Billionaire's Princess: A Standalone Novel (A Royal Alpha Billionaire Romance Love Story) (Billionaires Book 2)

by Claire Adams

  Kev slipped an arm around my shoulders. "Don't feel bad, Kya. I mean, you are a delicious distraction, but our boy's been off his game since before you got to Vegas."

  "Maybe Fenton doesn't like it here, either." I slipped out from under Kev's arm.

  "What's not to like? You just need to come out with me. I can show you the real fun of Vegas," he said.

  I dodged Kev's other arm as it snaked around my waist. I was about to dive onto the dance floor to escape him when I spotted the strange man from the MGM gym.

  "Do you know that man?" I asked Kev as he reeled me back in.

  "Now that you mention it, I have seen him talking with Fenton lately. Wonder if he knows what's bothering our boy," Kev said.

  "I did hear him delivering some kind of news Fenton did not really want to hear the other day," I said.

  We started across the party together and though I despised working with Kev Casey, I hoped the plain looking man might be to blame for upsetting Fenton instead of me.

  "How did we lose him? He was right here," Kev said. He was so annoyed he unhooked his hand from my waist and turned all around. The man with the average build and medium brown hair had disappeared. "That was weird, right?"

  "Yes," I agreed.

  Before we could think anymore about the nondescript man and what messages he might be bringing Fenton, there was a wave of cheers. The party erupted outside the master suite as Fenton himself appeared. He had a muscular arm around two blonde women that on first look appeared to be twins. A second glance, though, showed me one had black roots under her blonde hair, while the other had bleached out her mousy brown hair. They were dressed in identical, silver mini skirts with pink halter-tops. Fenton had not bothered to put on a shirt and showed off an angry bruise under his ribs proudly.

  The girls alternately held up tall drinks with straws and I could tell from the gold liquid that Fenton was drinking tequila.

  "Everyone grab a drink – it’s time to get knocked out!" he roared.

  The crowd cheered again and the DJ turned up the club music. Fenton strode through the suite, his hands roving all over his companions as he shouted obscenities over Peretti's fighting style.

  "A lucky punch," Fenton said. "I let my mind drift for one moment, otherwise Peretti would never have landed that hit."

  "People are saying you were out all night at a strip club before the big fight? Is that the reason you were distracted?" an interviewer threw a microphone into Fenton's face.

  "I might have broke curfew, pissed off my coach, and had a little too much fun, but this is Vegas, baby. What else is a man supposed to do?" Fenton declared.

  The crowd cheered again. More barely clad women surrounded him and they all posed for the flashing cameras.

  "Well, what do you say to Mario Peretti? He now thinks he'll be up against Maxwell Lewis in the title fight instead of you. Do you think that's possible?" the interviewer asked.

  Fenton took a long drink of tequila and nipped a lime wedge right out of a woman's mouth. "Let Peretti think whatever he wants. One lucky punch is not going to get him the title."

  "So, you're not worried?"

  "Worried? I've got nothing to worry about except hotel security shutting down this party before we have enough fun!" Fenton yelled.

  The crowd roared again and surged around him. The entire suite was one giant dance floor. I slipped away from Kev's insistent arms and fought my way towards Fenton. He was surrounded by a briar patch of stiletto heels and sharp elbows, but I managed to wiggle my way through.

  Somehow, he saw me coming, and his blue eyes locked on mine. A thrill of fear and attraction spear through me as he pushed his arms wide, knocking back a swath of sparkling women, and pulled me towards him. He yanked me hard against his bare chest and his blue eyes blazed.

  "Surprised to see you," he said. "Again."

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I don't mean to keep popping up at the wrong time in the wrong places."

  "You don't get it," Fenton said. "I don't need your endorsement deal, I don't need your advice, and I certainly don't need your help getting myself in trouble."

  "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 better off alone."

  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. "O
nce 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 applian
ces 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."