“Yes. I don’t have an appointment. He told me to drop by if I was in town.”

The guard pulled up a screen of approved visitors and scrolled to the Bs. Hannah’s name was third from the top. He made a call. “Mr. Fletcher is in his office. He says come right up. You know the way.”

“I do. Thank you.” Hannah walked down a corridor to a bank of elevators. The car shot smoothly to the twentieth floor. She exited the elevator and went through a huge set of glass doors. After checking in with the cool blond secretary, she waited by a bank of windows that overlooked the city. Other than the Strip, Vegas spread out in an array of randomness, as if the city planners had tossed high-rises, cheesy motels, and empty lots on a game board and built them where they landed.

“Ms. Barrett, Mr. Fletcher will see you now.” The secretary opened her boss’s door.

“Thank you.” Hannah crossed the threshold.

The room was absurdly large. Herb’s desk was a mammoth slab of mahogany faced by a semicircle of chairs. In the corner, a conversation area had been formed with a black leather sofa and two matching chairs. An acre of empty space yawned between the workspace and more intimate seating. He might dress like a regular joe, but his office was wall-to-wall swank.

Herb stood as she entered his office. He came out from behind his desk to greet her. “I’m so glad you dropped in.” He offered her a hand.

Yeah, that was not going to happen.

Hannah stopped short. Confusion crossed Herb’s face. He gestured toward the conversation area. Hannah preceded him, but instead of sitting, she paced in front of the window. The backdrop of Sin City felt appropriate for the conversation they were about to have.

She’d been in Herb’s office several times before, but it had never been just the two of them. Alone with him, the cavernous space felt oddly intimate.

“You look like you’ve recovered. I’m glad to see that. I hope you’ll be back to work soon.”

“I’m sure I will.” Hannah finally took a seat, perching on the edge of the sofa. The thought of her going back to her jet-set career with people like Herb Fletcher gave her indigestion. She felt like she was treading water, working hard and getting nowhere. How did she measure her accomplishments? With dollar signs. She wasn’t much different from Herb.

“I’m glad.” Herb stopped in front of a chair. He gestured to a wet bar by the window. “Can I get you a drink?”

“No, thank you.” Hannah gathered her thoughts.