by Claire Adams
I dug my phone out of my purse, glad I had grabbed it before I fled. The champagne arrived as I checked my bank accounts, paid a few bills, and calmed myself down. I was fine. Everything was up to date. It did not matter if my love life was now a complete disaster because everything else was neat and orderly.
I tipped the flute of champagne and finished it, then checked my email. I sent a few professional responses, scheduled some phone calls, and felt my head clear even as the champagne fizzed through my system. The last email I checked was from my real estate agent. My offer on the house had been accepted and everything was set pending an inspection.
I clicked the link and scrolled through the photographs of the house for the hundredth time. It was perfect – in a comfortable neighborhood with room for easy improvements that would boost my equity immediately. It was small with two bedrooms and two bathrooms, but there was more than enough room for a single woman. I imagined walking through the empty rooms on my own and closed the browser window. Maybe being out on the road for work was not such a bad thing.
I rewrote the email seven times, but finally sent a response to my real estate agent. The inspection was set for the next week. I would be home from Las Vegas by then and would move forward with the purchase of the house. If anything, I would fix the house up and sell it as soon as possible. It was a good investment.
Thinking about my finances, I calculated the loss I was taking on the luxury suite. That plus the loss of my bonus would make things tight for the next year, unless I found another client and made it count. My first thought was Mario Peretti, but he was too closely linked with Fenton and the thought of Fenton made my stomach flop. I shoved the sadness away and racked my brain for a new business strategy.
There was a large golf tournament in town. Not only did I have an excellent business history with golfers, but it would piss Fenton off to see me back with the country club set. If he cared at all. If not, I wanted to be as far from him and his rule-shirking type as possible. I pulled up the golf statistics for the tournament and started studying the players' numbers.
"I don't care what people say about him, I find him irresistible," I overheard the woman three lounge chairs over say to her friend.
"Really? I suppose he does have sexy eyes,” the other woman said.
I kept my eyes on the golf statistics and prayed they were not talking about Fenton. The last thing I could handle was hearing other women drooling over him.
"Come on, tell me you don't think he's handsome," the first woman sat up and thrust a magazine at her friend.
"Polo shirts are not really my thing. He looks kinda stuck up."
My shoulders eased and I was able to turn my head. The women were looking at a tabloid magazine with the headline "Oh My God!" Underneath the bold letters was a clean-cut, all-American man with short, cropped brown hair. He did have sexy brown eyes, minus the devilish glint that Fenton's often showed.
I looked again and recognized the man on the cover. I had met him minutes before Fenton came to speak to me at the nightclub. I studied the tabloid cover the women held up and almost laughed out loud. The man held a golf club over his shoulder – he was a professional golfer!
"Excuse me, what's his name?" I asked the women.
They looked up from their magazine and both their jaws dropped open.
"Jackson McRay," a voice behind me said.
I turned around and caught myself before gaping like the other women. He was even more handsome in person than his cover shot and his smiling brown eyes were fixed on me. My bikini instantly felt too small, but I could not reach my sundress without wriggling all around.
"We met the other night," he said. "Remember?"
"Yes, I do. I mean, I remember. Sorry, my name is Kya," I said.
Jackson chuckled and sat down on the lounge chair next to me. "I remember," he said.
The waiter approached and I drew a complete blank when he asked if I would like another drink. I stared up at him, trying not to feel Jackson's eyes sweep over my body.
"Are you having champagne? Sounds good to me," Jackson said. He trailed his glance back up to my face and smiled. "Do you mind if I join you?"
"No, thanks. That'd be nice," I replied. I was glad I had on sunglasses as my eyes were wide and blinking was an effort. He appeared out of nowhere the moment I was thinking about him.
"Sorry to sneak up on you, but I never got a chance to ask for your number the other night. We got interrupted," he said.
"Interrupted?" I asked. That was a nice way of dismissing the way Fenton appeared and claimed me. "Oh, yes. That was business, though it ended up being a waste of time. I'm an endorsement agent."
"Really? Wait, are you Kya Allen? You've represented a few of my friends," he said.
I was kicking myself for confessing my profession, so his response shocked a laugh out of me. "Sorry, I just forget that golfers manage to be competitors and friends at the same time. You don't see that in many other one-on-one sports."
"Especially not with MMA fighters?"
I could tell he was curious about my involvement with Fenton. There was a hard twinge in my body every time I thought of him, so denouncing Fenton felt like the right thing to do. "Mixed Martial Arts isn't really my thing. I started out by representing tennis players, but golf is really more my game."
Jackson tipped his head and smiled at me. "I would think you were just saying that if I had not already heard rumors about your golfing skills. I hear you've got a good swing."
"There's a difference between rumors and facts," I sat up and smoothed my hair.
"I like the confidence," he said. "How about a game, then?"
"I'm not really dressed for the golf course."
He let his eyes wander lower for a few seconds. "I don't mind. Actually, there's a mini-golf course just over there. Want to show me the facts?"
Jackson McRay stood up as the waiter returned with our drinks. He took both champagne flutes and held one out to me. I stood up and shimmied into my sundress before accepting the drink.
