Page 61 of Marked by the Demigod

Aimes nudges her with her elbow. "You're the one with the design convention this week."

"And our drama is exquisite, all about artistic integrity, and massively gay. It's fantastic."

Despite herself, Aimes smiles, and her eyes are drawn to a sharp profile with dark hair, but when she glances more directly, it's...

It's not Iakov, but it's another man staring at her, a smirk on his face. A smirk that's almost as familiar, his nose a bit too long and his face a bit too sallow and his shoulders far more rounded.

She’s suddenly reminded of that time in Priscilla’s, all those months ago.

As if on cue, her phone buzzes.

TALL GUY (4:11 PM): Don't talk to him.

Trixie cranes her neck over Aimes’s shoulder, her eyebrows furrowing. "Who the hell is Tall Guy?"

Aimes opens the contact. It was added less than a week ago. "No clue," she lies, glancing up at the man staring at her, then back down.

AIMES (4:13 PM): Wrong number? Who is this?

Trixie nods over her shoulder in approval. "Good call."

Aimes stuffs her phone in her purse, studiously grabbing the hookah hose again and not looking over at the staring man, pulse pounding. "Don't even know who he was talking about."

"And who would you save as 'tall guy' anyways, you're weird about all your phone contacts," says Trixie, who saves everyone under incomprehensible nicknames. Aimes was saved as bikini babe last time she checked, and she hasn't even worn a bikini since junior year of college.

Her phone buzzes, and Trixie and Aimes stare at each other for a second before Trixie shrugs and goes back to the hookah and the international students.

TALL GUY (4:25 PM): You know. We went for Pierogies.

Aimes stares at it for a few seconds, light for a few seconds, before feeling incredibly silly. He had given her his number, but all without telling her and is now using it only to tell her not to do things.

But.

A way to contact, without having to wait for him first, and she refuses to feel grateful cause it really fucking should not be necessary.

AIMES (4:26 PM): And the guy staring at me? I shouldn't talk to him.

TALL GUY (4:27 PM): If you step out, I'll get you someplace safe.

Trixie is now deeply engrossed in a conversation in French, of all things.

AIMES (4:28 PM): I'm with a friend.

TALL GUY (4:29 PM): She'll be fine. Say you have a business call and have to go to the room.

He's ordering her again, but a glance to the staring man shows his smirk has dropped off, replaced with a reptilian stare.

Aimes nudges Trixie. "Got to make a call, software in Michigan didn't go through."

"Sure it's not the FBI?" Trixie narrows her eyes, as if she can see right through the lie and into Aimes's soul.

"Yeah, I'll meet you back in the room in a bit?"

The international students next to Trixie nod at the idea, and if it wasn't for the fact that Trixie can fend for herself, Aimes would feel a bit guilty.

Trixie nods, apparently deciding that it isn't worth the argument, and goes back to her French.

She grabs her purse and stands, and the man in the corner's eyebrows shoot up, as if she had done something far more shocking, like she flashed the room. But, knowing Vegas, the flashing part would've only vaguely drawn attention.

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