by Claire Adams
"How about getting out of trouble?" I asked. I pushed off his hard chest and arched back even as we kept swaying and dancing together. "You can't tell me this is what you really want."
"It’s not about what I want," Fenton said. "It's about what is best, and I'm
Chapter Twelve
Fenton
I did not tell her she was better off without me. It should have been obvious. The party was getting out of control, but Kya did not leave. She bounced around the dance floor, the wild fans and MMA fighter wannabes not letting her supple hips and waist go by without pulling her into the rhythm the speakers pounded out. I wanted to shove them all aside and let Kya go untouched, but I could not reach her.
Shots of tequila appeared in front of me along with women in tiny scraps of dresses with sour lime wedges between sweet glossed lips lined up wherever I walked. The more I drank, the easier it was to forget the feel of the mats against my face. Peretti's gloved fist against my face had made me see red. The split second played again and again, slowed only by the tequila.
Peretti's fist or Kya's face – no wonder all I wanted in front of me was tits and tequila. I called for more and the music got louder and the crowd got wilder. I wondered if they all had the same volume button.
Let's crank it up, I thought.
When I saw Kya leave, I let go. It was not long until the tequila spun the party into a dark whirlpool. I let it swallow me. At least, I was going down alone.
#
The flat screen television had three different stiletto heels sticking out of it. A spider web of shattered screen surrounded a leopard print, black patent leather, and gold high heel shoe. I wondered idly where the others were, but my head hurt too much to look. I kept my aching head pressed into the pillow as I wriggled to get a horizontal look at the rest of the room. One of the white sofas from the sunken living room stood at the foot of the bed. At first, I thought it was a white feathered headdress, one of those fifty pound Vegas showgirl monstrosities. Then, I realized the sofa had been torn open, white down feathers had exploded everywhere.
A trail of beer cans, tequila bottles, and shriveled lime wedges trailed out the door of the master suite and into a bigger disaster. Had the bouncers let in a pack of circus lions? I remembered a group of performers, lithe women in tight costumes. The memory flashed too bright, flaming hoops in front of the bar. It could not have been real, but it might have explained the standing row of circus rings, bull whip, and singed ceiling.
"Mr. Morris? Everyone has been escorted out. It's time to go." A burly security guard stood over my bed.
"Time to go? This hangover is gonna need until at least noon," I said.
"The hotel wants you out in the next ten minutes. Do it or the manager will call the cops," the burly guard's equally big partner said.
"Oh, come on, I'm sure worse has happened here." I sat up and forced the room to stay right on its axis.
"Done by guests that can afford to pay for the damages. You can't. You're out," the first guard said.
"Your bags will be sent to your manager's room," the second guard added.
"Can you at least let me find a shirt?" I asked.
"You're wearing one."
I looked down. I was wearing a tight white women's shirt with a low v-neck. In rhinestones it said “Vegas Can Kiss My A$$.”
"Yeah, I can pull this off," I said. I dragged myself out of bed and yanked the tight shirt down to meet the jeans and belt. "How do I look, boys?"
"I've seen worse," the second guard said.
"Man, way to kick a man when he's down," I said. I yanked my arms out of their massive hands and marched towards the elevator on my own. At least, they stopped to let me swerve into a pair of oxblood loafers I had left by the door.
"You're not taking him out the lobby." Kya slipped in the door and planted her hands on her hips. "Once he's out of the room, you can let me escort him out of the back of the casino."
The towering security guards eyed Kya's slender 5'5" frame and flashing green eyes. They glanced at each other in a stratosphere far above her fierce chin thrust.
The first security guard shrugged. "Just get him out before the cops come."
"Good luck getting this one on a leash, lady." The second guard gave me a shove towards Kya. I stumbled, and she caught me in both arms.
"Oh, God, did you bathe in tequila after I left?" Kya asked. She held her breath as she dragged me into the elevator and shut the door on the curious security guards.