"I suppose I could have time for one quick game," I said as I scooped up my phone and checked the time.
A message from Fenton blinked on the screen and I felt my stomach drop. He sent it a full 20 minutes after I had left our suite. Did it really take him that long to notice I was gone? I thought of everything he could have done in that time and felt sick.
"I'm sorry," Jackson said. "Do you have somewhere else to be?"
I opened the message from Fenton. "Miss you. Join me?"
I ground my teeth, but forced a smile. "No, not at all. In fact, my whole day just opened up."
Jackson held out his arm and I took it. What exactly did Fenton want me to join? My stomach clenched as the image of the stripper in silver flashed through my head. Whatever he had in mind was no good for me. I had been a fool for long enough. Now, it was time to focus on my career, make up for the costly mistakes I made pursuing Fenton, and get myself back on track.
Jackson McRay was just the man to help me. We joined the line of children waiting to tee-off at the mini golf course. I dropped my phone to the bottom of my purse and banished Fenton from my thoughts.
It did not matter that I could still feel his lips on my skin and the full push of him inside me. Those memories would always bring a wave of heat, but they were in the past. He had moved on, within minutes, and now was my chance to do the same thing.
I smiled at Jackson and accepted the pink striped club he handed me. "I know you've got a reputation for clearing all the hazards, but you're on my turf now."
"Let's play," he said.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Kya
I threw myself into the min golf game as if each hole would get me farther from the disaster with Fenton. I knew I hurt, but the champagne and silly game helped. Jackson smiled and laughed and everything was easy. He was not opposed to my job, he even knew some of the same people, and I did not feel like every time I brought it up I was detonating
a bomb.
"So, Lawrence was not lying about your golf ability," Jackson said.
"Well, he's the one that taught me to putt, so I guess I owe this success to him," I said.
"Oh, so that's where you got that funny grip from."
"What funny grip?" I asked.
Jackson stood behind me and slipped his arms around me. "Not that many golfers thread their fingers together. Though, you make it work and you make it look good."
I laughed. "Mr. McRay, you're trying to distract me. You know if I sink this last putt, I win."
"No, I would never do that," he said with a wink. "I was just trying to find an excuse to get my hands on you."
I felt the warmth of his smile reflected in my cheeks. Then, I turned to concentrate on the putt. There was no reason I could not put the entire Fenton disaster behind me. With Jackson, I was on sure footing. He was flirting, but everything was open and easy.
"You won!" Jackson said. "Now, I suppose I owe you lunch."
"No," I said. "Lunch is on me, if you let me pitch a new vitamin supplement campaign to you."
"I'm buying, I lost fair and square. And I was hoping we could talk about business. Though, I gotta be honest, I don't mind mixing business and pleasure. Can we still call it a date?" Jackson asked.
I smiled and nodded.
"Then, it’s a date. I'll pick you up in the lobby in an hour?"
We agreed, and he gave me a soft kiss on the cheek before we parted. I found my way back inside and could not come up with a good reason to avoid my suite. I thought about showering in the hotel spa, but I could not justify spending one more cent of my boss' money.
Everything was quiet when I entered the luxury suite. The dishes had been cleared from our breakfast, the pillows were no longer strewn on the floor in front of the fireplace, and the door to Fenton's room was wide open. I glanced inside and cringed at the sight of a bright orange dress flung over the foot of the bed. His guest was definitely staying.
I crept into the master bedroom and locked myself in the bathroom. Despite the pleasant distractions of the morning, I burst into tears. I started the shower and let a few sobs escape. It hurt too much to ignore when I was alone. How could Fenton do that to me? He had been so tender, so entirely mine, we had made love twice. How I had been so mistaken? How had I let myself be so used?
The searing hot shower washed away my tears, and I stood under the spray telling myself I was going to be fine. I was fine. As an adult woman, I could handle having casual sex whether or not I put too much meaning into it. It was my mistake and when I saw Fenton, all I had to do was pretend it did not matter. It should not have mattered, but all alone in the shower, I leaned against the wall and let it hurt.
"Kya?" There was a hard crash against the bathroom door. "Why is the door locked? Kya?"
"What do you want, Fenton?" My voice was too harsh.
"Are you okay? Where did you disappear to? Let me in," he called.
I gripped the shower curtain with white knuckles. "I went down to the pool to relax for a while. Then, I got distracted with work. I've got to get ready and go to a meeting," I said.
I listened hard, but did not hear a response. Of course, he would not care what I was doing with the rest of my day. I scrubbed my hair hard, buffed my body with a loofah, and rinsed clean. I wrapped the towel around me and yanked open the door, determined to get dressed and out of the suite as fast as possible.
"Fenton! You scared me!" I clutched the small towel harder. "I thought you left."
"And, miss you all hot and wet from the shower? No way," Fenton said.
I reached back into the bathroom and carefully pulled an oversized white robe around myself. "A little privacy, please?"
He stepped up to the threshold of the bathroom and left me pinned between him and the door. He tipped his head as he laser blue eyes searched mine. "What is the matter? Something's wrong."
