The hotel was easy to find, but the difficult part was checking in smoothly.
No matter how noble his demeanor, given his attire, the hotel would definitely ask to see his ID.
And he couldn't show his ID.
So, before going to the hotel, Victor needed to make some preparations.
First, he hired a "shopping street guide"—a professional who escorts wealthy people on shopping sprees and carries their purchases.
Due to his "work environment," the hiring fee was tripled, and he had to pay half the salary upfront, which was $3,000.
This wasn't a problem; the guide carried a POS machine, and they wouldn't even be happy to accept cash.
Victor instructed the guide to lead the way to an Armani brand store.
He didn't go inside to bother the staff.
He sent the guide in to call someone, and soon a female sales associate came out, standing half a meter in front of Victor, still maintaining a sweet, appropriate smile.
Although he understood it was an act, he was still very satisfied.
The scenes in novels where brand store sales associates are rude are only for plot purposes.
In reality, the more famous the brand, the stricter the requirements for hiring frontline staff like sales associates who directly face customers.
To say they wouldn't change their expression even if Mount Tai collapsed in front of them might be an exaggeration, but excellent professional ethics ensure they can at least hide their true feelings.
"Give me the cheapest casual suit in your store; my size is…" Victor stated his request.
Hearing that he only wanted the lowest price, the female sales associate showed no change in expression, but professionally confirmed several pieces of information, such as his height, age, and preferred color, before re-entering the store.
About five minutes later, the female sales associate emerged carrying several perfectly packaged shopping bags, followed by two security guards who brought out a mannequin dressed in a suit—the same style as in the shopping bags.
Victor swiped his card without hesitation, paying $21,000.
This was truly the lowest price for an Armani store in Las Vegas.
In the past, Victor wouldn't even look at clothes costing less than $100,000.
But now… as long as he could wear it, he wouldn't fuss over it.
The guide instinctively took the shopping bags and led Victor to a five-star hotel, where an assistant lobby manager was already waiting for them upon arrival.
After settling Victor's payment, the guide handed the shopping bags to the assistant lobby manager, exchanged a glance with him, and then respectfully took his leave.
Victor didn't mind, and under the assistant lobby manager's guidance, he went directly to a standard guest room.
As for identity registration and such, he didn't need to worry about those details.
Any experienced shopping street guide has their own network of partner shops and hotels; one brings customers, the other gives kickbacks, a mutually beneficial arrangement.
And employers like Victor can save a lot of trouble, at the cost of paying a little extra money.
This was a win-win supply chain for all three parties.
Arriving at the standard guest room, Victor first took a quick shower in the bathroom, then put on the hotel's pajamas and went to the hotel's spa for a full wash, along with some relaxation.
The unpleasant odors on him were completely gone.
He didn't return to the standard guest room that carried his "scent," but went directly to the presidential suite and collapsed into bed.
His sleep was not entirely restful.
Six hours later, the sky was just beginning to lighten, and his well-trained biological clock woke him up.
He went out to the balcony to bask in the sun, replenishing his depleted light energy reserves, and gazed at the bustling Las Vegas, his mind involuntarily recalling little Avril's face.
She should have left the sewers with Old Ford by now, right?
Was she also bathing in the sunlight, just like him?
He wondered if she would find it hard to adapt, as having lived in darkness for so long, her eyes might struggle to adjust to bright places.
His thoughts drifted for a long time, and Victor finally could only sigh.
To be honest, his feelings for little Avril's plight were more of sympathy than any other emotion.
Temporary sympathy was not the love little Avril needed, so going with Old Ford was her best outcome.
This parting, he feared, meant they would likely never have the chance to meet again.
After all, he knew very little about either of them.
In fact, due to the dim light in the sewers and the long period without personal hygiene, Victor couldn't even recall the specific appearances of little Avril or Old Ford.
However, the image of that Peppa Pig-headed Reese lingered in his mind… to be ugly enough to surpass Peppa, that truly left a deep impression.
"Alice, have the hotel send up the dry-cleaned clothes from yesterday," Victor instructed.
"Okay, Chen."
He zoned out for a while longer.
The doorbell rang.
He got up and opened the door, his eyes met by a woman with shoulder-length burgundy hair; his gaze dropped to her beautiful face, which held a charming smile, and her curvaceous figure seemed about to burst out of the hotel uniform.
Any man with normal aesthetic judgment would be amazed by the beauty of this seductive woman.
She held Victor's suit in her hand, smiling radiantly: "Sir, these are your clothes. Would you like me to bring them in for you?"
Victor, however, was unmoved, and even a little startled.
If she were truly a seductive woman from the hotel, he, being somewhat irritable, wouldn't mind something happening between them.
But the seductive woman in front of him, though Victor had "met" her many times in his previous life, was a woman he absolutely dared not touch in the Marvel Universe.
She was the famous former Soviet spy, current S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, Black Widow Natasha Romanoff.
As a transmigrator, he was already apprehensive about encountering S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.
Not to mention he had pulled off a big job last night.
Now, Natasha, dressed in a hotel uniform, appearing at his room door seemingly to seduce him but actually to "interrogate" him, most likely meant that his "trading" ability had been exposed and had attracted S.H.I.E.L.D.'s attention.
Victor now had two choices.
One, let Natasha in. Victor wasn't interested in her beauty, he had already experienced it in his previous life. Instead, he would selectively leak information to her to stabilize S.H.I.E.L.D.
He didn't want too much interaction with S.H.I.E.L.D. right now.
But there was a problem.
Victor was ninety-nine percent no match for Natasha… Loki himself had his plans interrogated out of him by her.
So there was only one choice left, which was… although it took a long time to explain, in reality, it was only 4 seconds.
Victor pretended to snap back to reality, showing an apologetic smile: "Sorry, you're too beautiful, I was momentarily dazed. What did you just say?"
"You are also very handsome, and you perfectly match the man of my dreams," Natasha's face grew even brighter: "Sir, these are your clothes. Would you like me to bring them in for you?"
Victor smiled, his eyes slightly burning.
A blush appeared on Natasha's face, and she lowered her head as if shy, but her chest puffed out even more, stretching the already taut neckline wider, revealing a large portion of her round, fair skin.
In this situation, Victor's answer seemed self-evident.
Victor, however, smiled just as brightly and said, "Thank you, no need."
"Okay, then… what? Sir, did you just say, no need?"
"Yes. Although you are very beautiful, I need to be responsible to my future girlfriend," Victor said sincerely: "So, please give me the clothes."
Natasha, being a seasoned agent after all, immediately composed her facial expression, handed over the suit, and a faint hint of regret appeared on her exquisite face.
Any ordinary man seeing this would surely lose his composure.
But Victor, after taking the clothes, quietly thanked her, didn't even give a tip, and directly closed the door.
Leaving a stiff-faced Natasha staring blankly at the closed door for several seconds.
Then, she turned and walked into the floor's staff room, lightly pressed her right ear with her delicate hand, and spoke into the air with a cold tone: "Director, I suspect the target is gay. Perhaps Clinton would have better results."
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PS: My hobby, as always, is recommendation tickets~