1. Sunny

I thought I lived alone,but I discovered in a will-forever-haunt-my-nightmares way that I did not when I woke up to the distant bellowing of an old-timey car horn and the feel of someone pulling on my hand. Wait, not someone—something.

I popped open my eyes to find a huge gray rat. Its clawed feet pressed into my stomach, and its beady black eyes gleamed with determination as it tugged at the half-eaten protein bar in my hand.

My first thought was, Oh no, I must"ve been so tired after my graveyard shift at the Tourmaline Vegas that I fell asleep before I even got the chance to finish my protein bar.

My second thought came out as a scream followed by an, "Ew! Ew! Ew! Just take it!"

As soon as I released the protein bar, the rat lifted it in the air with a triumphant squeak, and I could have sworn it smirked at me before it scrambled away with the last half of my pitiful dinner.

Utterly disturbed, I sat up on the couch I used as a bed. Cinderella was my favorite animated movie growing up, but I'd just found out the completely alarming way that me and rodents do not get along.

Speaking of alarms, mine blared from the coffee table no one had put a bid on yet when I posted it online for sale.

My heart stopped for the second time that morning when I picked up the phone.

Dangit, I thought I was so smart when I asked Jake, my best friend's teen brother, to make it so the phone would have to be turned off manually instead of only going for the duration of its two-minute factory setting. But apparently, all that did was prove I could sleep through anything—except rat theft.

I'd set the alarm to go off at 9:30. It was now still blaring at 10:00 a.m. Which meant I'd have to haul ass if I wanted to catch my bus and make it on time to today's scheduled Benton Girls rehearsal at 10:30 a.m.

As much as I longed for the longest, scalding-hottest shower to wash away the feeling of that rat scrabbling across my body, I settled for barely two minutes of lukewarm scrubbing before pulling on a pair of dance leggings and throwing on a cropped, off-the-shoulder, neon-red Benton Girls sweatshirt over my tank top.

I managed to get showered and dressed in less than ten minutes. Yes! Yes! Yes!

I congratulated myself as I pulled on a pair of sneakers and grabbed my fanny pack off the floor, where I'd dropped it last night after my cocktail waitress shift. If I left now, I'd probably be able to make the 10:15 bus?—

All my hopes and dreams for saving the morning wilted when I opened the door to find Vinny, my building"s super-shady landlord, practically oozing sleaze from every pore.

"Oh, hi, Vinny. I'm actually in a rush to get to work."

"Yeah, I'm in a rush, too." As usual, Vinny spoke directly to my chest, as if nothing else existed above my neckline. "Rent was due yesterday, toots. Maybe you forgot."

My stomach sank. Crap, is it already the first Friday in February?

"I only have, like, half," I admitted, lacing my voice with apology, despite his lewd stare. "But today is payday, so I can drop off the rest tomorrow. For now, though…"

I fished all the money I'd made in cash tips this week working at the Tourmaline out of my fanny pack and offered him the stack of various bills. "Here"s everything I have on me."

Vinny snatched the money out of my hand and counted. But as soon as he was done, his open-mouthed stare came right back to my chest. "You know, 12B's got a bit of a nose candy problem, and sometimes she can't make the full rent either. But she's got a sweet way of helping me forget about the inconvenience she's causing her poor landlord. Real sweet."

He gave me a leering smile, revealing a mouthful of coffee-stained dentures. "And you"re younger. Juicier." He licked his thin lips. "If your hand"s as sweet as 12B"s, I can forgive the rest of the rent."

I only just managed not to draw back and squeal, "Ew! Ew! Ew!" for the second time that morning.

My teeth itched with the effort it took not to say, Maybe instead of grossing out female tenants half your age, you should be laying down some rat traps to help them keep their stash of protein bars safe from audacious rodent crooks.

But the thing was, a renter who hadn"t been able to pay her full rent wasn't in the best position to complain about unwanted pests in her apartment. Also, I spotted the 10:15 bus in the distance, rounding the corner to pull up to the stop in front of our building.

"Sorry, Vinny. I have to go." I pushed past him and closed the door behind me before dashing toward the concrete stairwell.

"I promise I"ll have the rest for you by tomorrow!" I called out over my shoulder.

"The rest better come with an extra fifty dollars for every day you're late!" Vinny yelled after me.

Ugh.I'd better be sure I slid the rent envelope underneath his door today.

I sent up a little prayer to the direct deposit gods that the funds would be posted to my account by the end of the business day so I"d be able to withdraw the rest of the rent money—plus fifty bucks in cash.

I also doubled down on my speed, running through what appeared to be a top-of-the-morning meth deal in order to make my bus. It was almost to the empty kiosk.

"Stop! Stop!" I waved my hands frantically above my head, yelling out to the bus driver, hoping he'd wait for me.