"Nothing," I said. "I just have a busy day. You are not the only athlete in Vegas, you know."
"Alright," he agreed. He stepped back but kept his eyes riveted to me. "Did you get a chance to meet Dana Maria before you left this morning?"
The other woman's name was like lighting a fuse. I tried to keep myself from exploding. "Yes. I answered the door."
He waited for me to say more, but saw that I bit my lip. "What? You have something to say about her?"
"What's to say, Fenton? Really." I shook my head and tried to shut the bathroom door in his face.
"I didn't think you'd be so judgmental. So she's an exotic dancer, that doesn't mean she isn't a good person," he said.
"A good person? That has nothing to do with it. She has nothing to do with it," I said.
Fenton crossed his arms. "Yes she does. Dana Maria matters to me. If I'm going to stay here, then she has to be welcome, too."
I shoved him back and slammed the bathroom door in his face. "Do whatever you like. The suite is yours."
"What is the matter with you, Kya?" He kicked the bathroom door. "I thought you were different. I thought there was someone underneath that country club shell."
"Yeah? Well, I thought there was a gentleman under your trash talk and stubble. I guess we were both wrong." I zipped up a white linen dress and tied the sash too tight. My hands shook as I clasped a string of pearls around my neck, but I refused to let that stop me. My curls were springy up wild, but all I did was tuck a white headband into place. I had to get away from Fenton before my temper tore me apart.
I whipped the bathroom door open. "Some people like the way I dress," I said.
Fenton's angry blue eyes swept down the V-neck dress to the tight white sash. Then, he lunged forward and caught me in his arms. His kiss was hard, hungry, and relentless. "I like the way you look, but I like what's underneath better," he growled.
His lips melded to mine and my futile pushes turned into a hard grip on his shoulders. I was hurt and angry and suddenly, so turned on. My entire body wanted to have him at my mercy, to feel him shuddering inside me.
I shook my head and broke free of his hold. "I have a lunch meeting."
"I'm late for the gym," he said.
He stormed out of the suite ahead of me. I rode downstairs in the elevator alone, smoothing my hair down. Fenton's kiss had left me on fire. I was jealous that he could take it out on punching bags and sparring partners. Instead, I had to sit at lunch and smile politely.
"Is that a little sunburn I see?" Jackson asked. He met me just outside the elevator and slipped my hand into the crook of his arm.
I willed the hot blush to dissipate and smiled up at my well-mannered date. "I'm just a little warm."
"Well, I got us a table inside so you can cool off in the air-conditioning." He led me into the hotel's high-end restaurant, where a table was waiting for us.
"Thank you," I said, sitting down as he held the chair out for me. "You didn't need to go to any trouble."
"I love the salmon here," he said.
"Then, how about I let you order while I get my pitch out of the way?" I asked. "It's always nicer to get business done before the food arrives."
"Alright, Ms. Allen, let's hear it." He sat forward and fixed his brown eyes on mine.
"There's actually not too much to it," I said. "Our agency represents a vitamin supplement company and they are looking for a long-term endorsement. Your magazine covers and publicity are just the sort of kickoff hype they were hoping for, but whatever exposure you decide you want in the future is fine with them. Really, all they ask is that you were a discreetly placed logo, share a testimonial of the product, and show brand loyalty."
"Doesn't sound too taxing." Jackson reached for my hand. "Are there any catches?"
"Just the non-compete. All they ask is that you do not sign on with any other vitamin or diet supplements in the future. All other product endorsements are fine, they just want their niche secure," I said. "If you think about it, that does not exclude you from any big money or brand name deals. It's a sound investmen
t, a steady agreement, and a mutually beneficial contract."
"Well said, well-pitched," he said. The waiter came over and Jackson apologized for the interruption then ordered for us both.
While he ran through his choices with the waiter, I tried not to fume. It was the first time I had run through my pitch since landing in Las Vegas. It was a solid deal and saying it out loud only made me angrier at Fenton. His stubborn need to be a lone wolf was keeping him from a good investment and me from completing the task I had been given. I wondered if he was doing it just to challenge me. Everything Fenton did seemed designed to chip at my exterior and get under my skin. Was that why he threw the stripper in my face? Was it some kind of test to see if I was able to keep my cool? If so, I had failed miserably.
"Is that the same pitch you gave Fenton Morris?" Jackson asked.
I blinked my eyes, scared for a moment he had read my mind, but he had just finished with the waiter. "No, actually, I never even pitched him. Mr. Morris is not business inclined."
"A very diplomatic answer and another way Mr. Morris and I are completely different." Jackson hitched his chair closer to mine. "I appreciate a sound business deal and I am more than happy to sign your endorsement deal."
"Excellent," I said. "Here, let me send you the forms. That way we can get everything done before the salads arrive."
Jackson leaned in to watch as I sent him a series of emails and attachments. While he admired my quick work on my phone, and the plunging V-neck of my white dress, I caught sight of Fenton across the hotel lobby. It was impossible to miss him with Dana Maria tight on his arm in the blaze orange dress I had seen earlier.
"Quick work and a leisurely lunch. I like your style, Kya Allen," Jackson said.