The Fundamentals of the Wealthy

Sin City

I had sent my schedule to Mr. Raleigh - ensuring to leave out the details of the location and Mrs. Raleigh's mission - out of it.

He approved it, I assumed, grudgingly.

I stepped out of the jet bridge from the plane and into the airport, legs still wobbly from the six-hour-long flight.

The four inch platforms I was wearing didn't help, either.

Whenever I travelled, I made it a tradition to dress nicely on the first day, just to sprinkle in some good luck for the rest of the trip.

I wore a small, black denim dress with sheer tights, a light gray pullover to go underneath, and the aforementioned black platforms.

Is this too modest for Vegas?

I clutched the handle of my suitcase and scanned my surroundings, just in case Mr. Raleigh had been stranded at the airport yesterday and was hiding behind a potted plant, just waiting to pounce.

No sight of the guy.

I left go of a breath I didn't realize I had been holding. A large part of me was relieved that I didn't have to run into him at the airport and explain myself, while the smaller, insignificant part of me was disappointed.

It's only because you're so used to being around him that it feels weird to finally take a vacation. I insisted.

Besides. I took out the schedule that Mrs. Raleigh had so kindly taken to herself to type up, I bet I'll run into him eventually.

What would I even say? "Oh, yes, Mr. Raleigh, your mother paid me to find out whether or not your father is the lecherous, cheating husband she has thought him out to be."?

That should turn just fine.

I had left Penny at home with Ryan, the latter wailing that it wasn't fair for me to go to Las Vegas while he had to stay and work at home.

I smirked to myself, I'll bring him and Penny a souvenir.

Throughout this thought process, I'd wobbled outside, and hailed a taxi to get to Las Vegas. It was just eleven miles from where my airport in Paradise was, and with each approaching mile, my blood ran colder and colder.

In addition to finding out whether or not Mr. Mr. Raleigh had an affair, I had to prevent Mr. Raleigh from talking to Veronica.

What a mess you've gotten yourself into, Piper. And for what reason?

No reason, I insisted adamantly. No reason at all.

And yet, my rapidly increasing heart rate persisted, even as we arrived on the Las Vegas strip, even as we pulled up in front of Caesar's Palace, my hotel.

I paid the driver and settled my baggage in my room before heading out to find some lunch.

3:00 PM, Caesar's Palace, 10th floor venue, read Mrs. Raleigh's list, Mr. Raleigh should be there to greet his associates. Dress like a makeup artist or a worker for the models.

I guess what I'm wearing now should suffice.

At the bottom, in very red, fine print, she had written very politely: DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE LET MR. RALEIGH SPOT YOU.

Guess that goes for the both of them, huh? I thought.

I hurried through the streets crowded with tourists and casino goers, to Chipotle and bought a bowl before settling down and digging in. The time read 1:50 PM.

My phone buzzed suddenly. I read the caller ID, and almost choked on a piece of chicken.

"Mr. Raleigh?" I said when I picked up, as if a question.

"Piper. Where are you?"

I blinked and slowly turned around, searching the establishment and the people outside the windows for him. I didn't sense him like I did normally - which was when my spine froze with icicles that prickled the hairs on my back. My heart thudded.

And my sense was correct - he wasn't around.

"Where...am I?"

"I believe we're having some communication issues lately. You continously repeat my questions," I heard the grim line of his mouth deepen.

"Sorry, Mr. Raleigh. I mean, I'm on vacation, like I told you yesterday."

Pause.

"Mrs. Raleigh seems to have told me that you are in Las Vegas."

I hung up.

A few minutes of shaky bites of Chipotle chicken later, my employer still hadn't called back. Expected, but still just as horrifying.

Why are you so afraid to talk to him? You've been working for him for five years, and what?

I stabbed some lettuce and sour cream, chewing quickly.

Sure, you thought that he was attractive when you first met him, but why do you feel this way now? Now, when you know him so much better?

I finished my lunch and looked at the time. 2:30. These bloody heels felt terrible, but they were cute, at least. I rubbed the back of my heel in distaste, opening the door to a gust of cold Las Vegas air.

I swiftly passed some street vendors handing out flyers, narrowly avoiding the metal grates in the ground before starting for Caesar's Palace.

Think about the bonus.

I crossed my arms and hunched my shoulders in, and hurried my way to catch a cheating husband.