"Left me a note, rented a private gym. Sorry, miss, that's all I can tell you," the owner of the gym said.
I drummed my fingers on the notched wooden bar he used as a check in desk. "A private gym? Are there a lot of those in Vegas? Which one?"
"It wouldn't be very private if I knew, now would it?"
; There was something strange about the way the gym owner's eyes shifted over my head and swept along the front windows. He seemed nervous, as if he expected a bolt of lightning to strike him, even though the sun was shining.
"Why did Mr. Morris switch gyms? Did something happen?" I asked.
"No, nothing happened. Fighters are like that. Maybe he thought there was bad mojo here or something," the nervous man said.
If that was Fenton's reason, I was starting to agree with him. The gym owner made me nervous and I left quickly. Maybe the man just did not want to talk to me because I was the reason Fenton was acting erratic. I hadn’t exactly been calm and predictable myself.
The only constant was my terrible attempts to sign him to the endorsement deal. No matter what I did, I could not separate the inevitable pleasure of his company with the contract I wanted, no, needed him to sign. My behavior was unfair to him as a client and as a date. Date? No, Fenton was more than a casual date. Those were not casual kisses we had exchanged on the couch.
I blushed, thinking about how easily I had thrown aside our business, the entire point of the evening, and let myself get carried away by how he made me feel. Melting and open, electric and consumed, Fenton's mouth on mine had kindled a response from my body that I could not control.
He must have felt as overwhelmed as I did because he was the one that suddenly broke away. His face was a storm cloud, all the friction between us charging him up, despite the fact he had refused my offer. He did not have to refuse. He could have stayed. That confused expression as he left made my heart soar; there had to be more between us.
Maybe that was why out of all the casinos in Vegas, he chose the Tropicana. I got out of the cab to hear a commotion in the main lobby. Fenton was leading a massive entourage through the casino to one of the bars. Did he hope that I would see him, join him?
I pushed my way into the throng and felt a thrill when his laser blue eyes caught sight of me. He turned away and continued berating a reporter and trash talking Mario Peretti.
"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.