Reggie closed the door, took a moment, and decided to spare Megan of the details concerning his conversation with the security guard. It didn’t completely kill his libido, so it was better to not rehash the whole event. Later in the night, as the couple looked at Airbnbs in France, Reggie contemplated how it was these sorts of interactions that had so quickly changed the couple’s mind on not staying in Las Vegas past the weekend. Whether it’s vagrants with mangled feet or prostitutes disguised as financial analysts from the Chesapeake Bay in order to target couples, the place always has the opportunity to cause a severe feeling of nausea at any instant. As much as they pump fragrances into the major casinos and blind you with bright lights, the gut punch is always there. Although the now very rich couple comes from a simple, humble background, through social media and The Bachelor and downtown pub crawls they’ve learned to recognize what’s trendy, what’s cool. Las Vegas is not it. The 30 complimentary nights extended by the Aria seems like a joke now. Who could possibly find 30 days in a year to be around this sort of energy? Let alone in one month, as the couple originally planned. They first felt this sense of mutual embarrassment after realizing that they were completely conned into a night’s worth of conversation by a man feigning to be a talent scout or someone high up in HR at Warner. Megan had always wanted to work on films, so the couple was naturally drawn to conversing with him. He called himself Alan Apple, said he had most recently started work in music with Mana, Dua Lipa, and Usher. He bought them drinks, told them stories about how he played free safety at UCLA, even suggested that he could get Megan on a film set the next day. The night went on when a man with a big mustache approached the three and said, “Rich, why don’t you answer your phone?” “My phone is dead and I went on a heater in blackjack.” Alan stuffed the man’s suit pocket full of some tickets and chips then turned to the couple and said, “you have my number, send me some of your stuff and we will talk.” He walked away with his friend just as Reggie was getting ready to interrogate him on the truth behind his identity. Alan, sensing the eyes on the back of his head, turned and said, “you’ve done a lot for yourselves tonight. Better you call it a night. You’ve done all the impressing you could possibly do.” It established some sort of relationship in power which influenced the couple to reach out the next day. They sent him her film, the message bounced back. They looked up Alan Apple on social media, even LinkedIn, nothing. The code was finally cracked when Megan put the number into google only to find out that it was the number for the Burbank police department. Oh, the embarrassment...[TO BE CONTINUED]