Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 88656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
5
THE NEXT morning, I felt fresher than I had in a long time. Possibly ever. There were no birds singing outside my Vegas window, but a lot can be said for waking up in what is essentially a palace. All I needed were some harem girls, a hookah, and a couple of servants to complete the fantasy.
After a hot shower, during which I giggled to myself about bathing with rocks, I dressed for success. My heather-gray skinny dress pants cuffed at the ankle, showing a strip of argyle socks above black dress shoes. I opted for a black button-up shirt with a white t-shirt underneath. I smoothed the wrinkles out with the hotel iron and admired myself in the full-length mirror near the bed, unhitching a couple of buttons at the top— just enough to show the collar of my undershirt. I bent to temptation and tied my Claddagh necklace around my throat. It may not have been the most professional piece of jewelry, but how could I leave it off? Over the years, it had become almost a part of my body. I felt naked without it.
My hair was uncooperative, sticking out in a couple of spots in such a way that I resembled a horny little devil, and I attempted to tame it with a dollop of hair gel. After ten minutes of fighting, I had the fly-aways tamed, the ducktail in place, and my bangs curtaining one eye just the way I liked it.
“Hello, stud,” I said to my reflection. Then I flipped my phone out and took a selfie to send to my mom. I captioned it First Day on the Job, then hit send.
“Good luck, baby!” My mom texted back. “You look beautiful as always.”
I wondered why I was being so overly-concerned about how I was dressed, anyway. It wasn’t like this was a real job. It was an internship— a test run. People expected interns to be slightly unkempt and a bit surly, right? At least that’s how it always was in the movies. The intern comes in, with a progressive attitude and a healthy disdain for authority cultivated through years of college classes and keggers, and breathes new life into the stodgy work atmosphere. After a couple of weeks, everyone is loosening their ties and taking longer lunch breaks. The girls are bringing their babies to work, everyone is openly embracing diversity, and the men are bonding over beers and darts at some cutting-edge club in the hipster district. Creativity has a renaissance.
Yeah, nice fantasy, dude.
The reality was that this was Vegas, and everyone in the office of the Alcazar was at least as progressive as me— even the granny answering the telephones. She wore tortoise-shell Catwoman glasses with a black chain, a pink cashmere sweater, and a matching pink streak in her platinum hair.
“Can I help you?” she asked in a smooth, professional tone. Her work voice. I was willing to bet her regular speaking voice was several steps lower and a lot less refined.
“I’m Jamie Atwood,” I said. “The new intern.”
“Intern?” She cocked her head to the side, as if she didn’t have the foggiest clue what I was talking about but was reluctant to admit it.
“We’ve got an intern?” A man poked his head around the half wall at Catwoman’s back, but when he saw me, his face fell. “Oh, a male intern. It figures. I was about to be going all Bill Clinton up in here. So what are you going to be doing for us, male intern?”
“Uh… publicist?” I was becoming increasingly less sure of myself. In fact, I was beginning to question whether I’d even come to the right hotel. Everyone seemed surprised— and less than thrilled— to see me. “Did you guys not know I was starting today? The name’s Jamie Atwood. Maybe there’s a memo or something?”
The man rounded the receptionist’s desk and shook my hand. “Mark Gladstone,” he said, slipping his hands easily into the pockets of his expensive dress pants. His dark hair was perfectly tousled, his shirt starched to perfection. “I’m afraid you’ve caught us a little off guard. We weren’t told we were getting an intern. Never had one before, so…” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck, looking toward the receptionist as if for ideas. “What do you think, Cathy? Should we put him back there next to Alicia? Bet she’d love that. She really goes for those pretty boy types.”
Cathy scoffed. “Don’t do that to the poor boy. He wouldn’t get a lick of work done, and neither would she.”
Mark gave me a conspiratorial look and dropped his voice a notch. “Alicia is very… outgoing. If you catch my meaning.” He raised his eyebrows, and Cathy snorted.
“Outgoing, my ass. That girl is a slut, plain and simple.” She shook a finger at me. “You stay away from her if you know what’s good for you. There are plenty of nice girls in Vegas if you know where to look. Across town, though. Not around here.”