What Stays in Vegas Read Online Free Page B

fifteen thousand identical black suitcases coming around the luggage carousel.  I am proud to say, however, that mine was the only one sporting a neon pink Jiggly Kitty luggage tag, just one of the many items you can purchase in The Jiggly Kitty gift shop.  Did I not mention that The Jiggly Kitty has a gift shop?  Not only can you purchase a souvenir luggage tag, but you can also find pens, mugs, t-shirts, and my personal favorite, your very own inflatable Jiggly Kitten.  In an act of pure genius, and blatant sexual harassment, an inflatable Jiggly Kitten had once shown up in Donna Spang’s cubicle.  But I digress. 
    I grabbed my bag and made my way to the car rental desk.  A woman whose name tag told me her name was Gem, and that she was from Antigua, awaited me with a smile. 
    “Good afternoon ma’am,” she said.  “How may I help you?”
    I handed Gem the reservation number that Margaret Sherman had given me before I left work on Friday.  She hadn’t wished me a nice trip or anything, just handed me a piece of paper and told me that if there was a problem she would be out of town.  Gem typed away at her computer.  All I had given her was a nine digit confirmation number, what on earth was she typing?  I’ve typed entire reports and not hit as many keys.  Finally the typing slowed to three second intervals, then five, then she stopped and pushed a form across the counter.
    “Okay then, Miss Tessa Golden.” She pointed her pen all around the form as she spoke.  “You have a two door BMW compact convertible in red.”
    I choked a little bit.  “BMW convertible?” 
    Flamhauser-Geist had never given me so much as a cupcake in appreciation of my four years of service.  There had to be some mistake.  I turned and looked at the line behind me to see if anybody else was hearing this.
    “Yes, ma’am, that is what was reserved. I also have a message for you from a Ms. Kendra Stoltz.  It says Enjoy the Ride.  If you don’t like red we do have another one available in blue.”
    “Um, no, red will be fine,” I said, soaking in what I had just heard.  Flamhauser-Geist had requested that I have a red BMW.  What planet had I landed on?  Maybe the plane had crashed.  Was I dead?  Maybe I should go check the news reports.  I mean, sometimes people are dead and don't even realize it until -
    “You’re a lucky girl, Miss Golden," said Gem.  "Most companies send their employees off in un-cool sedans.”  She pushed a set of keys across the counter and pointed to the door where my car would be waiting.  I thanked her more times than was necessary and giddily dragged my bags to the exit.    The shock of the desert heat in my face was nothing compared to the shock of seeing a gorgeous, shiny, brand new, red, BMW convertible waiting for me at the curb.  The porter helped me load my bags into the trunk, and then I slid behind the wheel.
    I had arrived - and arrived in style.

- 5 -
     
    As it turned out, my rental car came with a GPS, so the directions I had printed out and brought with me were not only unnecessary, but seriously lame.  I threw them on the floor and drove out of the airport, obeying every command of the GPS who I immediately nicknamed Brad.  Brad had a very soothing voice, as if he had been calibrated to instill calm and composure in the midst of the most horrid city traffic.
    “You sly dog,” I said to Brad,  “directing me to your hotel.” 
    It was immediate sensory overload as hotels, flashing lights, and beautiful people began popping up the closer I drove to The Strip.  I stopped at a traffic light and turned up the radio - a mix of sunshine, endorphins, and lack of sleep coursing through my veins.  I spent one of the happiest moments of my life at that traffic light, until I heard Brad struggling to tell me something.  I reluctantly turned down the music. 
    “In point two miles, turn right onto Convention Center Drive.” 
    “Shit!”  I had been distracted