"I bet you were, Dana says he's got all sorts of groupies just offering it up wherever he goes. You one of those fight groupies, honey?" the redhead asked.
"Look at her," a woman decked out in leopard print said. "Her life's probably all picket fences and book groups. She needs it from him bad."
"Fenton is not here," Dana Maria said.
She got up and threaded her way past her friends’ spiked heels around the coffee table towards me. I could tell she wanted to say more, but I could not handle the way her friends talked about me as if I was not there.
"Perfect little black dress and white shiny pearls. Don't let her fool you, she nasty," the redhead said.
"Stop, Jewels," Dana Maria said.
She took a step toward me, but I spun and marched out the door of the suite. I breathed a sigh of relief when the elevator opened at my touch. I could not run down the stairs to the next floor in my heels. I had no idea how those women walked in their shoes, much less danced.
By the time my taxi dropped me at the restaurant, I realized I had been chased out of my own suite. I was very early and had no choice but to go sit at the bar by myself. I sipped at the water with a twist of lime the unimpressed bartender gave me and tried not to think about Fenton.
Seeing all of the women lounging around the suite should have twisted the knife in deeper – no, it should have cut him out of my system once and for all. I shook my head and told myself to stop acting crazy. Here I was waiting at an elegant restaurant for my charming date and I was fixated on Fenton Morris. I checked my watch and slid off my stool. The only way to get him out of my mind was to confront him. I had not gotten where I was in my career by running away from confrontation. I needed to see Fenton face to face and find out what had happened between us.
"There you are, I'm sorry if I'm late," Jackson said. He appeared behind me with a single white rose. "I got you a thank you present."
I took the rose and eyed the small box tied with a bow. "A thank you present? For what?"
"The endorsement deal just cleared with my lawyers. Now, I know you were telling the truth. It's a solid deal, and I signed the papers this afternoon."
"Then, it’s me that should be getting you the thank you present," I slipped back onto my stool and untied the gold bow. I couldn’t stop myself from laughing out loud. "A set of golf gloves embroidered with pink flamingos. You shouldn't have!"
"Just a reminder of your victory on the mini-golf course. If I hadn't missed that flamingo hole, I would have beaten you," he told me.
"Well, there's always tomorrow. Or are you busy?" I asked.
He tugged me off the stool, took my arm, and wrapped it around his. "Oh, that's right, the big golf tournament. According to my coach, I have a curfew tonight. For you, I think I might make an exception."
No sooner had we been seated than I felt Jackson's palm slide up my knee and rest on my thigh. He winked and gave my leg a squeeze as the waiter appeared. Jackson ordered for me again and as soon as the waiter retreated his fingers began lazy circles that dipped down to my inner thigh.
I shifted in my seat. "Early curfew, it is, then. I don't want to get my new client in trouble with his coach," I said.
"I'm not your client tonight and don't worry about the curfew, unless you want to skip dinner and just head back to my room right now," he said. He pulled my leg over to his and my stomach lurched.
He was handsome, charming, successful, and had a sterling reputation, but I suddenly wished I was anywhere else but at our table. I had to figure out a way to let him down easy and escape without compromising the endorsement deal. I had dealt with rejecting clients before and their egos were unpredictable.
That was why I felt a wave of relief when I first spotted Fenton weaving his way to the front door of the restaurant. He immediately had words with the doorman, standing toe to toe with him, his chin jutting out at a dangerous angle.
"Oh, no," I said, pointing to Fenton. "Looks like someone never should have left his room."
An ugly scowl covered Jackson's face, until he realized I was looking at him. "The pressure gets to some athletes. He lost a few days ago, and now he's facing a harder opponent. I wouldn't be surprised if he flamed out completely now."
I wanted to tell Jackson that Fenton was the last person I could imagine crashing and burning, but before I could defend him, Fenton shoved the doorman back and started yelling. His words were slurred and the crowded sidewalk gave him a wide berth. He noticed the space and turned in a slow circle, as if he had forgotten where he was. Then he looked up, saw the restaurant sign, and nodded to himself.
What had looked a moment ago like a coincidence created by the universe to help me choose Jackson, now looked like Fenton was moving with purpose. Had he followed me to the restaurant? Did he know I had a date?
Fenton marched right up to our table, cementing the fact that he had come there specifically to ruin my evening. He snatched up the wine the waiter had just poured me and spun it wildly in the glass.
"An expensive vintage, no doubt," Fenton said. He stuck his nose in the air and did his best to appear like a snobbish man wearing a monocle and suspenders. "Though I do believe you could find a better pairing."
"You're drunk, Mr. Morris, and not making any sense," Jackson said.
"Then, let me be clear. The lady can do a lot better than you."
"The lady can speak for herself," I said. "Where are your friends, Fenton? There was quite a party looking for you earlier. A bunch of dancers wanting to take you out dancing."