Emily Crowford thought that her life was all planned out. She was the prima ballerina at the city’s ballet corps and she had everything any girl could want: success, money, talent and a handsome fiancé, considered by everyone to be a good catch. She never would have imagined that her life would take such a dramatic turn and everything she had taken for granted would suddenly slip through her fingers.
To turn her life around, Emily Crowford needed to die. And, in her place, Blanche Deluxe was born, showgirl and star of Bluebells, one of the greatest showhouses in Vegas. She used her body to seduce and entertain the audience but, privately, she built up barriers to prevent anyone from getting close to her, to protect her heart.
When Tyler Williams, the charming hotel-casino owner, saw the mysterious showgirl for the first time, he was overcome with lust. She was a challenge that Tyler would love to win and he was willing to bet high to make sure he would get her into his bed, for his pleasure.
What he didn’t know was that when a bet involves the heart, there can be a lot to gain... but also a lot to lose.
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“Emily Crowford is dead. Stay focused, Blanche Deluxe”, is what I would say to myself every morning when I woke up and a slight feeling of sadness would wash over me as I took in the peeling walls and the musty smell in my small rented apartment in Lake Las Vegas. For a woman used to living in an eight-bedroomed mansion in the wealthy district of Raleigh, North Carolina, it was far from easy to keep my spirits up and remain optimistic when I was living in a neighborhood mainly made up of alcoholics, working girls and drug dealers. To get across town to get to the Strip took me almost two hours. Then, it was rehearsals for eight hours non-stop for a one and a half-hour performance and then I had to do the same journey in reverse to get back but now with the added complications of the late hour in a city that never sleeps and the dangers that are around at that time of night.
But, I couldn’t complain. It could be worse. At least I had food on the table and a roof- albeit ugly, small and musty, over my head as well as a job that enabled me to get by.
I still remember when I arrived in Vegas, a little over a year ago. After my mother's death and the reading of the will, I had lost everything: family, my place as Prima ballerina at the city's ballet corps, money, social status and the fiancé. That was how I referred to Jacob Mills- the guy who doesn't deserve to be given a name. The asshole who trampled on my heart and then took off at the first sign of trouble.
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