Mrs. Templeton entered the room like she was walking onstage in a Broadway drama.She was thin and tall – taller than me, anyway, though that’s not saying much. She was a ‘woman of a certain age,’ and fighting it mightily. Her face had the slightly too-tight look of someone with plastic surgery, though it was top-notch, I have to say that for her. Her neck was smooth with very few wrinkles, and her forehead was flawless. Either she’d had Connor when she was sixteen (I’m going to say ‘no’), or her surgeon had worked wonders on her. So had her stylist: not a gray strand in sight, just frosted blonde hair cut in a long-ish bob, Anna Wintour-style. Like her husband, she reeked of money and prestige. Her aristocratic tone was forged, no doubt, by the best prep schools and colleges that Old Money can buy. She wore a grey, business-like dress with a slim-cut matching jacket. Conservative enough to match her station in life, but obviously a designer label to show off her money. She wore a be

Connor stood in front of the penthouse’s giant picture window, alone against the backdrop of daytime Las Vegas.Johnny and I stood at the edge of the main room, just inside the hallway to the kitchen and dining area.Connor’s parents, Augustus and Lenora Templeton, were catty-corner from me and Johnny, watching their son like ravenous animals about to devour their young. Their four Secret Service-looking bodyguards stood motionless at each corner of the room like silent, ominous statues.And Vincent and Miranda stood hand in hand by the front door.The room was deathly silent for about five seconds.Then Connor managed to regain control.I saw the poker player’s mask slip back into place. All the pain disappeared, leaving only cool, amused disdain.It might have been a better performance if we hadn’t just seen how deeply Miranda had wounded him.“The sycophant and the backstabbing gold digger. I hope you’ll both be very happy together,” Connor said with an ironic smile. “You sure as

Apparently the ‘Gulfstream’ was Connor’s private jet, which he had used Friday – the day I met him – to fly from New York to LA. By taking it instead of a commercial flight, Sebastian bumped up his departure by over an hour. The flight was typically forty minutes, though Sebastian said the pilot could push it to thirty. Before the plane had even taxied off the runway in LA, Johnny was walking out the door of the penthouse.“Do NOT leave this place,” he ordered Connor angrily. “Do NOT open the fucking door.”“Relax, they’ve already ruined me. There’s no need for them to shoot me now.”“Connor – ”“I promise. Jesus.”“If you’d just followed my instructions, none of this would be happening,” Johnny scowled, then looked at me like he’d just put his foot in his mouth. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly.“What are you saying ‘sorry’ to her for? I’m the one who fucked everything up,” Connor snapped.“Well, don’t go fucking it up even more.”“Go get Sebastian,” Connor said as he pushed him out of t

We wound up in a suite that wasn’t nearly as palatial as the penthouse, but your ordinary millionaire high roller would have been thrilled to stay there. I suppose for Connor it was merely adequate.Johnny had checked out everything we owned, down to some embarrassing things in my overnight kit. Ever had a man search your emergency tampon stash? No? Not exactly fun.But he found nothing.We were safe to continue the discussion.“What I don’t understand is why you didn’t tell me about your plans,” Sebastian sniffed.Connor was pacing back and forth in front of the suite’s picture window – which was considerably smaller than the penthouse’s. “You knew about the solar company. And you knew about the meetings with the politicians, too.”“I thought that was about opening a casino – you didn’t tell me how it all fit together.”“I wanted to play this one close to the vest.”“You told her,” Sebastian said, sounding miffed, like a little boy whose sister had gotten more ice cream than him.“Ye

While Sebastian worked, we ate. Johnny demanded it – and I was actually starved. I hadn’t had anything since my lunch out, and the emotional toll of the day had drained me. I was looking for some comfort food. So we got room service to deliver steaks, amazing vegetables, and an assortment of desserts. Connor, Johnny, and I ate, while Sebastian picked off his plate as he paced and barked into his phones.After an exhausting hour – exhausting for us just to watch; Sebastian, however, looked flushed and energized – the Master of the Hard Sell put down his phones for a minute to brief Connor.“Alright, we’re screwed as far as New York goes. If we got on the Gulfstream in an hour, we’d still have a five-hour flight back home, plus we’d lose three hours due to time zones, so it’s going to have to be LA. I figure we head back to New York tomorrow night and do clean-up with Letterman and the View on Thursday. I have you on Good Morning America first thing – they’re going to patch you in by sa