"What is it?" I asked.
"Sorry, Jackson, but I just heard there's a margarita-making contest at Caesar's that needs a judge." Sienna motioned to her camera crew. "Come on, boys, we're outta here."
Jackson took my arm and led me to a long table set with a white linen tablecloth. The president of the golf association and his wife sat across from us.
"And, people wonder why we have such a rigorous screening and interview process for membership at our club," the president said.
"I apologize, sir, I thought a little on-air time would be good for us," Jackson said.
"Of course. It had nothing to d
o with you," the president nodded. "It just goes to show that people's true class, or lack thereof, will always show through."
I sat wondering if the entire incident had nothing or everything to do with Jackson McRay. There was something stiff about his smile, but over the course of lunch, he relaxed.
"Please, let me escort you back to the hotel," he said at the end of the gathering. He signaled a driver and soon we were ensconced in a black town car. "I feel like I need to apologize for my association president and the head organizer. They are quick to judge. I'm sure Fenton is under a lot of pressure these days."
"Thank you for having some understanding," I said. I leaned back on the comfortable leather seats. "You're right. I’ve seen athletes start to crack under the pressure and their judgment is usually the first thing to go."
"As long as it doesn’t blow back at you," Jackson said. He took my hand and kissed the back of it. "I hate to think of you being surrounded by scummy managers and boxing coaches and fighters. Wasn't this afternoon a pleasant change?"
I had to agree. Despite the superior remarks about Fenton and Sienna, the luncheon had been entirely pleasant. "Yes, thank you. It was just the break I needed."
Jackson held my hand, a comforting and sweet gesture, all the way to the Tropicana. The driver jumped out to open the door for me, but it was Jackson that rushed around to help me out of the car. I could not help but feel like a princess when I was with Jackson McRay. He was the very model of a charming prince.
"Ms. Allen, I was hoping to see you here," a man's voice hailed us. Mario Peretti appeared out of a limousine.
"Sorry. Ms. Allen is not interested in speaking with you right now," Jackson said. He curled a long arm out in front to shield me. His hand on the small of my back ushered me toward the casino.
I stopped and stood my ground. "It's okay, Jackson. I know him. What can I do for you, Mr. Peretti?"
"So, formal now. Let me guess, you spent the afternoon with his kind," Mario said. He smirked at Jackson's outfit and then stepped between us.
Jackson laid a heavy hand on Mario's shoulder. Though the MMA fighter was shorter, he made quick work of shrugging off the hand and forcing Jackson to take a step back.
"What do you want?" I asked. I put both hands on my hips.
"Just a photograph," Mario said. His smile curled up with mischief. "I'm a fan, you're a fan, let's just get a quick pic together."
"Why? So you can use it to rile Fenton up?" I asked. I started to walk toward the hotel lobby.
"Exactly," Mario said.
Jackson laughed. "I like it. Let's do it." He reached out and grabbed my arm, pulling me back, and then giving me a push toward Mario.
"No, thank you," I said. I looked to Jackson expecting him to shield me again and help me get inside.
He held out an arm to block me from the hotel lobby. "Give me the camera and give Ms. Allen here a quick kiss," he said.
"Jackson! No. Stay away from me, Mario," I said.
The fighter lunged and wrapped an arm around my waist. "Sorry, Kya. Normally, I'm really sweet, ask anyone. It's just this is a good way to get an edge of him."
I pressed hard against his chest and tried to hold him back. Jackson laughed again and waited until Mario stole a kiss, then he snapped the picture.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Kya