"Yes, fine. No big changes until I've won the title," I agreed.
"Yes, thank you! Man, Sienna's producer was just talking about the same thing this morning. He was all mad because she wanted to try to change her image, go in a new direction."
I sat down at the bar. I had to laugh when the bartender automatically delivered a tequila shot. "What new image is she trying out?"
"She's gone to hit on the golfers from the tournament," Kev said. "Told her producer she looked great in pastels and sunshine. She's going to try out the whole country club scene. Maybe Kya inspired her."
"Oh, God, please don't say it."
"What?" Kev asked. "That Sienna has set her sights on Jackson McRay? What can I say, the man is like a living breathing Ken doll and everyone wants to play house with him. Or doctor. I don't know. Even Sandi says he's handsome. You heard her."
"I am sick of hearing about Jackson McRay. There's something off about him. Nothing a good punch to the jaw wouldn't cure," I said. I slammed the shot and stood up.
Kev jumped off his bar stool. "Whoa, wait, what's happening? That's just good old fashioned jealousy talking. And everyone knows that jealousy is the number one way to get into trouble. Didn't you just say you wanted to clean up your act?"
"And, you told me not to," I said. "So, how about I go have a conversation with Mr. McRay? Where's the golf luncheon?"
"I have no idea," Kev said. He looked over my shoulder.
"Liar. Get a cab. We're going."
Kev fidgeted the entire cab ride to the Wynn Hotel and Casino. When we got out, he tried his best to distract me.
"I hear they have a helluva pool here. How about some drinks and good scenery?"
"No."
"There's a shop here that makes custom cologne. Eau d' Marital Arts Fighter? Might be a good thing to try. Maybe you want a product line."
"No."
Kev jumped in front of me and held up his hands. "They're never going to let us in. I know I said I wanted you to keep up the bad boy image, but another run-in with security is not the way to go."
I marched up to the first photographer I saw. "You know who I am?"
"The fighter, Fenton Morris," he said.
"I need to have a little talk with Jackson McRay. Want to make that happen?" I asked.
"Yes, sir," the photographer said. He ran over and had a quick talk with the doorman, money was exchanged, and we were in.
We entered the banquet room. It was hard to tell what people stared at more – my tattoos or my jeans. I was clearly not luncheon material.
"What's wrong with this picture?" Kev asked.
"You mean besides a bunch of men in pastel shirts and plaid pants?"
"Yes, besides that." Kev turned all the way around and searched the room. "Shouldn't we be hearing a high-pitched giggle and seeing a blinding flash of camera lights?"
"So Sienna's producer talked her out of it," I said. "I still want to talk to Jackson."
"No, Sienna's producer is right there," Kev pointed.
"With her entire camera crew," I said. We marched across the room. A few golfers pulled their wives out of our way and made nervous glances toward security.
"The cameras aren't rolling? Has the world ended?" I asked Sienna's producer.
He shrugged his shoulders. "Jackson McRay wanted to discuss their appearance before we started shooting."