by Claire Adams
"Like I said, it was a lucky punch. I hear he wasn't so lucky at his fight last night. No consistency," Fenton said.
"And, you'd say you're a consistent fighter?" the reporter asked.
"Yes. One misstep doesn't change my record." Fenton glanced over me again and then threw his arm around a ripe redhead. "Maybe you should go and do a little research before asking any more questions. I don't have time for you to try out headlines on me without any real substance." He used his free hand to shove the reporter away and strutted off with the redhead plastered against his side.
I ignored the desire to storm away and sulk. Instead, I followed the crowd into the bar and pushed my way to the tight circle around Fenton again.
"You really are a glutton for punishment, eh?" Kev Casey said. Fenton's manager snaked an arm around my waist.
I did not struggle even as my stomach clenched. Kev was repellant, but he guided me right next to Fenton. I went so far as to put my hand over Kev's shoulder and delighted in Fenton's immediate frown.
"Now, don't look like that, Fenton," Kev said. "We need her. Now that you've gone full diva on me and rented a private gym, it might be time for you to consider Ms. Allen's deal a little more seriously."
Fenton released the redhead though she clung to his arm. "Ms. Allen has never managed to fully articulate her pitch."
"We can go over the contract any time you like," I said. "You know where my suite is when you're ready."
"I'm ready," Kev said. "How about we head up to her suite and make it a private party?"
The redhead nodded and tried to slip under Fenton's arm again. He unpeeled her and crossed his arms over his chest. "We don't need her or her fancy suite."
"Then, how exactly do you plan to pay for that private gym?" Kev asked.
"It just so happens I met two other endorsement agents today. I thought you might like them, too," Fenton said. He waved to a tall, striking woman with straight brown hair and her curly haired, curvy friend.
"Bethany Smith and Alice Meadows," I said.
"Oh, you know them?" Fenton asked. His smile was wicked as beckoned the two women over.
"They work exclusively for a big time shoe company. Shoes that you don't, or would ever, wear. They're for basketball," I said.
"What's wrong with that? If they're willing to pay me, I can wear them outside of the ring," Fenton said.
I swiped my hair back. "I warned you about the bigger brand names. They have tricky contracts that can drop you for any little thing. Like getting kicked out of your hotel suite," I said.
"Well, let's just say I like their approach better so far," Fenton said. "No mix-ups or mixed messages."
"Is that what you think?"
Fenton gave me a deeper look, but the two women joined us and pulled his attention away. "We heard you like tequila, Mr. Morris, so we took the liberty of ordering a bottle. The good stuff, no need for body shots unless that's what you're in the mood for," Bethany said.
"Hello, Kya. I almost didn't recognize you out of linen button-ups and off the tennis court. Must feel kind of strange," Alice said.
"What's strange is a company that makes basketball shoes looking for an MMA fighter to endorse their product," I countered.
"We make shoes for everyone. Everyone needs shoes," Bethany said. "Not everyone needs vitamin supplements, do they Mr. Morris? Do you take vitamins?" She squeezed his bicep and batted her eyelashes.
"Speaking of shoes," Alice continued. "Our company made a pair especially for you. Completely original, custom designed. Come try them on."
They led Fenton to a V.I.P. booth. Waiters cleared away the small table so they could make a big scene of revealing his custom shoes. Alice knelt to help slip them on, her generous cleavage attracting more attention. Bethany poured him a glass of tequila and held it to his lips.
I waited until he stood up and roped his arms over the two women. They started off on a lap around the bar to try out his new shoes. I deliberately crossed their path and pretended not to realize I was in the way. When Fenton cleared his throat I made sure to hold eye contact as long as I could.
"Not really your style," I said.
He glanced down at the shoes and then back up at me. "Who cares?" Both he and my rival agents laughed.
Fenton finally broke away from the other agents and mingled with fans. I endured the awkward attentions of a young Mixed Martial Arts fan as he waited for an autograph.
