Private Vegas (Private 9)

Val took the clipboard and went to one of the handsome steel-frame-and-white-leather sofas with an unobstructed view of the gambling capital of the world.

A silver pen with her name etched on its side rested at the top of the clipboard. Val had to smile at the pricey party favor. She used the pen to complete the form with her phony background, addresses, career history, and net worth, which she listed at $294,000, including the value of her fictitious condo in LA with its $210,000 mortgage.

She was a young woman on the way up, right?

As she answered the questions with a straight face, three other women came in, one at a time, and took seats around the room. They were all attractive, all in their twenties, and all, apparently, had ten thousand dollars to give Mr. Olsen for the secrets to marrying up. Waaaaaaay up.

Back to the questionnaire. Val checked off boxes for the traits she most looked for in a husband, writing, I would be a great asset to a wealthy man: a social companion and intellectual peer in the form of a loving and attractive wife.

Ms. Tiefel collected the forms and left the room. The four women waited, made small talk, wondered if there would be an elimination round. And then, long, tense moments later, the door opened again and Ms. Tiefel came back into the room with a good-looking man in his midthirties. He was beautifully dressed in summer-weight wool, a blue jacket, gray pants. He had a clear, almost luminous complexion and remarkable long-lashed, copper-brown eyes. The one-word description that jumped into Val’s mind was winner.

Olsen clasped his hands together and Val saw that his fingers were twisted from the breaks he’d sustained. They still looked painful, but there was no pain on his face. Ms. Tiefel said, “Ladies, I’d like you to meet a man who changed my life, Mr. Lester Olsen.”

Olsen smiled, then addressed the small group.

“It’s my pleasure to welcome you all to Love for Life and a day that could entirely transform your future. Please come with me. It all starts now.”

Chapter 87

VAL WATCHED LESTER Olsen swivel in a white leather chair, the panoramic view of Las Vegas fanning out behind him, a golden backdrop that suggested endless marital possibilities.

He put his hands on his knees, leaned slightly forward, and said, “You’ve all heard that it’s just as easy to love a rich man as it is to love a poor one, and, ladies, that just isn’t true. It’s easier to love a rich man. Much easier.

“Love and marriage—any marriage—takes work, but being the wife of a wealthy man is work with multimillion-dollar benefits. I’m talking about priceless jewelry, classic cars, private jets, and incredible yachts. The exceptional world of the very rich includes invitations to the White House, club memberships and box seats, staffs of helpers in every home, and first-class travel to any event in the world. The wife of a multimillionaire has access to the best of everything the world has to offer.

“The very best of everything,” Olsen said, letting the idea have the floor. “You can have that.

“But it takes work to land your own dear Mr. Megabux, and it takes work to keep him happy. Are you ready to go to work, ladies?”

Spontaneous applause broke out, Olsen smiled broadly, and Val thought that this man was a gifted motivational speaker. At the very least.

Olsen said, “Very wealthy men are generally complex and smarter than your average white-collar guy. They can

be egomaniacal. They can be demanding and short-tempered, and, of course, they’re always right.”

There was appreciative laughter from the ladies. Olsen smiled and went on.

“Guess how many ultra-high-net-worth individuals there are in this country—that is, individuals worth fifty million or more. No, let me tell you. There are one million multi-multimillionaires living right here in the U.S.A.

“Now, there’s a catch. Most of these men are married, and nearly all of them are in high demand. But you can shift the odds in your favor if you know how. And that’s why you’re here today.”

Olsen was beaming with enthusiasm. He told his little group what the course would cover, spoke of elocution, etiquette, relocation, jobs to take, events to attend, how to be a smart learner and a fascinated listener.

He said, “If you do well in this course, the odds are that one of you four women will marry a mega-multimillionaire. Or perhaps you’ll fall in love with a regular millionaire, but you will find money and love for life. There’s even a chance that all of you will be wearing thirty-carat diamond rings by the end of this year.”

Val saw that the women sitting around her were smiling, almost purring, Uh-huh, uh-huh, as Lester Olsen stirred their fantasies of wealth beyond imagining.

Val wanted to make sure her mic was still in place and that her machine was still recording, but she forced herself to keep her hands still and look eager as Olsen said, “Say good-bye to Target and Payless. You have to dress well, and go where the wealthy men are.” Olsen smiled at Leila, Angie, Krista, and Val. “Rent a studio in the champagne-and-caviar section of town, or simply shop there. Be seen. Splurge on good seats at sporting events or gate-crash after the ticket takers are gone and have a drink with the guests in the hospitality tent.”

Val saw an opportunity to steer the conversation where she wanted it to go.

She said, “Mr. Olsen—”

“Lester, please.”

“Lester. You’d still have to be pretty lucky to meet your future husband in the produce aisle. And, actually, wouldn’t a wealthy man be more inclined to date someone who was introduced to him by a friend?”

“Well, that’s right, Valerie,” Olsen said. “And I was just about to make this very point. When you volunteer at a sports match or a political event, you should make friends with women who travel in those circles, women who may know a lonely millionaire looking for love. Seek out the rich old ladies. Flatter them. Befriend them. They love to make matches,” he said with a wink. “Even with their married men friends.”