The nondescript man stepped back as I approached, and Fenton looked
up and around. He immediately pressed his mouth shut and palmed the piece of paper. A memory flashed back from the nightclub, and I remembered telling him my parents were dead and I had no other family. Fenton had said he was equally on his own. Now, he was talking to a strange man about his sister being in Las Vegas. He did not want me to know, and from the way he glanced all around, it seemed he did not want anyone to know.
Better off alone, I thought. Fenton Morris loved his lone wolf image.
"Please, don't let me interrupt," I said. "I just thought I should let you know Mr. Casey let me down here. I didn't want you to see me and think I was stalking you."
Fenton's smirk reappeared. "Bet you had to sweet talk ol' Kev."
"Luckily, the elevators are fast around here," I said.
"I'm shocked he didn't hit the stop button. Where do you think I learned that trick?" Fenton asked.
I remembered he had stopped the elevator on the way up to his penthouse. The hot tangle of our lips and bodies came back to me in a warm rush. I shook my head to cool my thoughts.
"Where did your friend go? I didn't mean to interrupt," I said.
Fenton looked as surprised as me. The brown-haired man had faded away. "Not sure I would call him a friend. Then again, he's not the one stalking me."
"I noticed you haven't had security throw me out yet. Next, you'll be coming up with ways for me to show my appreciation, just like your manager," I said.
"You wouldn't be able to handle it," Fenton said. His eyes swept up and down my body. "You bring any sensible shoes to Vegas?"
"Yes. I run every morning. Why?" I asked.
"Well, you could join me for the rest of my workout if you think you're up to it," he said.
I straightened up to my full height, still seven inches shorter than Fenton. "You need another sparring partner?"
He glanced over his shoulder where the young fighter lay on a bench with an ice pack over his nose. "No. There aren't any rings or referees where we're going."
#
The Las Vegas Overlook Trail was a silent expanse of blue sky and sun-baked earth. After the neon and concrete of the Strip, I was shocked to find a large swath of open terrain stretching out before us.
"This is part of your training?" I asked.
"My coach isn't keen on joining me, but it beats jumping rope in front of a mirror," Fenton said. He started up a steep trail and I trotted after him.
"You struck me as the big city sort, you know, never far from asphalt or skyscrapers," I said.
"I prefer it out here." He stopped for a moment and looked back at the Vegas Strip. The melancholy look passed over his face again. "People get all tangled up in big cities, it's not good for them."
I wondered if he was talking about his sister, but refrained from letting on what I had overheard. "That's why I love Chicago. There's the city, but then there's Lake Michigan and all the parks. Nature is never very far away."
"Oh, so that's where you're based," Fenton said. "You think you can handle this hike? They have hills out in Chicago?"
I scowled and picked up my pace. If I was going to convince Fenton to forget about my nightclub lapse in judgment and still consider signing with my company, I needed to stick to my script. "This is no problem. Like I said, I run every morning. I also take very excellent vitamin supplements."
"Oh, here it comes," he said. He chose the rougher of the two trails in front of us and kept going. "Alright, Ms. Allen, give me your best pitch. Just remember, I'm not one of your country club athletes happy to be inserted into a catalog wearing a cardigan."
"That is exactly why you should sign with me," I said. "It is my job to protect my client's interests and broker the deal between the product and the athlete. I built my career on making sure my clients are never put into campaigns they do not approve of one hundred percent."
"And, you have a successful career?" Fenton asked. He stopped on a crest, and I walked into him.
I smoothed back my hair. "Yes, I do."
"And, that's all you want?"