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business.
    Which explained her decision to take her first vacation since, well, since she’d packed up her camera and moved out of her parents’ house at eighteen. She’d never looked back. She’d never stopped working either.
    And how could she not take a vacation now, when her best friend needed her so much? Stacy had been suddenly, unceremoniously, and undeservedly dumped by that fast-talking loser Cassie had warned her to avoid. Only a month before their planned trip together to Vegas to tie the knot. Despite Cassie’s earlier misgivings about Mr. Supposedly-Wonderful, Stacy had been heartbroken.
    Cassie and Stacy went all the way back to kindergarten, so one teary phone call had been all that was necessary to have Cassie agreeing to join her pal.
    Although Cassie had thought it might be smart to change the destination, Stacy had insisted upon a full-frontal assault on her favorite city in the world, Las Vegas. Stacy’s logic was that she wasn’t going to lose her deposit on the trip, as well as her fiancé and plans of marital bliss.
    Cassie hadn’t had the heart to say no.
    Even if Vegas was the last place she wanted to be.
    Not that she could fault Stacy. They’d gone to two shows a day, were staying at a wonderful hotel, had taken a flight over the Hoover Dam, and had partied like rock stars.
    It still felt a bit thin to Cassie. She was fantasizing about hiking through the Grand Canyon, maybe seeing something real.
    It was day three of the non-honeymoon and Cassie was trudging down the Strip behind Stacy in the blazing sun. She knew that if she never saw another stage show, silicone-implanted breast, or slot machine in her life, she’d die a happy woman.
    That wouldn’t be soon, though. Stacy had tickets to every single show playing this week. That was the curse of slot machines—Stacy had won $2,200 on her first pull and was determined to spend it all.
    They had gotten tickets for a matinee a bit late and there hadn’t been any cabs. Plus the Strip was jammed with traffic. Since they were just going to the next big hotel, they’d decided to walk. It was much farther than either of them anticipated—the hotel properties were enormous—and much hotter than they’d realized. The midday sun was brutal.
    “This is going to be the best,” Stacy insisted, marching briskly in her fuchsia sling backs.
    Stacy, it had to be said, did sparkle. She was already striking, being five eleven, curvy, and blonde, but for Stacy, there was no such thing as too much embellishment. There was no missing her in those shoes. Never mind the low-cut pink camisole—with sequin trim—or the skintight black leather skirt. The glittery nails. The false eyelashes and swinging hoop earrings.
    Vegas was Stacy’s kind of town.
    Cassie and Stacy were as different as two women could be—which was probably why they’d managed to remain best friends for almost thirty years.
    Cassie felt positively humdrum in her trademark jeans and cowboy boots. Practical and comfortable, that was her mantra. Forgettable. She could disappear into the crowd at a moment’s notice. Nobody would ever catch her in a pair of shoes like Stacy’s.
    She never knew when she might have to run after a shot.
    She never knew when she might need to blend into the wallpaper.
    All the same, Cassie was regretting her jeans. She should have gone with her khakis. She was going to be soaked by the time they arrived at the next hotel.
    Her BlackBerry vibrated and she tugged it out of her pocket.
    “You’re on vacation,” Stacy chided.
    “Got to stay in touch,” Cassie argued as she scanned the screen. It was a message from one of Cassie’s favorite editors. This one kept her promises and paid on time.
    On this occasion, she was prepared to pay a lot. The number made Cassie’s eyes pop. It had to be a typo. She sent a reply to confirm the figure.
    “What’s up?” Stacy asked. “Are you going to dump me, too?”
    It was a joke, but not really.
    “Remember