"No. It would be crazy if I was even near to feeling anything for Kya Allen," I said.
"Good." Dana Maria peeked over my shoulder. "Because she looks pretty cozy with that handsome man."
I brushed aside a palm branch and looked at Kya. The hair on the back of my neck stood up when I saw the man she was with was the same man from the nightclub the first time we met. The man had a catalog quality that matched his short, cropped hair and square jaw. I hated him. Then, I wanted to kill him.
The man's hand trailed down Kya's bare shoulder and curled around her hand. While I crushed the palm branch in my clenched fist, he lifted Kya's hand and brushed a kiss across the backs of her fingers. His other hand was between them, under the table and in a haze of red, I imagined what else he was touching.
"Yeah, you're not crazy for her at all," Dana Maria said. She wrenched my hand free from the palm tree and pulled me towards the elevators. "Let's get you upstairs before you do something you'll regret."
"You mean like going over there and asking her exactly what she thinks she's doing?"
"Hey, you want to make a fool out of yourself, go right ahead," she said.
My shoulders slumped and I let my sister lead me across the lobby. She dragged me toward the elevators, as my steps got heavier. Even if there had been a misunderstanding about who my sister was, Kya had moved on with lightning speed. And the worst part was she had found someone perfect for her.
The doors shut and the handsome man's face beamed at us from an event poster. I swore. Kya had moved on to the number one pick for the big golf tournament. She wasn’t interested in a mixed martial arts fighter from a low rent background. She had her sights a lot higher than me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Kya
I unwrapped the black dress, fresh from the cleaners. I thought about wearing the purple dress, but Jackson McRay seemed like a traditional man, even in Las Vegas. I had spent the afternoon cyber-stalking him and had not once seen a picture of him with a sequined or tube top sporting woman. He was rarely photographed with women and only with decent, conservative women from prominent families. I was suddenly feeling a lot of pressure.
The way Fenton Morris had attracted paparazzi to the Tropicana, it was guaranteed someone would get a picture of Jackson McRay on a date the night before his big tournament. All I could think about was measuring up to the elegant women with their perfect lineages that he was normally with when photographed. I had my reputation, but it was nothing worthy of a caption.
I clasped my pearls around my neck and checked the perfect bun I had twisted into my hair. I did not smile into the mirror. That made me pause. The real reason was not the worries about being captured by paparazzi. I was not even nervous about going on a first date. The only problem was I was not excited to be going out with Jackson McRay. And, it had nothing to do with him.
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 toward 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 hadn’t 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."