Thanks for reading! Keep up the reviews!

Shave and a haircut pounded against my door reminding me 8:00 had finally arrived. As I finished the final touches on my smoky eyes, I called, "Just a second!"

If I tried to perfect my dark tresses again, my hair may just singe from my head for good. According to Bethany no one would notice anything above my neck with my display of cleavage. Finally grabbing my purse from the edge of my bed, I turned the knob stepping over the threshold, "Hey, sorry about that."

"No problem, some things are worth waiting for," he excused failing to execute an inconspicuous up down, "You look great. Wow."

Any lingering doubts I had about the bustier top and black skinny jeans Bethany chose disappeared from my mind. Grinning while my make-up failed at concealing my blushing cheeks, "Thanks, once the detox ran its course I was surprised, too."

"Sober's a good look on you," he admitted stepping into the elevator behind me.

"So where are we going?" I asked after he hadn't enlightened me when we arrived on the Strip sidewalk.

"That's privileged information," he replied reveling in the opportunity to hold something over my head.

"You being mysterious? I'm shocked," I remarked sarcastically at his smoke and mirrors presence.

"You're one to talk," he shot back, "Not so easy to figure out yourself."

As he held the door of a casino ajar for me, I tormented, "What happened to getting inside of people's minds? Quick, what's my favorite color?"

"I like that you're not an open book. That always means a better read."

The elevator ride seemed to be transporting us into the skyline it was so endless. Glancing down at me indignantly, "Plus, that's hardly mentalism. It's obviously red."

Mumbling in defeat, "Smart ass."

My voice caught in my throat after the doors opened revealing our surroundings. Glass plated every wall providing a rotating, unobstructed view of Vegas. He smiled smugly, "I thought you might like it."

Pulled straight out of a vintage French movie, an immaculate waiter directed us to a window table for two. Before sitting himself, Criss pulled out my chair gallantly. That sure as Hell has never happened to me before. These waiters could probably sweep my week's income in one shift.

"God, do you treat every girl to the Criss Angel experience?" I quizzed still taken aback by the picturesque setting. Candles, dim lighting, background band; the whole nine yards.

"Please, this is the first day off I've had since I came to Vegas," he denied ignoring my cheap shot, "Now where's that damn waiter. You drink red wine, I'd assume?"

"I thought sober was a good look on me," I pointed out.

"I'm sure tastefully intoxicated is as well. There's a fine line between tipsy and shitfaced. It'd do you well to learn it," he ricocheted giving me a taste of my own medicine.

A group of apparently blind patrons stormed our table like Normandy. One middle-aged, attention-deprived housewife ran a French-manicured talon down his arm, "You're that Criss Angel from TV., aren't you? The magician."

"Yes, ma'am. I'm flattered," he greeted infallibly polite as always.

The self-acclaimed cougar nudged her company and continued, "Can you show us a trick? Don't you guys want to see something? Come on, Criss."

Apparently I have a trick even he can't perform; I can turn invisible. If I had half the guff I did in my rebellious years, I would've clocked her without a second's hesitation. Criss' watchful glance latched onto mine, "Only if it's alright with the lady."

Choking her with kindness, I rested my chin in my hand smirking conceitedly, "I'd love to see just what he can do."

"Alright then, he rose from his seat extending his hand, "You said your name was?"

"Corrine," she responded with a flaccid handshake.

"Corrine, lovely name. Now just to clarify we've never met before," he rattled off his typical introduction.

"No, we haven't," she answered.

"Good, now one part of human nature is to cover our flaws. And one way we, myself included, do that is with make-up. Is it safe to say that you wear some sort of eye shadow or blush or lipstick?"

"All of the above," she confessed. And much more I imagine.

"Well," Criss began plucking a cloth napkin from our table, "I think it might be time for your husband to see your true colors."

After the cloth dropped from veiling her face, a new woman stood in her heels. Her eyes seemed to sink into her ashen, wrinkle-lined skin. An aghast yelp escaped from her pale lips.

With a quick bow, Criss retreated back to his seat, "Thank you, you all have a great night. Excuse me; can I get some Sangria, please?"

"What could you do if you used your powers for evil?" I pondered accepting my first glass once we'd ordered.

"Let's just be glad I'm such an angel," he amused himself tipping his glass back.

"Hardey har har, I'm not coming up with a stone joke, so don't hold your breath," I chuckled in response to his last name pun.

"Have a little more wine, I'm sure you'll crack soon," he prodded with a chortle.

Counterproductive of what I was saying I finished off my glass, "You must not know me if you think I'm some lightweight."

"Actually, I don't know much about you. For one thing, how does a waitress end up living in the Aladdin? I mean, I don't even know why they keep me around," he quizzed.

"Well, my mom graduated with the owner. In all honesty, she probably met him under the bleachers a few times. She helped him out through some of the planning stages of the restaurant. So after she died, he gave me a job. Instead of getting paid, I get room and board. Living on tips is an adventure," I explained startled at someone taking an interest in my recent, commonplace life.

"I'm so sorry to hear about your mom. When did she pass away?" he reminded me of one of the reasons why it's become lackluster,

"About a year ago. Brain cancer," I told him absentmindedly stroking my cheek. I'm sure that's some kind of psychological tick.

"My dad died from cancer 7 years ago," he forged a link to bind us.

Our meals arrived and were cleared, the band slowly died down, and we meandered around the Strip. In just hours, we opened up and grew on each other like, well, cancer.

Details about my mom's sickness I'd locked inside spilled from my mouth. The way she tried to glue her shedding hair to her scalp, the morbid thoughts she'd express in normal conversation, the hallucinations the medication conjured, how she muttered the Hail Mary for 9 hours the night before she died. All the things I never dared to think, yet alone speak.

In just hours, the man concealed behind his own curtain of illusion emerged. Criss Angel's alluring, almost supernatural personal might've pursued me, but never captivated me. Plain Criss, the Criss who watched someone he loved slowly wilt before his eyes and felt his heart tear like I did, caught me in his snare.

When we arrived at my door, my watch insisted it was 3 in the morning. Sighing in realization, I informed, "Damn if I don't have the early shift in four hours."

"I have a production meeting in five," he returned.

"Well, I mean we've already slept with each other. Where's the harm in waiting another night?" I laughed fumbling for my keycard in my purse.

"Sex on the first date? So tacky, but sex before the first date? Totally okay," he joined the cast of our own parody.

"Completely acceptable," I agreed, "Well, thank you so much for an amazing night, not to mention the roses from yesterday. You'll call me soon?"

"Of course, thank you for the idea. And since I've already seen how great you look naked, I guess this is nothing…"

His index finger pushed my shin up allowing him to press his lips to mine. Weightlessness suspended me in the moment. The trance broke as he slowly pulled away.

I traced his jaw line with my finger and informed, "That was definitely not nothing."

Lightly kissing the back of my hand he released as he walked away,"Sweet dreams, Olivia."

"Night, Criss."

Even though he believes we played every card we had, I still have an ace looming in my sleeve, a small skeleton lurking in my closet.