I stepped back as he leaned closer. "Yes, I am a little sore, but nothing I can't handle. In fact, I was thinking I should join you again tomorrow. That's the best cure for sore muscles."
"I know a better one." Fenton’s laser blue eyes narrowed as his smile widened.
"Well, I can guess it’s not sitting on a stool playing video poker," I said. I punched out of the game and a slew of coins poured into the metal slot.
Fenton shook his head at my luck again. "Sign us up for a couple's massage. Don't you have an expense account or something? Call your boss and ask for his credit card number."
I raked the coins into a plastic cup. All the other agents I knew would do what Fenton said in an instant. And, it was not that I was not tempted. The idea of a couple's massage with him next to me was very tempting, indeed. My boss would be annoyed that he had not thought of it first. I could hear him rattling off his credit card number in his perpetually yelling tone.
"You're thinking about it, aren't you?" Fenton said. "You never know, it might make me want vitamin supplements even more."
I shook my head. "No. I've never landed an account that way before. Besides, you are just trying to take advantage of me. What kind of agent would I be if I just threw money away on my client's whims? I'm supposed to be proving to you that I have your best interests in mind."
Fenton
laughed, and my stomach quivered. "Well, if you won't treat me to a couple's massage, what kind of schmoozing do you have in mind? I hear there's a great nightclub here if you feel like taking me dancing."
"What have other endorsement agents offered you?" I asked.
"Well, let's see. One just gave me and two friends an open tab for dinner," he said.
"Would that explain the hint of intoxication?"
He stuck his nose in the air. "Yes. Jealous?"
"Not impressed," I said. "What other sort of perks have you gotten?"
"A car lease, a timeshare vacation, a purebred dog, a leather sofa. None of which I accepted."
"What kind of dog?" I asked. I took my coins to the exchange and got a surprising wad of cash.
"A Pitbull. Sweet puppy," he said.
"Hmm, I see you as more of a Rottweiler type," I told him.
Fenton nudged me. "Really? I thought you would have noticed that I’m more the kitten type."
"Well, massages and live animals aside, I'm not sure what I can offer you besides a sound business deal," I said.
"Ah, there it is," Fenton said. "That's how you get all those Ivy League types. Make them think they are doing real business. We both know it’s selling out."
"Selling out is what other agents would push for. I'm here to help you trade your name for solid investments."
"Oh, the Kya Allen reputation at work," Fenton said. He sauntered away.
"Wait, fine. Alright. I know how to have a little fun while working," I said.
He spun around and looked skeptical. "I'm not accepting tickets to a show. I am the show, remember?"
"I wasn't thinking about taking you to a show. I've got reservations for the restaurant on the top of the Eiffel Tower. Say tomorrow night at eight?"
"Dress to impress?" Fenton asked.
"Of course."
"Then, it's a date."
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