Chapter Eleven
Kya
I let the crowd push me along out of the arena and into the casino. I did not put up a fight as we moved toward the slot machines and bars, instead of the door that lead to my hotel. Instead, I drifted along and eavesdropped on the fans as they discussed the fight.
"Peretti fights dirty, that's the only explanation," a short man said.
"I've never seen Fenton Morris slip. How could he not see that hit coming?" The short man's bald friend threw his hands up in the air. "Something had to be wrong."
"It's all over already, they’re calling it the surprise upset of the year," an older woman with bottle red hair announced as she studied her phone.
"Bet Morris is the most surprised," her husband said. "He's never lost yet."
"Best he did it now so he won't in the title fight," the man next to them in the crowd said.
Upset, I thought, is the right word for it. My stomach heaved as the image of Fenton falling to the mats flashed through my head again. I was just as surprised as everyone else, more so since I had been close to Fenton and felt his strength. He had seemed invincible until tonight.
And, it was all my fault.
"I heard he was out at the strip clubs last night, probably why he wasn't up to the fight tonight," the short man continued.
"I believe it. He looks like the kind of man that comes to Vegas for the strippers," the young man closest to me said.
"I saw him there," an older man in a garish cowboy shirt said. "Me and my buddies were down near Fremont Street and saw him head into one of them gentleman's clubs."
"A night out drinking at the strip clubs could be enough to throw anyone off their game, eh, Ed?" his friend said.
"Yeah, but it was worth it," Ed agreed.
I swallowed hard and slipped out of the crowd. I took refuge from the wave of people in a small gift shop and tried to stop my spinning thoughts.
The look on Fenton's face when I walked into that strip club was the same he gave me seconds before Mario Peretti knocked him out. I was interfering and it was wrong. Fenton Morris did not need anyone's help, much less mine. He did not want me. I was just getting in his way.
My phone rang and in the relative quiet of the gift shop, I had no reason not to answer it. "It's not a good time, James," I said.
"Just tell me if you found him last night or not," my boss said.
"I did, but we didn't talk, it was a huge mess. He was at a strip club, all surrounded by women. I kinda just turned around and ran," I said.
"So, you kicked him out, slammed the door in his face, then found him with a bunch of strippers but didn't say anything? No wonder he was shocked to see you at the fight," James said.
"You're kidding, right? Do you really think that's why he got knocked out? Everyone thinks something was wrong. He was distracted. He looked right at me and didn't even see the hit coming." I picked up and twisted a Vegas keychain tight around my finger.
"Jesus, honey, I was joking, but really? He looked at you right before?" he asked. "I mean, you turn heads, darling, don't get me wrong, but now you're taking down fighters just by being in the audience?"
"It's not funny, James. I've ruined everything. The vitamin supplement people are not going to want him anymore, not that Fenton would ever sign with me." I let my finger turn purple before untwisting the key chain and returning it to the rack.
"Oh, now there is where you are wrong," my boss said.
"Great, everything is backwards," I said. "You're supposed to tell me there is no way I caused Fenton to lose the fight, and of course, I've lost the account and can just come home. I think I hate Vegas, or maybe it hates me."
"Sweet cheeks, you're the one that's going to have to figure out if you distracted Fenton from the fight. And, who knows, maybe you did and that means good things for you and your bad boy," James said. "All I know is that a comeback campaign is even better than a seamless rise to the top. You are still on the account and can make a killing if you sign him now and then help him win the title fight."
"Sign him and help him win the title fight? Sure, yeah, that totally sounds like something I can handle, considering how well I've done here so far," I said.
"You're going to do it, I know you are," my boss said. "Oh, and Kya?"
"What?"
"Always bet on black." James hung up.
I bought the Vegas keychain, considering that I had bent it out of shape, and wished the purchase had taken a whole lot longer. The only thing for me to do was find Fenton and face him right away. I cringed at the thought, but finally left the gift shop and fought my way upstream against the crowd. Access to Fenton's floor was restricted, but one security guard was letting up gaggles of short-skirted women.
"You too, honey?" the guard asked me. "Now, I know why he took that hit. I'd let Peretti bash my head in, too, if I knew it'd get me all this sexy sympathy."
He let me in the elevator where the women were all adding a layer of lipstick, adjusting their cleavage, or fluffing up their hair in the mirrored walls. I glanced at myself briefly and wondered if he would see the guilt on me right away. It felt like a weight on my shoulders, but I straightened them and strutted my way into his suite with the rest of the women.
Club music vibrated the walls of Fenton's penthouse suite and the crowd was thick inside. Most of the women made a beeline for the dance floor, where every stick of furniture had been removed from the sunken living room. I turned and went straight for the bar and a straight shot of bourbon.
