I had not seen Fenton all afternoon. Just as I took out my phone and considered sending him a message, I heard voices in the other room. The overlapping peals of female laughter made me wish I could stay in the master bedroom and barricade the door, but I had to go and meet Jackson in the lobby. I pushed the door open and went to see who Fenton had invited back to the suite now.
The stripper, wait, exotic dancer named Dana Maria was there with five of her friends. They obviously knew each other from work and had come to party before their shifts. Two ransacked the kitchen for glasses while the others staked out spots on the white sofas and opened wine bottles. I cringed at all the red wine I saw.
"What you looking at, Miss Priss?" one wildly redheaded woman asked.
"I was just looking for Fenton," I said.
"I bet you were, Dana says he's got all sorts of groupies just offering it up wherever he goes. You one of those fight groupies, honey?" the redhead asked.
"Look at her," a woman decked out in leopard print said. "Her life's probably all picket fences and book groups. She needs it from him bad."
"Fenton is not here," Dana Maria said.
She got up and threaded her way past her friends’ spiked heels around the coffee table towards me. I could tell she wanted to say more, but I could not handle the way her friends talked about me as if I was not there.
"Perfect little black dress and white shiny pearls. Don't let her fool you, she nasty," the redhead said.
"Stop, Jewels," Dana Maria said.
She took a step toward me, but I spun and marched out the door of the suite. I breathed a sigh of relief when the elevator opened at my touch. I could not run down the stairs to the next floor in my heels. I had no idea how those women walked in their shoes, much less danced.
By the time my taxi dropped me at the restaurant, I realized I had been chased out of my own suite. I was very early and had no choice but to go sit at the bar by myself. I sipped at the water with a twist of lime the unimpressed bartender gave me and tried not to think about Fenton.
Seeing all of the women lounging around the suite should have twisted the knife in deeper – no, it should have cut him out of my system once and for all. I shook my head and told myself to stop acting crazy. Here I was waiting at an elegant restaurant for my charming date and I was fixated on Fenton Morris. I checked my watch and slid off my stool. The only way to get him out of my mind was to confront him. I had not gotten where I was in my career by running away from confrontation. I needed to see Fenton face to face and find out what had happened between us.
"There you are, I'm sorry if I'm late," Jackson said. He appeared behind me with a single white rose. "I got you a thank you present."
I took the rose and eyed the small box tied with a bow. "A thank you present? For what?"
"The endorsement deal just cleared with my lawyers. Now, I know you were telling the truth. It's a solid deal, and I signed the papers this afternoon."
"Then, it’s me that should be getting you the thank you present," I slipped back onto my stool and untied the gold bow. I couldn’t stop myself from laughing out loud. "A set of golf gloves embroidered with pink flamingos. You shouldn't have!"
"Just a reminder of your victory on the mini-golf course. If I hadn't missed that flamingo hole, I would have beaten you," he told me.
"Well, there's always tomorrow. Or are you busy?" I asked.
He tugged me off the stool, took my arm, and wrapped it around his. "Oh, that's right, the big golf tournament. According to my coach, I have a curfew tonight. For you, I think I might make an exception."
No sooner had we been seated than I felt Jackson's palm slide up my knee and rest on my thigh. He winked and gave my leg a squeeze as the waiter appeared. Jackson ordered for me again and as soon as the waiter retreated his fingers began lazy circles that dipped down to my inner thigh.
I shifted in my seat. "Early curfew, it is, then. I don't want to get my new client in trouble with his coach," I said.
"I'm not your client tonight and don't worry about the curfew, unless you want to skip dinner and just head back to my room right now," he said. He pulled my leg over to his and my stomach lurched.
He was handsome, charming, successful, and had a sterling reputation, but I suddenly wished I was anywhere else but at our table. I had to figure out a way to let him down easy and escape without compromising the endorsement deal. I had dealt with rejecting clients before and their egos were unpredictable.
