Chapter Nine
Kya
I stood in the bathroom and considered a cold shower. It was hard to tell what had made me hotter, Fenton's kiss or my angry flare-up after he stopped. I made him stop. My body burned with the possibilities – his lips on my neck, the tingly warmth of his breath. I could still taste our kisses and I considered raiding the mini bar for another whiskey. That would kill the traces of him.
I started the shower instead. The whiskey would only exacerbate my anger. I had been a complete idiot. Every girl has the childish fantasy that she'll reform the bad boy. All his rough edges will smooth down like butter under her warm caress. They were silly teenage daydreams, and I almost fell for them.
All the time I thought I was wining and dining Fenton, earning his trust, and establishing a base for our future business, he was just softening me up for a seduction. I wondered how much his horrible manager had bet against him having sex with me. I hoped that slime ball Kevin Casey collected a fat wad of cash from Fenton.
Before I could bring myself to peel off my purple dress and get in the shower, I slumped against the bathroom counter. I was frustrated, I was angry, and that all made sense. What I did not understand was how I let myself get hurt.
I knew Fenton Morris by reputation, I saw it in him when we first met, and still I had let myself think there was more between us.
When my phone rang I saw that it was James Cort, but I picked up anyway. It seemed a fitting punishment for being so stupid.
"How did it go? How much did you sign him for? Come on, don't hold me in suspense. Tell me all the dirty details and percentages," my boss said.
"It didn't happen," I said. "Somehow, the whole evening turned into him trying to seduce me."
"Trying to? He didn't manage it? Well, that kind of blows my estimation of the guy," James said.
"I'm serious. He was only interested in getting me into bed. I never had a chance to show him a contract." I let a small sob escape.
"Oh, Jesus Christ on a cracker, baby doll. You're not crying, are you? I know it hurts. Getting used and then dropped by a potential client is just one of those things that happens," my boss said. "I thought you had thicker skin than that. Come on, Kya, you're better than this."
I blinked into the mirror and swiped away my running mascara. "Thanks, that was surprisingly sympathetic. As if you've ever had a young, sexy athlete try to get into your pants."
"And, she's back. Thank God. I thought I'd lost you," he said. "Now, let me get this straight. You've got feeling for our big time bad boy. So, you stopped the whole seduction thing because you want more and because you want to hang on to some supposed thread of professional dignity."
"Yes, what's wrong with that?" I asked.
"Well, you're dead wrong about the professional dignity thing. It doesn't exist. As for having feelings for the man, who wouldn't? Give me a few days alone with him and I might swoon. The only thing you did wrong was not letting it all happen."
I scowled at the phone. "You're not a pimp, and I don't work for you that way, Mr. Cort."
"All I'm saying, in a purely modern, girl power kind of a way, is that the only way to find out how you both really feel is to do the deed. Am I right? Or are you a Victorian revivalist set on being courted?"
I hated to admit there was some sense to what my boss said, so I stayed silent.
"Yeah, I'm right. I know," he said. "So, let's weigh it out. On one hand, you have the fictional idea of professional dignity and maybe the rainbow unicorn of integrity. And on the other hand, you have a bonus, an office, and a tight little mortgage on that new house you picked out. Plus, one unforgettable night of sexy sex with a sexy man."
"Please never say 'sexy sex' ever again." I turned the shower off. For as much as James Cort touted my good girl reputation, he treated me just like one of the boys, and I loved him for it. "Alright, boss, good pep talk. Now, I've got to chase down our next big client."
"Hey, at least his billboards are up everywhere. You can just stop people on the Strip and ask which way he went," James said.
I laughed and hung up. He was right. I had chased off Fenton too soon and for all the wrong reasons. If I found him and told him that, there was still a chance I could get him to sign off on the vitamin supplements endorsement. Anything else that happened could be separate, just between two unattached, consenting adults.
#
I fidgeted all the way down in the elevator. I tried to tame my curly hair. I used the mirrored walls to fix the smudges of makeup under my eyes. I checked my phone and laughed over the encouraging and raunchy messages my boss left. I also tried to brainstorm ways to track Fenton's movements, but every time I thought about him, I got distracted.
The strong grip of his hands did not change the soft, electric way he caressed my bare shoulders. His hard forearms locked tight around me, but never squeezed. His strength flowed against me as if our bodies fit perfectly.
The elevator doors opened and I stepped out into a chaotic scene. A small knot of young men was complaining to three security guards. Apparently, their buddy had snapped a candid picture with one of the MMA guys only to be assaulted. As one guy waved a digital camera around, I caught a glimpse of the photograph in question. Fenton's black hair and sharp blue eyes were cut off by a dirty high-top sneaker.
"You pretended to kick Fenton Morris in the face?" I asked. "Ever hear the phrase 'don't poke the bear’? Go look it up and try to learn something, but first tell me which way he went."
They all turned to look at me, mouths open.