Two hours later, Jasmine sighs and swipes her arm across her forehead. She’s kneeling in the center of the shoes, with smears of polish on her bare arms and legs. Her own heels have been kicked off, abandoned by the armchairs with her carefully folded coat. She’s barefoot, dressed only in a silvery cocktail dress—the world’s most unlikely maid.

Ariq pokes his head around my office door, sending a baffled frown in Jasmine’s direction before glancing at me. I rise from behind my desk and stroll over to meet him.

“Everything alright?” I ask, voice lowered so Jasmine can’t hear.

It’s a Tuesday night, but the casino floor is packed...