"What's your plan here, genius? This elevator goes to the main lobby, right across from the front doors. Lots of action, lots of reporters by now," I said.
Kya rolled her eyes and punched the button marked B1 – Laundry. "We'll have to take our chances. The maids down there might kill you after they've seen what you did to the penthouse suite, but that has to be better than the crowd in the lobby."
I leaned against the mirrored walls of the elevator and closed my eyes. My stomach stayed on the penthouse for a few floors before lurching sickly down to join the rest of me.
"Want some coffee?" Kya asked.
I opened one eye. She held out a paper cup from the fancy kiosk in the main lobby. I took it and sipped gratefully.
"About the strip club," I began.
"I know, I know, I had no business showing up there. I don't know what I was thinking," she said.
The doors opened on the basement floor. I had no idea what to say, but I grabbed her arm, anyway. "It wasn't what it looked like."
"It looked like none of my business."
She dragged me out of the elevator and along a wide corridor. Maids pushing their heavy room cleaning carts were not surprised as we went by – though a few gave my t-shirt an extra glance. I flexed my muscles and got appreciative smiles in return.
I stopped when a lovely, black-haired maid asked to take a picture with me. I put my arm around her and smiled as she held up her camera phone. She squeezed my ass as the camera flashed. Despite the hollow ache of the hangover, the TKO, party, and tossing out had raised my notoriety to a new level.
Kya came back to shepherd me along. "You got kicked out of here, remember? The manager is about to call the police?"
I slipped both hands around her waist and pulled her close. "I remember dancing with you last night."
She slapped my hands and twisted away. I pulled her back flush against my body. The curves of her backside pressed against my jeans and a blast of heat burned off the rest of the hangover. I held Kya's waist and slipped my other hand down the front of her thigh.
"You left too soon."
"Right after you told me you're better off alone," she said. "Now, I'm thinking you were right."
"Well, there is something I can't do alone." I nuzzled my stubbly cheek along her neck and whispered in her ear. "If you really want to help me…"
I thought about begging. In fact, I would have begged. I needed Kya, wanted her more than anything. She burned in me like a fever and my lips against the soft skin of her neck were only a small part of the cure. If I had any hope of getting her out of my system, I needed all of her.
Kya pried my hands off and held me at arm's length. "I do want to help you, Fenton. The vitamin supplements people are still interested. I can use my expense account, get you a new room, a suite even."
Better than a cold shower, I thought. "Thanks for the coffee and the detour, Ms. Allen. Now, if you don't mind, I need to face my public – adoring or not. You know what they say about publicity."
#
"Yeah, I didn't think you'd thank me. All I did was drag you out of a reporter's riot and find you a new gym to train in. Gonna get you ready for your next fight and get you back on track to the title, too. Yeah, no need to thank me," Aldous said.
I ignored my coach and pummeled the punching bag he held. It was Peretti, over and over again, and what I should have done to him.
"Oh, so now you're focused," Aldous said.
"Yeah, now I'm focused," I said. "You
know I'm thankful for everything you do. Best way to show it is to get that title."
"Best way to do that is to get your life in balance," he said. He let go of the punching bag and crossed his arms over his chest. "And, the first step is to realize you can't keep everything separate and in tight little boxes. That's not how life works."
"What am I keeping separate?" I asked. "This is all I've got."
"This and whatever is all over your face when that little blonde spitfire is around," Aldous told me.
"I don't need endorsements to succeed. You've always agreed with me on that." I ripped off my gloves and headed to the weight machines.
"That's not what I meant and you know it." He followed me and corrected the weight I chose on the lat pull-down machine. "You get the same expression I wore when I first met my Tia."
"It's not like that. She's only after me for an endorsement deal." I pulled hard against the heavy weight. "And, I'm not ready for anyone right now. No love until the title is mine."
"I'd say Peretti knocked you pretty good, but you've had this crazy notion in your head for years now," Aldous said. "Life is not going to wait for you to have everything lined up all neat. And, love certainly doesn't work that way. Let me tell you about love. If you don't open the door when it comes knocking, it’s just going to come crashing through anyway."
