Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 88580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
But just in case—I’m already thinking about the outfit I’m going to wear and fantasizing about Adler worshipping between my legs.
“Hey, Case, I’m fuckin’ starving,” Dad calls from the other room.
And like that, my daydream disappears. “Nearly done,” I call back, and forget all about this stupid sex stuff in the ugly, mundane reality of my life.
Chapter 4
Casey
“Right this way.” The girl working the front desk has the straightest, whitest teeth I’ve ever seen in my life. She leads me over to an elevator tucked behind a pair of enormous potted plants. The doors are gilded, and they look like they were built in the twenties with scrawling Art Deco designs around the edges.
Nobody’s ever gone into this magic elevator. Not that I’ve seen anyway.
But the front desk girl puts a key into an old-fashioned lock, turns it, and the doors slide open.
Revealing the interior of an elevator. I’m weirdly disappointed—some part of me expected unicorns, rainbows, glitter, maybe an explosion or two.
“Head on up,” she says, “he’s expecting you. There’s only one button.”
“Uh, thanks,” I say, but the girl’s already walking off.
I chew on my lip, seriously reconsidering this madness. It’s five to ten and I don’t have to go through with this. I could head to the casino, find Roxie, and tell her that I’m a real chicken. She’ll scream at me, but eh, whatever.
Except if I don’t go, Shane will die.
I hit the only button, unmarked, and the doors slide shut.
The elevator begins moving and I look at myself in the mirror.
I chose a gray dress I bought for a wedding a few years ago but never wore. It’s tight, clinging to my chest and hips, cut low but not so much that it shows my very-miniscule cleavage, with a belt in the middle.
I look appropriate for business, but also kind of sexy, with my shoulder blade-length dirty-blonde hair down and parted. I wish I had on better shoes, but I can’t really get around without my orthotics, so they’ll have to serve.
I spent way too long agonizing over this outfit, and it’s all Roxie’s fault.
The worst part is—I have on black lacy underwear.
My only black lacy pair, something I considered a silly extravagance when I bought them two years ago, since I assumed nobody would ever seem them.
Now I’m not so sure.
“We’re not having sex,” I whisper to myself in the mirror. Though the butterflies in my chest and stomach suggest I’d prefer it if we did.
I steel myself as the elevator slows and comes to a stop. All at once, the realization hits me.
I’m about to see the mythical top-floor apartment for myself.
I should be freaking out right now. I’ve been so distracted by the possibility of sleeping with Adler that I haven’t really thought too hard about this moment.
Now it’s hitting me full in the chest.
Countless hours have been wasted by thousands of employees speculating about his place. Adler is notoriously private and he rarely, if ever, talks about his home life. We all know he lives somewhere in the hotel, at least that’s what common knowledge suggests, but exactly where remains a mystery. Gossiping about the top-floor apartment is practically a pastime for the Sunrise staff. Everyone’s obsessed with Adler, and obsessed with his living arrangements by extension, which he only exacerbates by cultivating his silly air of mystery.
I’ve heard so many things about this place.
All of them totally made up, but still.
I’ve heard that it’s not real, which is clearly wrong. At least I hope. It’d be pretty crappy if this were all some dream. I’ve heard that it’s real, but jungle-themed. Which is doubtful, but a dishwasher in the kitchen swore it was true. I heard that it’s more like a speakeasy mixed with a sex dungeon, which I believe. I heard that it’s all pillows and beds, and Adler just uses it as an enormous fuck palace (that one is Roxie’s favorite).
The doors slide open.
And I’m greeted by a normal apartment entryway.
I step out, feeling strangely let down. I sort of wanted the smell of sweat, musk, and perfume mingled with disco balls hanging from the ceiling or something equally opulent and over the top.
Instead, it’s nothing special. Tile floor, simple walls decorated with bland landscape paintings, the smell of wood polish and the tang of brass in the air. It’s extremely nice and borderline lavish, but I could open the pages of Architectural Digest and spot a dozen just like it. There’s a hall straight ahead, a door a few feet on the left, and a staircase on the right.
“Hello?” I call out, feeling awkward. I wasn’t told what to do once I got here, only that I had to show up.
“Back in here. Straight down the hall, on your left.” Adler’s voice comes from deeper into the apartment.
I head forward, feet killing me from walking more than usual, my limp more pronounced than I like.