"No, please don't say that. That's horrible," I cried.
He chuckled. "Fenton may have lost the fight, but everyone loves a comeback story. Don't get me wrong, I'm going to stop him, but the next time, it'll be a fair fight."
"I'm excited to see that, live on television from my hotel room," I said.
Fenton's rival laughed again. "Nah, he'll want you there. Now that I've seen you up close, I can't really say that Fenton lost the fight. Seems like he might be on a lucky streak." Mario winked at me and sauntered away.
The concierge returned and handed me Fenton's black duffel bag. "Will that be all, miss?"
I nodded and headed out the door. My mind was reeling. Fenton had seen me – I was the reason he was knocked out. Out over a sea of faces, he saw me. The thought was thrilling at the same time as my guilt was confirmed. The door to the private club locked behind me and the sound shook me from my thoughts.
"Oh, the cab," I muttered. I should have asked the concierge to call me a cab. Then, I could have waited inside.
I hefted Fenton's duffel bag onto my shoulder and fumbled for my phone. I dialed the number to the cab company and tapped my foot. The dispatcher promised me it would only be a 10-minute wait.
You're fine, everything's fine, I told myself.
The street was still busy, and the tour bus was still waiting for its swarm to return with plastic knick-knacks. I forced myself to browse a postcard display. It was silly to feel like someone was watching me. Vegas was an anonymous town, and no one knew me. I was no one special. Still, the feeling persisted and I worried that someone was watching me in particular.
"Ms. Allen, so nice to see you again," a voice said.
I turned and drew back, almost knocking over the post card display with Fenton's black duffel bag. "How do you know my name?"
The man in suit gave me a sharp smile and narrowed his eyes. "I checked up on you. I know all about you. Ms. Kya Allen, endorsement agent. Normally, you chase tennis players and golfers, but your boss thought you needed a challenge. You're here to sign Fenton Morris, but you haven't made it happen yet."
"Who needs Fenton Morris?" I said. "I just met Mario Peretti and right now, he's the better bet."
"Really?" The man eyed the white door. He had been watching me and seen me go both in and come out.
"Yes," I said, glad he was distracted from Fenton. "Plus, he doesn't come with all the bad boy bullshit. Fenton's a walking circus right now, and I'm just not into that."
"Liar," the man in the suit said. "You might be focusing your business elsewhere, but you certainly are not done with Mr. Morris."
I realized I was still holding Fenton's duffel bag. "What business is it of yours?"
"I saw the way he reacted to your little stunt with my friend," he said. "You hardly had time to do more than smile before he was up in my friend's face. That kind of jealousy just confirms a little theory I have about you two."
I saw a yellow cab pull over in front of the private gym. I edged toward it, my heart pounding. Behind it a black town car parked and flashed its headlights. The man in the black pants and t-shirt got out of the town car and strode toward us.
"See, I think you and Mr. Morris are not coming together on a business front because you are together elsewhere. Or at least, you want to be. You're not his normal shiny-dressed slut, so I'm thinking it’s more serious than that. Dare I say love?"
I shoved past the man in the suit. "You can keep your theories to yourself, and your threats. Fenton's not going to do what you say. You can't threaten him."
"You're right," he said. "Threats don't work against a man like Fenton Morris. So, what we need is good old-fashioned leverage. And, you know what makes the best leverage?"
I marched toward the yellow cab, but the man in black stopped me. "You're not going to find any dirt on Fenton. You don't have any leverage."
I looked up and the tall man's brown eyes flashed with an apology. He yanked the black duffel bag from my hand easily and wrapped his other arm around my shoulders. I was forced toward the black town car.
"Don't be looking to him for help," the man in the suit said. "My muscle here doesn't appreciate being flirted with and used. You just smiled at him to make Fenton mad. He's a nice guy, but that's gotta hurt. Now, get in the car before he has to hurt you."
"Wait, what are you doing?" I asked.
"I told you – leverage. Fenton will do exactly what we asked him to do because if he doesn't, he won't ever see you again."
Chapter Twenty
Fenton