"I love how he just does what he wants. That's like me, you know?" the ruddy young man said.
"I can imagine," I said.
He launched into a story about standing up to his manager at the restaurant where he worked. I nodded and kept him jostling closer to Fenton. When it was almost my young hopeful's turn, a rotund man jumped in front of him. We were both surprised by the man's grace.
"Ling Pho Lounge, tonight," he said to Fenton.
Fenton nodded. He signed my young friend's cocktail napkin and turned away without even looking at me. I had to recapture Fenton's attention. He circled back through the bar and settled into the booth with Bethany and Alice again.
If I could not get Fenton to look at me, at least I could get him to notice who I was with. I scanned the bar for the man most likely to make Fenton jealous. At the bar stood a tall man in black pants and a tight black t-shirt. He was passable handsome with short, cropped brown hair and a semi-vacant look. He nodded at whatever his friend in the suit was saying. I decided to introduce myself.
"Excuse me, do you mind if I squeeze in here? I've been trying to get a drink, but it’s so crowded," I said. I smiled up at the man in the black t-shirt.
The man in the suit looked me up and down with narrowed eyes and a slow smile. "Buy her a drink or I will."
"No, please, I don't want to interrupt," I said.
"I'd like to," the tall man said. He sounded as if he did not talk much. "He's always going on about work."
The man in the suit flicked a quick look at the bartender and my drink appeared in seconds. The man in the black t-shirt scooped it up for me. I realized he had nice brown eyes, sort of sad, too soft for the hard muscles and sharp angles of the rest of him.
"Thanks," I said and meant it.
His smile never had a chance to appear. Fenton was in his face the moment we stepped away from the bar together. Though he was taller and just as hard-bodied, the man in black took one small step back.
"She's with me," Fenton said.
"Didn't seem like it to me," my companion argued.
"Or me, either," I said.
"Kya, I need you to come with me now," Fenton said. He reached out a hand without taking his eyes off the taller man.
"I'm sorry," I said to the brown-eyed man. "I have no idea what his problem is."
He looked down at me and I saw the flash of sadness there again. "I do and it’s only going to get worse."
"Not before I do some serious damage to you and your friend over there. Now, turn around and leave," Fenton said.
He stood with his shoulders thrown back, his arms raised away from his body, fists coiled, but not yet clenched. Fenton was a step away from fighting the other man and I had to stop it.
"Excuse us, please," I said. I grabbed Fenton's arm, but he did not budge.
"You're leaving. Both of you. Now," he said.
The tall man shrugged his shoulders and looked over at the man in the suit. The narrow-eyed man finished his drink and nodded. They both headed toward the exit.
As soon as they were gone, Fenton dragged me into the back hallway of the bar. He was breathing heavily, muscles still coiled.
"I'm sorry. I just didn't want to see you get taken in by those other agents. I had to do something," I said.
"This was about work?" he asked. His voice exploded in the small hallway. "You were trying to get my attention to pitch your contract? With that man?"
"What was so wrong with that man?" I asked. "He was a perfect gentleman. I didn't see him running around signing women's breasts and trash talking
every male in his vicinity."
"Get it through your head, Ms. Allen," he said. "I'm never going to be the buttoned-up client you are hoping for. You're not really interested in me, and I'm done with you."
Chapter Sixteen
Kya
I wanted to follow him, but his shout still echoed in my ears and kept me frozen. Fenton was angry and he had every right to be. Not only had I manipulated him by flirting with another man, but I had done so only to further my business aspirations. He thought I was interested in nothing else but the dotted line of the endorsement contract.
There was no way I could explain that beyond the thin connection my work had offered us, I felt tied to him in a way I had never felt with anyone. I was all tangled up in Fenton Morris and had been since the moment we met.
I could not tell him any of that. What if he felt the same? He needed to keep his mind clear, focused on his next fight. What if I distracted him and he lost again? The image of his laser blue eyes dimming as he toppled to the mat still made me feel sick. So, the only excuse I had to be near him was the endorsement deal.
