Page 66 of Double Down
“No,” Mrs. Langford snaps at the concierge, making me instantly hate her. “They were giggling and smoking, and I swear I watched them snort something and start the most crass conversation I have ever heard. It was offensive to the ear.”
“Fuck you, Grandma,” the blonde says. The brunette just giggles. “He’s going to kick you out. He isn’t going to do shit to us. He’s the one who made sure we got the drugs and everything else we needed.”
Hold the fuck up. No, the fuck I didn’t.
“Did he, now?” Mrs. Langford pushed out her hip and glared at me.
“No, I assure you I did not. I apologize for the interruption and inconvenience, Mrs. Langford. Kelly, can you hand me the spa schedule?”
The concierge passes me the tablet, and I scroll through the calendar. It seems…wrong.
Mrs. Langford should not have been anywhere near the two girls getting massages. The girls should have been in one room, and Mrs. Langford in one of the private suites.
Something was off up there.
“Mrs. Langford, I apologize for the inconvenience. I am going to upgrade the rest of your treatments to happen in a private suite. You may rebook anything you like, and it will be on the house. If you would like, you can go over the treatment offered in the bar, with a glass of complimentary champagne.”
I shoot a look over to the concierge and see that she is sending the necessary notes.
“That will be acceptable,” she says before huffing off towards the bar.
One crisis handled.
One more and I can get back upstairs and lose myself between my little Firebird’s thighs.
“I need you two to kindly not spread rumors that I am dealing drugs at my resort,” I say as I turn to face the young women. “That’s slander, and grounds for—what the?—”
They’re both slumped on the counter, their skin clammy and pale.
Fuck my life.
“I don’t know what happened,” the concierge says. “They are clearly on something, but I don’t know what to do. What do we do?”
“Calm down, first of all,” I say, keeping my tone cool and even. If I panic, she’s only going to get worse.
I check one’s pulse. Thank fuck for fucked up frat parties. It’s there, but faint. When I pull back her eyelid, her pupils are tiny pinpricks.
Mrs. Langford said she saw them snorting something. Whatever it was, must have been tainted.
This is the last thing I need.
“Call 911 and tell them we have two possible ODs. Let the dispatcher know we have them in the gift shop office and tell them where the closest door is.”
“But they are here?—”
“I am going to move them to where the paramedics can get to them as quickly as possible, with the least amount of disturbance on the floor. Can you do that?”
She’s pale but nodding. I don’t believe her.
“Hey, look at me. What is your name?”
“Beth.”
“Okay, Beth. I am sorry for using the wrong name earlier, but I need you to keep it together. Can you do that?”
My words are calm, measured, meant to keep her calm and focused. It always works like a fucking charm.
She takes a deep breath through her nose and pushes her shoulder back.
