"Dana Maria?" I asked.
"Fenton, you need to go someplace else," my sister said.
It was her. Her black hair fell in thick waves just like mother's, except for streaks of silver glitter. Her bright blue eyes were faded, but still stunning in a face full of dark, edgy makeup. I kept my gaze on her eyes, even though their weary dimness made me sad.
"Then, come with me," I said. "Any place else. You don't have to stay here. I've got a suite at the MGM Grand. A room all to yourself."
"Since when do I need a room all to myself?" my sister asked. She smiled vaguely at the memory of our shared childhood room.
"Come on, Dana. Let's go," I said.
"Fenton, I don't want your help. I don't need you to save me. Just let it go. Mom's gone. It's all gone. No more family for us. Don't worry about me," she said.
I hated the slope of her shoulders. Dana Maria had been beaten down by life. Worse than that – she accepted it. She accepted it just like Mother had finally accepted she could not afford to get better. She faded away, her shoulders getting narrow and small.
"Don't be silly. Let me help you," I said.
"I've always taken care of myself, haven't I? Wish I was better at taking care of you, too, but you've done alright," Dana said. "Just watch out. Bet you'll see the old man one of these days. Looking for a loan and playing the family card. Don't believe him. I didn't."
"You saw him?" I asked. "Did he ask you about Mother?"
"No, just about you and your career."
CHAPTER NINE
Kya
I stood in the bathroom and considered a cold shower. It was hard to tell what had made me hotter, Fenton's kiss or my angry flare-up after he stopped. I made him stop. My body burned with the possibilities – his lips on my neck, the tingly warmth of his breath. I could still taste our kisses and I considered raiding the mini bar for another whiskey. That would kill the traces of him.
I started the shower instead. The whiskey would only exacerbate my anger. I had been a complete idiot. Every girl has the childish fantasy that she'll reform the bad boy. All his rough edges will smooth down like butter under her warm caress. They were silly teenage daydreams, and I almost fell for them.
All the time I thought I was wining and dining Fenton, earning his trust, and establishing a base for our future business, he was just softening me up for a seduction. I wondered how much his horrible manager had bet against him having sex with me. I hoped that slime ball Kevin Casey collected a fat wad of cash from Fenton.
Before I could bring myself to peel off my purple dress and get in the shower, I slumped against the bathroom counter. I was frustrated, I was angry, and that all made sense. What I did not understand was how I let myself get hurt.
I knew Fenton Morris by reputation, I saw it in him when we first met, and still I had let myself think there was more between us.
When my phone rang I saw that it was James Cort, but I picked up anyway. It seemed a fitting punishment for being so stupid.
"How did it go? How much did you sign him for? Come on, don't hold me in suspense. Tell me all the dirty details and percents," my boss said.
"It didn't happen," I said. "Somehow, the whole evening turned into him trying to seduce me."
"Trying to? He didn't manage it? Well, that kind of blows my estimation of the guy," James said.
"I'm serious. He was only interested in getting me into bed. I never had a chance to show him a contract." I let a small sob escape.
"Oh, Jesus Christ on a cracker, baby doll. You're not crying, are you? I know it hurts. Getting used and then dropped by a potential client is just one of those things that happens," my boss said. "I thought you had thicker skin than that. Come on, Kya, you're better than this."
I blinked into the mirror and swiped away my running mascara. "Thanks, that was surprisingly sympathetic. As if you've ever had a young, sexy athlete try to get into your pants."
"And, she's back. Thank God. I thought I'd lost you," he said. "Now, let me get this straight. You've got feeling for our big time bad boy. So, you stopped the whole seduction thing because you want more and because you want to hang on to some supposed thread of professional dignity."
"Yes, what's wrong with that?" I asked.
"Well, you're dead wrong about the professional dignity thing. It doesn't exist. As for having feelings for the man, who wouldn't? Give me a few days alone with him and I might swoon. The only thing you did wrong was not letting it all happen."
I scowled at the phone. "You're not a pimp, and I don't work for you that way, Mr. Cort."