Except now. Fenton was upset and it was obvious it was more than just my tacky business tactics. Why had he been so upset about that tall man in particular?
I came out of the back hallway in time to see Fenton disappear out the exit the two men had used. He was going after them. By the time I reached the same exit, I saw him catch up to the men in the middle of the roulette tables. James Cort's gambling advice to always bet on black rang hollowly in my head. There was something menacing about the man in the black pants and tight black t-shirt. His brown eyes might have had a hint of something else, but he was clearly built to enforce whatever business he was in.
He loomed over Fenton. The muscles across Fenton's shoulders rippled as he flexed and faced off with the taller man. The man in the suit stood back, a sharp smile on his face. He was the only one talking, but I could not hear what he was saying.
I sidled along a row of video poker machines and hoped I could get closer before a fight broke out.
"The deal is simple, Mr. Morris. Just do as we say and your luck will stay intact," the man in the suit said.
I did not understand the threat, but nothing more was said. With one last sharp smile, the man called off his hard-muscled companion. He gave Fenton one last tense-jawed look, then turned and left. I ducked as Fenton turned back toward the party and was glad he did not see me interfering again.
I followed Fenton back toward the bar, but stopped when I saw him rejoin Bethany and Alice. It was useless for me to reappear. Anything I did now would only drive him further away.
Unless… I thought and spun around. Unless I figured out why the men were threatening him and then got him out of a bind. It was one way I could prove I had his best interests in mind.
I rushed out of the casino and caught sight of the two men on the Strip. They were heading across the street to the MGM Grand, and I dodged through traffic to follow. Two horns honked and the tall man glanced around. I dove into a gaggle of young men and could not extract myself until we reached the arena doors. They begged me to join them for Blackjack, but I pretended I had prepaid tickets for whatever was happening inside.
It turned out the event was free, a featherweight preview boxing match. I went into the nearly empty arena and stuck to the back rows, hoping the two men would not see I followed them. It was strange to be in the cavernous space where only days ago cheering crowds had watched Fenton step into the ring.
The two boxers dodged around each other, on their toes, with heavy punches coming in sporadic bursts. I was transfixed for a moment by the differences between classic boxing and the exciting flurry of mixed martial arts. There was an art to both, but what Fenton did with his whole body was truly amazing. I could appreciate the skill and power as the boxers clashed, but without the kicks, spins, and lethal combinations, it just did not get my heart pounding. Not like Fenton did.
I slumped down in the nearest seat when I spotted the men I was following. They marched right up close and did not bother to sit down. The boxer in the red shorts noticed them and took a kidney punch. Within a minute, he lost his focus completely and was taken out by a whirlwind of jabs straight to his chest and chin. The fight was over and though it was discreet, I saw lots of money change hands.
The man in the suit flagrantly counted a large wad of cash. He flapped it into his friend's hand. The man who had bought me a drink folded the cash up neatly. He then strode up to the ring, nodded to the boxer in the red shorts and slipped the cash into his robe. I was the only one that noticed.
Or I'm the only one stupid enough to watch, I thought.
The two men were coming back out and there was nowhere for me to hide. I shuffled along the row I was in, but knew they would spot me soon.
"Here, you look cold," a nondescript man said. He tossed a tan sport coat over my shoulders.
I sat down, glad the plain sport coat concealed my dress and made me blend into the seats. "I recognize you. You've been following Fenton Morris," I said.
"Sure beats Iowa, eh, honey?" he asked.
I nodded lower into the tan sport coat as the two men strode past our row. Neither of them looked our way.
"Alright, Ms. Allen, they're gone."
"How do you know my name? Who are you?"
"You can call me Matt Smith," he said. "You're wrong. I'm not following Fenton Morris, I work for him."
"You're a private investigator," I said. That would explain the average looking man's ability to disappear so easily. It would also explain why I felt certain his name was a fake. Matt Smith was almost too carefully common to be true.