"Where's your focus?" I asked. "I just told you Kya Allen is not interested in anything but an endorsement deal. If it’s not on the dotted line, then she's not interested. So what if I find her attractive? There are plenty of ways to deal with that."
"Is that what your little party last night was all about?" he asked. He threw me a towel. "Might as well shower up and get some rest. You're a wreck."
I leaned my forehead against the cool tile of the shower as the hot water kneaded my sore muscles. Aldous was right about one thing– last night's party was meant to get Kya off my mind. First, there were the fake twins with their matching shade of blonde and tiny silver skirts. After Kya appeared on the dance floor, I ditched them in favor of a tall woman with blue streaks in her black hair. She had the most amazing hands, but when Kya left the party, all I did was drink.
I toweled off and found the Army surplus cot Aldous had set out for me in a private corner of the gym. I knew as soon as I shut my eyes, I would see Kya.
"Hello?" I answered my phone on the first ring.
"So, I was going to take you up on your offer, but I'm not so excited about sleeping in the back room of a boxing gym," Dana Maria said.
"I'm sorry, sis. I can explain," I said.
"No need to explain; your story is all over the media. I think it’s safe to say I was right. We don't know each other anymore and you don't owe me a thing," my sister said.
I slumped back on the hard cot. My reputation had skyrocketed my popularity over the past few hours. I was now a trending topic. I could not change the way the world viewed me, now. Too bad my sister and Kya had to see me that way, too.
Chapter Thirteen
Kya
When I gave the front desk clerk my company credit card and requested a suite, I had no idea what I was getting. Within minutes, a porter accompanied me to my old room, gathered up my suitcase and carryon, and whisked me five stories higher. There, he unlocked the door to a miniature paradise.
Large picture windows overlooked the pool. From that height, it was a jungle-like vista with spots of bright blue. The rest of the view stretched out over Vegas with all the major casinos easily identified. I stood and had to admire the bright, garish architecture of the town.
It was easy to understand why people loved Las Vegas. There was no mistaking it for any other place and that made escaping the normal day-to-day almost automatic. Except I was there to work. I turned to explore the suite and laughed out loud.
A full kitchen complete with restaurant-grade appliances and hand blown glass fixtures overlooked a wide sitting area. A gas fireplace glowed against the bright sunlight of the room, promising to be a warm and cozy contrast to the neon lights later that night. Two rooms with double-doors swung wide flanked the main area and both had king-sized beds and luxury bathrooms. The master suite was distinguishable by an added hot tub alcove in the corner.
I finally understood why so many endorsement agents got seduced by life on the road. Expense accounts were easy to abuse under the excuse of wining and dining a client.
"Come in," I called at a knock on the door.
A tall man with a golden tan and flashing white teeth strode into the suite and placed two cases on the granite counter of the kitchen. "The front desk told me you were thinking about dining in this evening. I am the personal chef assigned to your suite. Room service is also available, but I thought I would let you know I am free this evening if you would prefer something prepared fresh here just for you."
I blinked, thinking he might be a mirage. Had I stared out the picture windows at the desert sun too long? "I, um, am planning to entertain a client tonight. The Mixed Martial Arts fighter, Fenton Morris. Have you heard of him?"
The blond chef smiled. "If I had missed his billboards, I certainly would have heard about his big scene at the MGM this morning. Seems like a rough customer, but easy to cook for. Steak, risotto, fresh vegetable medley. It'll be nice to cook for an athlete that might actually eat leafy greens."
"That sounds wonderful," I said. I wrung my hands and looked around at the suite again. Was this for real?
"And, how about a glass of wine for you? Perhaps a nice peppery Cabernet?" The handsome chef tied on a white apron and opened the larger of his cases. He selected a bottle of wine and cocked a questioning eyebrow at me.