That was why I felt a wave of relief when I first spotted Fenton weaving his way to the front door of the restaurant. He immediately had words with the doorman, standing toe to toe with him, his chin jutting out at a dangerous angle.
"Oh, no," I said, pointing to Fenton. "Looks like someone never should have left his room."
An ugly scowl covered Jackson's face, until he realized I was looking at him. "The pressure gets to some athletes. He lost a few days ago, and now he's facing a harder opponent. I wouldn't be surprised if he flamed out completely now."
I wanted to tell Jackson that Fenton was the last person I could imagine crashing and burning, but before I could defend him, Fenton shoved the doorman back and started yelling. His words were slurred and the crowded sidewalk gave him a wide berth. He noticed the space and turned in a slow circle, as if he had forgotten where he was. Then he looked up, saw the restaurant sign, and nodded to himself.
What had looked a moment ago like a coincidence created by the universe to help me choose Jackson, now looked like Fenton was moving with purpose. Had he followed me to the restaurant? Did he know I had a date?
Fenton marched right up to our table, cementing the fact that he had come there specifically to ruin my evening. He snatched up the wine the waiter had just poured me and spun it wildly in the glass.
"An expensive vintage, no doubt," Fenton said. He stuck his nose in the air and did his best to appear like a snobbish man wearing a monocle and suspenders. "Though I do believe you could find a better pairing."
"You're drunk, Mr. Morris, and not making any sense," Jackson said.
"Then, let me be clear. The lady can do a lot better than you."
"The lady can speak for herself," I said. "Where are your friends, Fenton? There was quite a party looking for you earlier. A bunch of dancers wanting to take you out dancing."
"Friends? Those are my sister's friends," Fenton said. His blue eyes crashed into mine. He reached out and grabbed a handful from the salad the waiter had only moments ago slid into place. "Ugh, bitter and too lemony. Let me guess, the lady that can speak for herself let this joker order for her?"
"This joker is asking you to leave," Jackson said. He stood up and flagged down the maitre d' and security.
"Come on, Kya, you're an order-for-yourself kind of a girl. You're not all of this. And, you certainly don't want to be with him," Fenton said.
The whole restaurant was looking. My cheeks were bright red flames, but I kept my voice steady. "What did you mean those were your sister's friends?"
"So, you really didn't know?" Fenton asked.
"Sir, come with me," the security guard interrupted, latching a large hand on Fenton's arm.
Fenton yanked his arm free easily and turned back to me. This time, the security guard grabbed both his biceps and tried to turn him towards the door. I stood up to stop him, I needed to hear what Fenton had to say, but Jackson shielded me from the scene with one long arm.
"Don't worry about Mr. Morris, Kya. He was just leaving," Jackson said. "Maybe you should have taken me up on my earlier offer of room service."
"Sure, golfer, let security take care of your dirty work while you try to work your game on her," Fenton said. "I should have known you wouldn't stand up to me yourself."
Jackson's jaw clenched. "Don't listen to him, Kya. He's drunk and doesn't know what he's saying."
"Oh, so know you're telling her what to listen to and what to think?" Fenton asked. "How about she hears a story about this woman I once knew. I
knew this woman who slipped into an underground bare-knuckle boxing match. And instead of getting scared and trying to get out, instead of freezing up and waiting for someone to help her, she was just fine."
"Come on, Kya, let me take you back to my hotel. We can get a bite to eat in peace there," Jackson said.
He nodded to the security guard, who wrapped his arms around Fenton's chest from behind and tried to haul him out of the restaurant. Fenton broke free of the larger man's hold in one move and spun to face him. I heard a sharp gasp before Fenton threw the first punch, and then realized it was me that had made the sound.
The fight slammed into a nearby table and the restaurant erupted as people fled their expensive dinners. The security guard was almost twice Fenton's size, the shape and bulk of a retired football player. He lunged at Fenton, who spun aside and chopped him on the back of the neck. The guard stumbled. Despite his obvious intoxication, Fenton was in control of the fight, until the guard turned around a brandished a Taser.
