremy led her up to a glossy black door and swiped her keycard for her. He held open the door and wheeled her bag inside, then paused in the entryway, waiting. She handed him a five-dollar bill, and he gave her a look that was first confused before shifting to disgusted.
She was about to ask him if he was sure this was the right room when he turned heel and exited, leaving her alone and completely bewildered.
In the front hallway of the suite were glass windows with silhouettes of skinny, Bond-girl-type women dancing in suggestive ways. The whole room was painted red with accents of black in the furniture. Sam left her suitcase in the hallway and moved past the writhing women, who followed along the glass behind her as she went.
Inside, things got twisted.
The room was enormous. Easily the size of six standard hotel rooms put together. The sitting area contained several black leather couches and an assortment of fancy, modern accessories, but something about the whole setup felt off to her. The suite had a bordello quality but without any of the warmth, and the space made Sam feel dirty.
She found the bedroom with a lush queen bed, and the sight of its poofy white duvet almost made her forget her mounting concerns with the rest of the space. All she wanted to do was collapse face-first into the mattress and sleep for the rest of the afternoon.
Instead of yielding to her first instinct, she left the bedroom and walked to the opposite side. She passed a slate-gray shower, but another item caught her eye, making her double back.
Was that a…flogging post?
Sam gaped at the wooden x-shaped structure in the bathroom sitting next to what looked like a wrought-iron cage. Her eyes must be playing tricks on her. There was no way she was actually seeing torture devices in a hotel bathroom.
Backing out of the room, she couldn’t decide what she ought to do. Her logical mind was telling her to grab her bags and march right back down to the front desk, but another part of her was curious. She still had another big room she hadn’t seen, and she wanted to know if things got any weirder.
They did.
The biggest room was a second bedroom, but it was unlike any hotel bedroom she’d ever seen. The entire back wall of the suite was a giant bed. An orgy-sized giant bed, covered in rich black satin sheets, with the curtains open to a view of Vegas. At night the skyline was probably stunning, but right then all Sam could see was the massive bed.
Fifteen people could have slept in it, but she doubted people slept much in a bed like that.
Was this a practical joke?
