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of those things happened. Unless I crane-lifted a bunch of kittens after selling their organs on the black market, because there’s no coming back from that shit. Then you join Hannibal Lecter behind a plexiglass wall for all eternity.
    What were we talking about? Oh, right. Hotel management.
    “Of course I’ll come with you,” I say, getting up slowly. See, nothing wrong here, sir. Shanna looks at me with wide, freaked out eyes, but I wave her concern away.
    It’s not like they’re going to put me in jail, for God’s sake.

    T hey put me in jail . Holy shit. They put me in fucking jail. Call my mother and tell her I love her, call my father and tell him I can’t loan him any more money, call my grandmother and tell her she needs to stop day drinking. I am never getting out of this.
    All right, on the plus side, it’s not like I’m sitting in a city jail. It’s a hotel holding room, which basically means beige-colored carpet with beige walls and a beige futon. In Vegas, if they put you in beige, you are seriously fucked. No sequins or rhinestones anywhere means I must have done something abominable.
    Okay. I take three deep breaths, trying to achieve my zone of neutrality. Or something. I don’t know! Okay, keep calm, Julia. Maybe they can help. Maybe they can help piece together whatever insane stuff you did last night. Or rather, the weird shit that your David Tennant personality did.
    On second thought, maybe talking about Doctor Who would be a very bad thing right now.
    The door opens, and Gray Suit—his name’s actually Todd, but I’m sticking with Gray Suit—enters and sits down in a chair opposite me.
    “Now Ms. Stevens—”
    “I’m not going to prison,” I blurt out. “I’m too soft. I watched Orange is the New Black . I don’t want to eat tampon sandwiches.”
    Gray Suit blinks slowly. “Okay. I’ll bear that in mind.”
    “Look, what the hell am I even doing here?” I snap. Great, Julia. Get snippy with the authorities. This’ll go down swimmingly. “What is happening?”
    Gray Suit sighs. “It’s about what you did last night, Ms. Stevens.”

6
    Nate
    I thought a cup of coffee would kill this bastard behind the eyes, but apparently I was wrong.
    I’m sitting in the Café Bellagio, a high-ceilinged room with a faux French country furniture design and a loud carpet pattern of crimson red and abstract gold lines. I’m sitting here, rubbing my temples and wanting to die, while Tyler talks about . . . something. Probably something related to sex, but I’m barely paying attention right now.
    Vegas is the capital of noise. The faux European ambiance does nothing to inspire a restful atmosphere. There’s a sea of people all around us, people taking pictures of everything with their phones and yelling to each other. Every shouted word is like a bomb going off in my brain. I swear, I think my head’s about to explode.
    “Dude, that Shanna girl was fucking rad,” Tyler says, sucking down some kind of papaya cold press concoction. I don’t even know. “Writes about aliens, huh? Kinky ray gun submission fantasies. Princess Leia in a gold bikini. Oh yeah.” He waggles his eyebrows.
    I have no idea what any of that means. At least Mike and Stacy are here to even things out.
    “I don’t know, Tyler. You seemed pretty into that older lady, the one with the really filthy mouth?” Stacy says, laughing. She and Mike are sitting side by side, his arm slung around her chair. Something about that image of closeness right now just makes my head hurt even more.
    “I mean, sure. But, uh, she’s old enough to be my mom,” Tyler says. Is it just my imagination or does he sound defensive?
    “Nate. You look like you’ve come back to the land of the living,” Mike says. He whistles. “You must’ve gotten shitfaced last night. Hope you had a good time.” He’s giving me knowing eyes.
    “You know what I did last night?” I ask, feeling desperate. “Where I was?”
    My total sincerity