Free Wreckless by Zara Cox

walked into the bright Vegas sunlight, ignoring the avid gazes that her voluptuous figure gloved in a mint green skirt suit attracted. She tried to shift her mind into work mode as the car service town car drew up beside her.
    Nine viewings in the next two days was definitely pushing it. After which, she’d need to make a shortlist of four or five properties and present the portfolio to her clients. Then on Monday, she’d take them around, arrange second viewings where necessary on Tuesday, and then leave them to decide which property they wanted.
    As an international relocation consultant, Lexi had found homes for hundreds of clients all over the world. She’d started as a small-time relocator with a firm in South London, and then moved to Kingfisher Realtors, after being recognized for her innate ability to fit the right people to the right homes.
    She knew she had a natural talent, but it wasn’t until her short stint on a TV property show that she’d gained international acclaim. Overnight, she’d become the go-to person, topping the list as the property hunter for celebrities and Fortune 500 clients.
    Initially, the success had gone to her head, until she realized she’d be dealing with monumental egos and self-important minions who thought she should be paying them for the privilege of her services.
    More and more, she missed the fulfillment of finding the right house for young couples and first-time buyers, seeing the sheer joy on their faces as they secured the humble homes they’d most likely live in, bring up their children in, and grow old in.
    Instead, she had to contend with locating and negotiating the best price for the next “in” place for egotistical CEOs, aging rockers and their starlet wives, or even worse, their drug-stoked offspring who wanted to live in the same neighborhood as Kim K or Britney. Of course, the minute Kim moved, Lexi had to be on the next flight, hunting down a penthouse, chalet, or villa.
    Before the accident last year, when she’d looked forward to living her own happily-ever-after as Mrs. Enzo Saldana, Lexi had toyed with the idea of going back to her roots, starting her own company in LA, and catering to couples and families looking for their first homes. Then all her dreams had crashed and burned. At first, she’d thought she could remain in London after Enzo left, but even that option had been cruelly torn from her.
    Ian Pulbrook had seen to that.
    Kingfisher’s offer of a position in LA had been a godsend and she’d taken it, allowing her gratefully numbed senses to retreat further from the horror that had become her life.
    She wrenched her thoughts from the dark vacuum of remembrance and pushed her shades up her nose when the Strip came into view. The spectacular sights and themed hotels flashed past and, even in daylight, the world-famous Las Vegas strip was a sight to behold. She’d only visited twice before, the first time when Ocean’s Eleven had propelled every A- and B-listed star to acquire a suite at the Bellagio .
    The second had been when the Wynn Hotel had opened; its sheer opulence and decadence had prompted another frenzied bid for space within its hallowed walls.
    This time, she was in search of a condo for a non-celebrity couple, a Mr. and Mrs. Johnson , the brief said. Although she had her suspicions that there might be another, more legitimate Mrs. Johnson tucked away in the background. For one thing, Mr. Johnson , a filthy rich wine merchant originally from Napa, was old enough to be the grandfather of the Mrs. Johnson she’d met, and everything about her screamed high-class hooker. Lexi had a feeling she was hunting for a dirty weekend get-away pad, not the alleged retirement home for the couple.
    But hers wasn’t to reason why, she mused cynically, as the car pulled up in front of her hotel.
    First a light lunch, followed by a read through of her papers and phone calls to the local realtors confirming her appointments. Then a massage and a