He aimed at Fenton, and I jumped forward to stop him. Jackson wrapped an arm around my waist to lift me back. I thrashed against him, trying to kick the weapon out of the guard's hand. A camera flash dazed us all and afterwards, Fenton stepped back and raised his hands. He turned and walked out of the restaurant unharmed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Kya
I curled up in the corner of the white sofa and tried to ignore the red wine stains on the rug. Luckily, there was no sign of Dana Maria or any of her friends besides the smears of body glitter and red spills they had left behind. The plate of French fries I had ordered from room service sat untouched in front of me. I was frozen in horror, my eyes locked to the screen of my laptop.
The photograph had gone viral within seconds of Fenton leaving the restaurant. The snapshot showed the angry security guard aiming the Taser at Fenton, Fenton facing him with fists raised, Jackson trying to pull me out of danger, and me kicking my black heels at the security guard. The savage look on my face held me captivated.
"In a strange turn of the tables, admirer Kya Allen tries to defend the top ranked MMA fighter Fenton Morris from a threatened security guard while nice-guy Jackson McRay tries to save her from getting Tasered, too."
The story was all over social media. Speculation was rampant about my relationship to Fenton as well as his reason for crashing my date with Jackson. It was a drama-filled love triangle we had served up to the paparazzi on a silver platter. Everyone pointed out the picture said it all– Fenton's blue eyes on me instead of the imminent threat of the Taser and me fighting off the most eligible bachelor gentleman to come to the rescue of the infamous womanizer.
I shifted my study of the photograph to Fenton and could not ignore the flutter of excitement in my stomach. He had come to the restaurant specifically to disrupt my date with Jackson. A man did not do something like that if he did not care about the woman. Cell phone footage was staring to roll out of Fenton telling me "You certainly don't want to be with him."
I had not denied it, but then again I had not been given much of a chance to speak. And, I had not figured out what Fenton meant about his sister's friends.
I sprang off the couch and went to open my own bottle of red wine. Luckily, the dancers had not raided the wine refrigerator and I did not care what vintage I was drinking. Had Fenton just done it for the publicity?
An official statement had been issued by the MMA putting Fenton on probation. There was no way he had pulled the stunt at the restaurant to further his career.
I glanced at the door to Fenton's room before I returned to the sofa. He had beaten me back to the suite and was passed out cold when I arrived. Somehow, I was sure he already knew about the probation. For all his wild acting, Fenton was a professional. That is why he raised his hands and left the restaurant before things went any farther.
My phone rang and I picked it up. "Go ahead and give me the lecture, boss. I deserve it. Our clients get the headlines, not us."
"Lecture you? Honey baby, if I was there I would kiss you!" James crowed. "The publicity is through the roof! The vitamin people are so impressed with the stir you've created that they've sweetened the deal."
"Are you serious? I thought the whole thing was shot and you're telling me it’s better than ever?" I asked.
"Shh, pretend like you meant all of this to happen. Pretend you did it all on purpose. I've been telling everyone you are my protégé and that I taught you everything you know. Don't make me look bad now, baby," James said.
"Because only you would start a fight in a restaurant and almost get your star athlete Tasered in order to boost his publicity and get more money for the endorsement deal," I said.
"Exactly. Keep up the good work, gorgeous!"
My boss hung up the phone and I closed my eyes. None of this was actually happening. I prayed I would wake up with a bad hangover only to find it was my first night in Vegas. Then, Fenton would be next to me and we would have a chance to start over.
The knock at the door made me jump a foot into the air. I smoothed down the black dress I still wore and steeled myself to greet the stripper, Dana Maria, and her friends. Instead, my jaw hit the floor when Jackson slipped into the suite and grabbed my hand.
"I had to come by and see how you are," he said. He kissed the back of my hand and then handed a box of chocolate-covered strawberries. He then produced a bottle of champagne and two flutes from his pockets. "I hear they go well with champagne and I know you like that, so here I am. I figured dinner got screwed up, so why not skip to dessert."
