Chapter Nineteen
Kya
I got to the cabstand, still feeling confident. Fenton was upstairs asleep, and I could get back before he woke up. I would not even have to tell him I was the one that left to get his things. I stopped for a moment and considered asking Kev Casey to do it for me, but the last thing I wanted was to owe that man a favor.
"Is Mike here?" I asked.
The uniformed man at the cabstand shook his head. "No, he's off-duty. But I suppose you could call him. He's a sucker for requests."
"No, he deserves a little time off," I said. I got into the first cab in line and handed the driver the white card. "Can you take me to this address?"
The driver nodded without a word and slipped into traffic. He drove fast, with no music on and none of the chatter I had come to expect from cab drivers. He only gave me one sullen glance in the rear view mirror and then concentrated on the road.
In the silence, I had plenty of time to second-guess what I was doing. If Fenton woke up and found me gone, he would be angry. Not only was I off and, according to him, more likely to get myself in trouble, but I was still trying to impress him. I had to make sure he knew it was for him, not the business deal.
The cab slammed to a stop before I could figure out how to convince Fenton I was not just another sneaky agent. The driver handed me back the little white card and tapped the digital meter.
"How much if you wait for me?" I asked.
The driver handed me a smudged business card with his cab company's number on it.
"You can't wait a few minutes? Leave the meter running," I said. "Seriously, I'll be right back. I don't want to call another cab and wait."
The driver shrugged and took my cash. As soon as I got out the car, he drove off. A nervous chill slipped down my back. I missed ol' Mike and could see him shaking his head at me. I told myself this was a simple gesture, something nice to do for Fenton, but I was getting the feeling I was only going to make more trouble. I shivered on the street, feeling exposed, and looked around for the address on the card.
The Wynn Casino and Hotel was lit up nearby, and as I looked around, I started to feel better. It was busy section of the strip. Lots of shops were still open, catering to the late-night shoppers of Las Vegas. There were blindingly bright neon signs leading partygoers to food and drink. And, there were knots of people heading this way and that, enjoying their Vegas vacations.
You're fine, I told myself. Still, I had the uneasy feeling I was being watched.
It’s a silly thought, I tried to convince myself. No one would be after me. I was a low-level agent, clearly not a high roller. Even if they knew me from the luxury suite at the Tropicana, they could see I had nothing on me.
I turned quickly and rang the bell next to the street number that matched the card. The door was otherwise unmarked and I was relieved when a uniformed concierge opened the door. The logo on his crisp white shirt matched the card and I stepped forward, happy to get off the street.
"I'm sorry, this is a private club," the concierge said.
"I realize that," I said. "I'm just here to pick up something for a member. You can bring it out to me, but I'd really rather come inside." I stepped forward again, feeling a rising need to get off the street, even though I could not see anyone suspicious behind me.
"We operate very exclusively. I cannot let you inside," the concierge said. "For the safety and privacy of our members."
I glanced back at the street. A tour bus parked by the curb and let a steady stream of people out to swarm into the nearby souvenir shops. I was being silly – there was no one out there but tourists. I figured the paranoia was because I was tired. I just wanted to get Fenton's phone and get back to the suite as soon as possible.
"I know, I mean, I'm sorry," I handed him the card. "I'm just here to pick up Fenton Morris' things. He is staying elsewhere tonight."
The concierge's lips quirked up, but he nodded at the card and let me inside. I trotted into the all-white lobby, ridiculously glad to be inside.
"What exactly are you picking up?"
"Mr. Morris would like a clean change of clothes and most importantly, his phone," I said.
The concierge disappeared through a white unmarked door. I jumped a foot into the air when a voice behind me said, "Mr. Morris?"
I turned and came face-to-face with Mario Peretti, Fenton's MMA rival. Up close, he was just as fierce and intimidating as all his posters portrayed him – until he smiled.
"I'm Mario, nice to meet you...?"
"Allen. Kya Allen," I said.
"Ah, the endorsement agent," Mario said. "Don't worry, I only listen to the good things. Guys like Fenton and I know all about how different reputations can be from the truth."
I relaxed and reached out a hand to shake his. "It's nice to meet you, Mario. So, you don't think Fenton lives up to his reputation? You might be the only one in Vegas that feels that way right about now," I said.
"I don't think I'm alone in that," Mario said and smiled at me again.
I felt my cheeks warm and changed the subject. "I didn't think rival fighters would share a gym?"
"I was the one that suggested this place," Mario said. "Fenton and I talk outside of fights, trash talk, and photo ops."
"You do?"
"Yeah. It makes sense. We have a lot in common," Mario said. "He's like me, setting everything else aside until he gets to the top. Though, I'm starting to see why he having trouble keeping everything separated."
I drummed my hands on the white desk and wished the concierge would come back. "Why do you say that?"
"I recognize you." Mario leaned against the tall desk. "From the fight. As I rule, I block out the crowd, most fighters do. I was just so surprised to see Fenton's look out there that I had to glance, too. He was looking at you."
"That's impossible, there were tons of people in the crowd that night," I said. My cheeks flared warmer.
"But I recognize you. Thanks for helping me land that punch," he said.
"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."