"Very astute. Now, what you'd think of the fight?" he asked.
"Oh, I don't know. I wasn't really here to watch the fight," I said. "Did you notice those two men?"
"The ones you were following?"
"Yes. Wait. You changed the subject. Why does Fenton Morris need a private investigator?" I asked.
Matt Smith smirked. "Again, very astute. Mr. Morris no longer needs my services, but I have to admit, I saw him with the two gentlemen you mentioned and I was curious, too."
He swung the conversation so easily away from his private business with Fenton that I knew I could not pry. Instead, I concentrated on why I had come there in the first place. "I think they were threatening him somehow."
"And, did you notice anything strange about the boxing match?" Matt Smith asked.
I frowned. He seemed so average, so regular, that it was surprising how utterly he controlled the conversation.
"Yes, actually. I could have sworn the boxer in the red shorts noticed those two men, and then almost right after he spotted them, he lost the match," I said.
"And?"
"And then, I saw lots of money changing hands," I continued.
Matt Smith nodded and polished a pair of wire rim glasses I had not noticed before. He said nothing and waited.
"I think they might have fixed the fight and told that poor boxer to lose. That way they can place bets and win big," I said.
He slipped his glasses on and pushed them up his nose. "And now, they're trying the same thing with Mr. Morris?"
"Oh my God," I said. "That's awful. We have to call the police."
"What would the police do?" Matt asked. "There is no proof. The men will deny threatening Mr. Morris. It would be his word against theirs. And, I doubt things will get better for him after they learn he has talked to the police."
I stood up and handed back the plain, tan sport coat. "There has to be something we can do. I'll talk to Fenton right away. Maybe you can get photographs of them doing what they just did?"
"People carry cash in Las Vegas, that's no crime," Matt pointed out.
I thought about the large wad the tall man had pulled from to buy my drink. "Oh my God, no wonder Fenton did not want me talking to that man. Of all the men in that bar, I managed to flirt with the one trying to strong-arm him into a throwing a fight. No w
onder he hates me!"
"I think it’s possible that it’s the opposite of hate." He slipped back on the tan sport coat.
"I've got to go," I told him. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Smith."
I turned around at the arena door and was not surprised when the nondescript man was already gone. He never answered what kind of work he did for Fenton. For such an average looking man, he was incredibly good at his job.
I rushed back over to the Tropicana and into the dark bar. In the time it took for my eyes to adjust, I groped my way to the empty booth. Fenton was gone. There was nothing there but a large shoebox and a pair of custom-made shoes with his name on them.
"Back to throw yourself at him again?" Alice Meadows asked as she came up behind me.
"Couldn't get him to keep the shoes on?" I asked. "That can't be a good sign."
She snatched the shoes out of my hands. "He had them on and he liked them. We'll have Fenton Morris signed by the morning."
"You and Bethany always work in tandem. At least, that's what people like to say you do. I mean, I guess I can't judge the way you get your results because you definitely get results, I just don't know how you can do it," I said.
"Don't be such a prude, Kya," she said. "Just because we're women doesn't mean we're not allowed to enjoy sex and have it just for fun."
There was a lump in my throat and I swallowed hard. "Is that where Bethany is? Having fun?"
"Why? Would that bother you? Is the Country Club Princess falling for a blue collar fighter?" Alice asked.
"Ooo, did she admit it?" Bethany asked as she joined Alice in the booth and handed her a large drink with two umbrellas sticking out of the top. "I bet Alice you'd fall for Fenton Morris. They say opposite attract, right?"
I shook my head. "I don't have time for junior high gossip. Where is Fenton?"
Alice sipped her drink and shrugged. "Beats me. One minute he was slamming tequila, and the next, he was gone. I thought he'd gone off to find you. Way he was looking at you all night. What a waste."
"When did he leave?" I asked.
"About 20 minutes ago," Bethany said.
I ran for the door and straight out to the cabstand. I had to find Fenton before something bad happened.