And he did slow down...for two whole seconds—before he sped right back up, his stare fixed straight ahead as if he didn"t hear or see me running toward him down the building"s cracked walkway.

I made it to the curb just in time to slap my hand against the side of the bus as the driver rolled away.

Crap! Can this day get any worse?

In less than an hour, I would deeply regret asking myself that question.

* * *

"Oh,my God, twin! You look terrible!"

Pru, my best friend, came rushing over to me when I slunk into the backstage dressing room over twenty minutes late for our full-dress call time.

I knew she was kidding about calling me twin. That was an inside joke, dating back to our early days on the line before Rick learned to tell the only two African-American Benton Girls apart, despite us having different complexions and Pru standing a modelesque five eleven to my bare minimum five eight.

But I could tell from her expression that she was totally worried about me.

"Rick"s gonna be hella pissed when he sees you looking like shit and not even ready to go on!" Dara, one of the second-line dancers from Northern California, called out from her vanity station.

Unlike Pru, Dara didn't sound worried about me. In fact, her warning had a gleeful undertone. Dara was also my understudy, and I could almost hear her salivating for my crowd-pleasing mid-show solo.

A wave of exhaustion passed over me. The thing was, I"d love to give her a chance to shine. I could more than use a day off.

Unfortunately, both Dara and I were contractors who were paid by the show, and I needed the money too badly to skip even one performance.

No matter how bone-tired I was.

"And that"s why we're going to make sure she's ready to go before Rick comes back here," Pru announced. She turned to marshal the other topless dancers in her line. "Maria, go grab her bikini, backpack, and headpiece off the rack. Leah, you grab her a pair of show heels. She wears a size nine and a half.

"And you…" Pru grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me over to her vanity, where all her makeup was set out. "Let me see what I can do before Rick starts asking questions about why you look so tired."

"Is it that bad?"I wasn't in the habit of wearing makeup outside of official shows. Also, "Don"t you think I should get into my costume first thing?"

Pru squirted a small pool of concealer onto her makeup brush.

"I don"t know. When you say bad, are we comparing you to, like, a raccoon?" she asked. "Because then, no, it"s not that bad."

She punctuated her sarcastic remark with a suck of her teeth. But her expression softened after she started attacking me with her makeup brush. "Seriously, Sunny, how much longer are you going to push yourself like this?"

"As long as it takes," I insisted. "Hopefully, before anyone finds out…"

I let the rest of the sentence trail off, not just because I was afraid of being overheard but also because I was still coming to terms with all my plans blowing up in my face and the fallout from that explosion.

"If we had more time, I'd suggest a full-on drag queen cake." Pru sighed. "But let me see what magic I can do with some concealer and an underbrush."

Less than five minutes later,I breathed a grateful sigh of relief when I saw a non-zombie who"d gotten a decent night"s sleep in the reflection of Pru"s vanity station mirror.

And thanks to my best friend"s earlier orders, my show outfit was hanging on the back of the chair she"d pushed me into, standing by for my incoming quick change.

"Oh, my God, twin. You truly are my fairy makeup godmother," I declared as I hopped up to don my crystal bikini. "I can"t believe you got me looking like a whole human before Rick found out I was la?—"

"Sunny Gloria Johnson! What did you do?" Rick"s always overdramatic voice rang out across the backstage dressing room.

Crap! Crap! Crap! I closed my eyes for a too-brief second, then somehow managed to paste on a smile as bright as my name before turning around to face the pissed-off showrunner striding straight toward me.

"Good morning, Rick. How are you?"

Rick, like most longtime Vegas showrunners, had a standing bi-weekly "facial rejuvenation" appointment, wore bright-colored readers on the very tip of his nose, and employed a displeased sneer as his version of resting bitch face.

So, I knew he was mad-mad when he didn't just frown up at me but also managed to squeeze a single anger line into the middle of his forehead. "Well, I was fine until I got wind of this bullshit. Care to explain yourself?"

No. No, thank you, I thought but didn"t dare say out loud.

I glanced over at Pru, the only person I'd told the real reason I'd had to pick up the extra shifts at the Tourmaline, and decided to go with a mild version of the truth. "Well, the thing is, I'm dealing with a rat problem at my apartment, and that's why?—"

"A rat problem?" Rick cut me off, narrowing his eyes as much as his several ccs of injectables would let him. "That's your excuse? That's why they're asking for me to send you straight over to the top floor of corporate without giving me even a couple hours of rehearsal?"

"Corporate"s asking for me?" I squeaked.

My stomach bottomed out.

Oh no. This was worse than Rick finding out I had taken a second job at a competing hotel. Way worse.

"Not just corporate. Top floor," Rick repeated. Then he asked again. "Seriously, Sunny, what did you do?"