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. How could I explain to him that Fenton was asleep in the next room? I had to tell him and try to make him believe it was strictly work before Fenton appeared and things got even stranger than earlier.
Jackson pressed a finger to my lips. "You don't have to say anything. I know you were pursuing Fenton for work. None of what happened tonight was your fault. You had no idea the guy would get crazy possessive of you and stalk you around Las Vegas."
He pulled me over to the couch and unwrapped the champagne bottle. The pop of the cork made me wince and when I opened one eye, I immediately looked at Fenton's door. "Jackson, there is something I have to tell you," I said.
"I'm telling you, Kya, there is no need to apologize. All I ask is that you taste one of these strawberries and have a sip of champagne. I hear it is the perfect combination," he said.
He lifted a strawberry to my mouth and I was forced to take a bite. Then, he handed me a champagne flute. I tried not to gulp it down and let the sweet oblivion help me escape my awkward reality.
"Delicious right?"
"Now, please, Jackson, I have to tell you something about Fenton," I said.
"No, don't worry. All I'm interested in is us," Jackson said. He leaned in and dropped a sweet kiss onto my still fizzy lips.
"It looks like all you're interested in is dying," Fenton interrupted. He stumbled against the doorframe of his bedroom. "Stand up, McRay, there's no armed security guard to do your dirty work for you this time."
"What the f?" Jackson said. "He's staying here? You've got to be kidding me. What does it take to get a minute alone with you?"
"I'm sorry, Jackson. My company put us up here in the hopes of convincing him to take the deal," I said.
"Come on, sweetheart, don't lie to the poor man," Fenton said. He gave me a wicked wink. "The suite was your idea, and it has been a sweet deal for both of us."
Jackson jumped up from the couch and squared off in front of Fenton. I was shocked that Jackson would willingly fight Fenton when I saw Fenton's eyes glaze over and his body sway.
"Stop it right now, both of you. Fenton, you're drunk, and, Jackson, you know he's in no shape to fight you or anybody," I said.
"He's been asking for a fight since the first night we met. You just strolled up and pulled her away from me. I bet you're not even really interested in her; you just want to mess with me. I know your type, always trying to get r
evenge on people who are better than you," Jackson said.
"That's enough." I pointed to the door. "He's not out to get you, this has nothing to do with you. And, it has nothing to do with me, either. Fenton's just making sure he keeps up his reputation, you know, the lone wolf that doesn't need anyone. You need to leave; you need to go pass out. Goodnight."
I put my hands on my hips and waited. Jackson glowered at Fenton. I was surprised when his look extended to me and felt relieved when he finally turned and headed out the door.
"Kya, I gotta tell you, I gotta say… I'm going to be sick," Fenton said. He rushed into his room and dove into the bathroom.
I cringed at the sounds I heard, but could not in good conscience retreat to my room and shut the door. Instead, I grabbed a large bottle of water from the refrigerator, found a bottle of aspirin, and followed him in.
"Are you alright? How much did you have to drink?" I asked.
Fenton shook his head slowly, "I'm fine. Just mixed my liquors. Should have stayed passed out."
"Why? Why did you decide to do this?" I asked.
He pushed past me and flopped into his bed. I pulled off his shoes and untangled his legs from the sheet. He took the bottle of water and drank a small sip.
I thought he had passed out again when he laid a hand on my wrist. "I was mad at you," he said.
I turned my hand over and squeezed his fingers. "I was mad at you, too, but I didn't get blind drunk."
"No, you left," he said.
The way he said it twisted my heart as if I had done something unforgivable. "I didn't leave. I got out of your way. You had a guest, remember?"
"So, you went off and picked up that pretty boy golfer?" he asked. "You trying to make me jealous?"
"Jealous? I'm not the one crashing dates around here," I said.
He smirked even as his eyes drifted closed. "You know you don't have anything to be jealous about. You just wanted me, I just wanted you."
The Fight (A Standalone Novel) (MMA Bad Boy Romance) Page 15
