“For VIPs only. Which I just promoted us to being.” Cai said, “How did you get that?” “I have my ways. . . .” “I’ll just bet,” Waverly muttered. Violet ignored her. Because the elevator ascended, Amy expected another roof terrace like the one Rafe had taken her to on top of the Fairwood Hotel. She was both right and wrong. This was a roof terrace, but not like the other. There was a whole other hotel up here. The long, flat roof of the three-story building held an outdoor restaurant at one end, an indoor club and spa at the other, and in between a garden with fantastic landscaping: topiaries shaped like rabbits or sprays of water, flowers so perfect they looked unreal, a small stream with tiny arched bridges and a waterfall splashing over varicolored rocks. The dusk smelled of blooms, of spices, of living water. Faint music drifted from the glass doors of the club. The whole was enclosed by an eight-foot-high concrete wall so that none of it was visible from below, but all was open to the sky.