* * *

She knows. She knows. She knows!

Those two words echoed relentlessly in my mind as the elevator chimed, announcing my arrival on the top floor of the Benton Worldwide Hotel Resorts Group's glass-encased corporate offices.

I"d never actually been to this building before. Day-to-day operations were nestled toward the back of the Benton Grand's first floor, less than a five-minute walk from the Nora Benton theater.

Day-to-day was where I'd signed up to become a Benton Girl, and ever since then, those ground-floor offices had been my go-to spot for any issue, including updating my address after I moved into my new apartment and closed my Benton Credit Union account after I found it completely drained.

I knew Nora Benton, my grandma"s best friend, kept a work suite in the glass building across the parking lot from the main hotel tower. But she"d never invited me to visit her there.

Until today. When she summoned me to her office in the most official way possible.

She knows. She knows. She knows.

Dread churned my stomach as I walked down a hallway made of vanilla marble flecked with gold. Portraits of ruthless Benton magnates, spanning generations, adorned the inside wall. From Victorian-era merchants to modern-day moguls. They all wore matching expressions, stern and resolute. Apparently, extreme gravitas was a highly heritable trait.

Eventually, I reached a familiar face. Coleridge Benton, Nora"s late husband, stared down at me, his cold blue eyes seeming to judge my every step.

Sorry, Mr. Benton.I silently apologized as I passed by his portrait, feeling much like the small child I"d been the first time I"d met him.

The next CEO painting should have featured his and Nora"s only son, Coleridge Benton II. I didn"t know much about him except that he"d abruptly resigned after less than two years. But whatever happened, it must"ve been messy because the next portrait wasn"t of him but of the current CEO, Coleridge Benton III. The original Coleridge and Nora"s oldest grandson.

I"d heard Rick and other Benton workers call him Triple Ice. Like, often. And I had a feeling it was more than just a play on the three Roman I"s behind his name.

The artist had painted him looking away, in half profile. Yet the current CEO somehow exuded even more authority and intimidation than all the Benton head honchos before him.

My gaze lingered on the grandson"s portrait, and I suddenly understood why some businessmen were referred to as hawks. His hair was a luxurious mane of brownish-blond locks, slicked back with precision, not a strand daring to step out of line.

Yeah, the only difference between this guy and a hawk was that birds of prey didn"t have chiseled jaws or wear dark, finely tailored suits. Even looking away, his eyes somehow commanded the room. An icy combination of his grandfather"s crystal blue and his grandmother"s vibrant green, it felt like he was either staring down a board of directors—or straight into some poor employee"s soul.

A chill ran down my spine at the thought of being that employee.

But then I reminded myself that I"d been called here to meet with Nora Benton, the family"s matriarch, not the current CEO.

Letting out a small breath of gratitude, I passed by his portrait, too. More marble, and then, way sooner than I wanted to be, I found myself in the inner lobby of the Benton family's suite of offices. It was quiet here, with a kind of hush I couldn"t even begin to imagine replicating in the always-noisy main building of the Benton Grand.

Instead of slot machines and the excited voices of tourists, there sat a single assistant in the middle of the office, click-clacking away on her desktop computer.

I reluctantly approached her desk, shuffling my feet like a future dancer called to the chalkboard in math class. "Hi, I"m Sunny Johnson. I was told to come?—"

"Yes, I know who you are." The assistant didn"t raise her head from her desktop screen. Just stopped typing with one hand long enough to extend her arm. "Wait there."

I followed the direction of her hand to a collection of plush red armchairs that complemented the lux gold-flecked marble floors and walls and sat down with a stomach full of concrete. Yeah, Nora knows.For sure.

I desperately tried to come up with some sort of explanation as the assistant walked over to a massive red door directly facing her station. She opened it to issue a succinct, "She's here."

I couldn"t hear what Nora said on the other side of the door, but her reply was just as brief. The assistant blinked once, then turned to me and said, "You may enter."

I stood with the stiff feeling of a deep-brown Showgirl Barbie being moved across the stage by the hand of fate.

What will I say to her? What can I possibly say?

I had never wanted so badly to run from something in my life. But I wasn"t a coward.

I took a deep breath to calm my racing heart.

No, I didn"t know what to say, but I knew I owed Nora a huge apology. So, I raised my head high and walked into that office to give my grandmother's dearest friend her due.

"Nora, I know why you called me here, and I am so, so…"

My apology trailed off when I saw the person standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window wall overlooking the Vegas skyline.

Not Nora.

Her grandson. Triple Ice.

He turned from the window to face me. And nope, I hadn"t been imagining it. It felt exactly like getting stared down by a hawk with pale green eyes.

"Sit down," he commanded with a voice as cold as his nickname.