"Wine? Yes, now. Now would be good," I agreed.
He laughed. "Don't worry. Drink this and take your time getting ready. I'll have appetizers ready for your guest when he arrives. Stuffed mushroom caps and parmesan crostini, always a hit."
The personal chef winked as he handed me a large glass of wine. I stammered my thanks and wandered into the master suite in a daze. Only twenty minutes ago, I had sat in my small hotel room struggling to send just the right invitation to Fenton. Now, I was sipping wine in a luxury suite while contemplating which dress to wear.
"I can do this," I said out loud. "I can land this client."
I had started to refer to Fenton as “this client” because otherwise, all I could think about was his laser blue eyes watching me across last night's wild party or his wide hands catching me around the waist, his warm lips trailing down the side of my neck. I shook myself out of the lingering thoughts and selected a coral red dress with a conservative neckline. To make up for the high neckline, I swept my hair into a loose bun, careful not to imagine my client's hot kisses along the skin I exposed.
I was ready. Heavenly smells drifted from the kitchen. And it was already ten minutes past the time I put on the invitation. The picture window framed a stunning desert sunset, but I could not enjoy a second of it. My heart sank faster than the fiery sun. Fenton had no reason to come. All of this was a waste and instead of a bonus, I would be paying off my expense account for the next six months.
If the client would not come to me, then I would have to go to the client. I had already suffered through an innuendo-laced conversation with Kev Casey and found out the gym where Fenton was training. He'd also let it slip that Fenton had slept there last night. I would head there first and then, I gulped at the thought, search all the strip clubs in Vegas.
I pulled open the wide door of the suite and teetered backwards on my gold strappy high heels. "Oh, you came! I mean, hello. Please, come in."
Fenton was caught halfway between the elevator and the suite door, clearly hesitating about which way to go. When he saw me, he scrubbed the back of his neck and ducked past me into the suite. "You didn't need to do all this. I think we've talked all the business we're going to talk," he said.
"Can I get you a drink, sir?" the personal chef asked. His light blue eyes iced over Fenton. "Ms. Allen, I hope you ar
e enjoying that wine. Would you like another glass?"
I thanked him and he fetched the glass I left in the bedroom. Fenton watched him go and chewed on his lip. The blond chef refilled my glass and winked at me as he brought it over.
The muscles in Fenton's shoulders rippled as he shrugged. He sauntered over and took my hand holding the wine glass. He brought it to his lips, sipped lightly, and then brushed a kiss along my fingers before releasing my hand. "Delicious. I'll take a glass of whatever she's drinking. Then, how about a tour?"
The tension between the two men did not dissipate until the chef returned to the kitchen. Fenton gave him one last look and then wandered into the master suite. I shook my head and followed. I was not used to being fought over, and it was every bit as thrilling as it was frustrating. This was just business, but I wondered if I was the only one thinking of it that way.
"So, tell me about the new gym? Probably nice to be in a real boxing gym versus the backstage setup at the MGM," I said. I kept my tone light as if the choice had been Fenton's.
"Getting kicked out has certainly boosted my notoriety," Fenton said. "Ticket sales for my next fight are through the roof."
"I'm glad it all worked out," I said.
"Why haven't you unpacked?" he asked. He circled around the master suite and ran a hand along the rim of the hot tub. "You changed for dinner, but you didn't take anything else out of your suitcase. Aren't you staying?"
"I am. I just have not decided which room I prefer," I said.
"Really? I would think a nice hot soak before bed would help take the pressure off landing your next big client," he said.
I leaned on one hip and tapped the toe of my other foot. "Funny, I thought the same thing, except I imagined you might like a nice long soak to ease your sore muscles. But, if you prefer sleeping at your gym, I guess that's up to you."
He scowled and planted both his feet. He took up a fighter's stance every time he was uncomfortable. "I told you, Kya, I don't need your charity or your bribes. I'm perfectly comfortable at the gym. I've slept in worse places."