How exactly was I going to say sorry for getting him knocked out? I stopped cold and ordered a double. Even worse, what if I apologized and it turned out he had not even seen me? Either way, I was sure to make an ass out of myself. I had no idea how to turn that into a comeback campaign pitch.
"Well, hello, pretty lady," a voice said.
I turned around and sipped my bourbon to hide a grimace. "Hello, Mr. Casey."
"Please, call me Kev. I plan on calling you Kya, at least, until we come up with a more intimate nickname," he said.
"I'm afraid I'm not here for intimacy, I'm here on business," I said.
"Could have fooled me. I saw you in the crowd tonight. Pretty sure our boy did, too," Kev said.
"That's impossible, there were hundreds of people there," I said.
Kev slipped an arm around my shoulders. "Don't feel bad, Kya. I mean, you are a delicious distraction, but our boy's been off his game since before you got to Vegas."
"Maybe Fenton doesn't like it here, either." I slipped out from under Kev's arm.
"What's not to like? You just need to come out with me. I can show you the real fun of Vegas," he said.
I dodged Kev's other arm as it snaked around my waist. I was about to dive onto the dance floor to escape him when I spotted the strange man from the MGM gym.
"Do you know that man?" I asked Kev as he reeled me back in.
"Now that you mention it, I have seen him talking with Fenton lately. Wonder if he knows what's bothering our boy," Kev said.
"I did hear him delivering some kind of news Fenton did not really want to hear the other day," I said.
We started across the party together and though I despised working with Kev Casey, I hoped the plain looking man might be to blame for upsetting Fenton instead of me.
"How did we lose him? He was right here," Kev said. He was so annoyed he unhooked his hand from my waist and turned all around. The man with the average build and medium brown hair had disappeared. "That was weird, right?"
"Yes," I agreed.
Before we could think any more about the nondescript man and what messages he might be bringing Fenton, there was a wave of cheers. The party erupted outside the master suite as Fenton himself appeared. He had a muscular arm around two blonde women that on first look appeared to be twins. A second glance, though, showed me one had black roots under her blonde hair, while the other had bleached out her mousy brown hair. They were dressed in identical, silver miniskirts with pink halter-tops. Fenton hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt and showed off an angry bruise under his ribs proudly.
The girls alternately held up tall drinks with straws and I could tell from the gold liquid that Fenton was drinking tequila.
"Everyone grab a drink – it’s time to get knocked out!" he roared.
The crowd cheered again and the DJ turned up the club music. Fenton strode through the suite, his hands roving all over his companions as he shouted obscenities over Peretti's fighting style.
"A lucky punch," Fenton said. "I let my mind drift for one moment, otherwise Peretti would never have landed that hit."
"People are saying you were out all night at a strip club before the big fight? Is that the reason you were distracted?" an interviewer threw a microphone into Fenton's face.
"I might have broken curfew, pissed off my coach, and had a little too much fun, but this is Vegas, baby. What else is a man supposed to do?" Fenton declared.
The crowd cheered again. More barely clad women surrounded him and they all posed for the flashing cameras.
"Well, what do you say to Mario Peretti? He now thinks he'll be up against Maxwell Lewis in the title fight instead of you. Do you think that's possible?" the interviewer asked.
Fenton took a long drink of tequila and nipped a lime wedge right out of a woman's mouth. "Let Peretti think whatever he wants. One lucky punch is not going to get him the title."
"So, you're not worried?"
"Worried? I've got nothing to worry about except hotel security shutting down this party before we have enough fun!" Fenton yelled.
The crowd roared again and surged around him. The entire suite was one giant dance floor. I slipped away from Kev's insistent arms and fought my way toward Fenton. He was surrounded by a briar patch of stiletto heels and sharp elbows, but I managed to wiggle my way through.
Somehow, he saw me coming, and his blue eyes locked on mine. A thrill of fear and attraction spear through me as he pushed his arms wide, knocking back a swath of sparkling women, and pulled me toward him. He yanked me hard against his bare chest and his blue eyes blazed.
"Surprised to see you," he said. "Again."
"I'm sorry," I said. "I don't mean to keep popping up at the wrong time in the wrong places."
"You don't get it," Fenton said. "I don't need your endorsement deal, I don't need your advice, and I certainly don't need your help getting myself in trouble."
"How about getting out of trouble?" I asked. I pushed off his hard chest and arched back even as we kept swaying and dancing together. "You can't tell me this is what you really want."
"It’s not about what I want," Fenton said. "It's about what is best.”