"Then, how about I let you order while I get my pitch out of the way?" I asked. "It's always nicer to get business done before the food arrives."
"Alright, Ms. Allen, let's hear it." He sat forward and fixed his brown eyes on mine.
"There's actually not too much to it," I said. "Our agency represents a vitamin supplement company and they are looking for a long-term endorsement. Your magazine covers and publicity are just the sort of kickoff hype they were hoping for, but whatever exposure you decide you want in the future is fine with them. Really, all they ask is that you were a discreetly placed logo, share a testimonial of the product, and show brand loyalty."
"Doesn't sound too taxing." Jackson reached for my hand. "Are there any catches?"
"Just the non-compete. All they ask is that you do not sign on with any other vitamin or diet supplements in the future. All other product endorsements are fine, they just want their niche secure," I said. "If you think about it, that does not exclude you from any big money or brand name deals. It's a sound investment, a steady agreement, and a mutually beneficial contract."
"Well said, well pitched," he said. The waiter came over and Jackson apologized for the interruption then ordered for us both.
While he ran through his choices with the waiter, I tried not to fume. It was the first time I had run through my pitch since landing in Las Vegas. It was a solid deal and saying it out loud only made me angrier at Fenton. His stubborn need to be a lone wolf was keeping him from a good investment and me from completing the task I had been given. I wondered if he was doing it just to challenge me. Everything Fenton did seemed designed to chip at my exterior and get under my skin. Was that why he threw the stripper in my face? Was it some kind of test to see if I was able to keep my cool? If so, I had failed miserably.
"Is that the same pitch you gave Fenton Morris?" Jackson asked.
I blinked my eyes, scared for a moment he had read my mind, but he had just finished with the waiter. "No, actually, I never even pitched him. Mr. Morris is not business inclined."
"A very diplomatic answer and another way Mr. Morris and I are completely different." Jackson hitched his chair closer to mine. "I appreciate a sound business deal and I am more than happy to sign your endorsement deal."
"Excellent," I said. "Here, let me send you the forms. That way we can get everything done before the salads arrive."
Jackson leaned in to watch as I sent him a series of emails and attachments. While he admired my quick work on my phone, and the plunging v-neck of my white dress, I caught sight of Fenton across the hotel lobby. It was impossible to miss him with Dana Maria tight on his arm in the blaze orange dress I had seen earlier.
"Quick work and a leisurely lunch. I like your style, Kya Allen," Jackson said.
"Thank you. And, trust me, you can consider yourself the complete opposite of Fenton Morris," I said.
Jackson's hand brushed the hem of my skirt and found my bare knee. "I hope so. Because there is no way I can play hard to get like him. I'm very upfront and honest about what I want."
I did not move my knee away from the tickling circles he traced. "And, what is it that you want, Mr. McRay? As your agent, I'm here to help," I said.
"I want you on a real date with me tonight. No business. Strictly pleasure."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Fenton
It could not have been something I said. We hardly said anything. After Kya and I made it back safely to the hotel suite, there were hardly any words exchanged. Kisses, cries of pleasure, and climaxes – those were exchanged. I circled the punching bag and reset my feet before attacking with a quick combination. I did not understand women.
One minute, we were laughing over omelets, the next, I had her on a stool in the kitchen, and then everything changed. All I had done was left to shower and Kya changed her mind. The next time I saw her, she was distant, angry, and tried to keep a door between us. How did a woman go from having nothing, not even a scrap of clothing, between our skin to slamming the bathroom door in my face?
I hit hard, then spun and kicked. The bag shuddered, and I reset to do it all over again – anything to drown out the small voice in the back of my head. Something was telling me that Kya had felt what I had. One hint of me loving her and Kya Allen had run. It could not be true. I was not falling for her. I was not about to fall for any woman, much less a buttoned-up one like her.
"So, where's my cut?" Kev asked. He appeared well behind the punching bag and out of range. "I hear you did quite well at the fight last night and if my calculations are right, you owe me quite a bit of cash."
"What fight? I didn't have anything scheduled last night," I said.
"Well, nothing that explains the cuts on your knuckles and that huge bruise over your ribs," my coach said.
"Come on, Aldous, you know Vegas can be a rough town. And, us fighters are known to blow off steam," I said.
He caught the bag and held it. "You're damn lucky you didn't get injured or caught."
"He did get caught, I caught him," Kev said. "And, as your manager, I've got to say you should sign with that Kya Allen. Any woman ballsy enough to break into a bare knuckle fight just to keep an eye out for you is worth signing some endorsement deal for."
"You were there?" I asked Kev.
"Of course, and I would have stepped in to shield you from Darius Johnson if our Country Club Princess had not taken care of him first," Kev said. "Seriously, she is shattering that good girl reputation of hers left, right, and center."