Chapter Thirteen
Kya
When I gave the front desk clerk my company credit card and requested a suite, I had no idea what I was getting. Within minutes, a porter accompanied me to my old room, gathered up my suitcase and carryon, and whisked me five stories higher. There, he unlocked the door to a miniature paradise.
Large picture windows overlooked the pool. From that height, it was a jungle-like vista with spots of bright blue. The rest of the view stretched out over Vegas with all the major casinos easily identified. I stood and had to admire the bright, garish architecture of the town.
It was easy to understand why people loved Las Vegas. There was no mistaking it for any other place and that made escaping the normal day-to-day almost automatic. Except I was there to work. I turned to explore the suite and laughed out loud.
A full kitchen complete with restaurant-grade appliances and hand blown glass fixtures overlooked a wide sitting area. A gas fireplace glowed against the bright sunlight of the room, promising to be a warm and cozy contrast to the neon lights later that night. Two rooms with double-doors swung wide flanked the main area and both had king-sized beds and luxury bathrooms. The master suite was distinguishable by an added hot tub alcove in the corner.
I finally understood why so many endorsement agents got seduced by life on the road. Expense accounts were easy to abuse under the excuse of wining and dining a client.
"Come in," I called at a knock on the door.
A tall man with a golden tan and flashing white teeth strode into the suite and placed two cases on the granite counter of the kitchen. "The front desk told me you were thinking about dining in this evening. I am the personal chef assigned to your suite. Room service is also available, but I thought I would let you know I am free this evening if you would prefer something prepared fresh here just for you."
I blinked, thinking he might be a mirage. Had I stared out the picture windows at the desert sun too long? "I, um, am planning to entertain a client tonight. The Mixed Martial Arts fighter, Fenton Morris. Have you heard of him?"
The blond chef smiled. "If I had missed his billboards, I certainly would have heard about his big scene at the MGM this morning. Seems like a rough customer, but easy to cook for. Steak, risotto, fresh vegetable medley. It'll be nice to cook for an athlete that might actually eat leafy greens."
"That sounds wonderful," I said. I wrung my hands and looked around at the suite again. Was this for real?
"And, how about a glass of wine for you? Perhaps a nice peppery Cabernet?" The handsome chef tied on a white apron and opened the larger of his cases. He selected a bottle of wine and cocked a questioning eyebrow at me.
"Wine? Yes, now. Now would be good," I agreed.
He laughed. "Don't worry. Drink this and take your time getting ready. I'll have appetizers ready for your guest when he arrives. Stuffed mushroom caps and parmesan crostini, always a hit."
The personal chef winked as he handed me a large glass of wine. I stammered my thanks and wandered into the master suite in a daze. Only 20 minutes ago, I had sat in my small hotel room struggling to send just the right invitation to Fenton. Now, I was sipping wine in a luxury suite while contemplating which dress to wear.
"I can do this," I said out loud. "I can land this client."
I had started to refer to Fenton as “this client” because otherwise, all I could think about was his laser blue eyes watching me across last night's wild party or his wide hands catching me around the waist, his warm lips trailing down the side of my neck. I shook myself out of the lingering thoughts and selected a coral red dress with a conservative neckline. To make up for the high neckline, I swept my hair into a loose bun, careful not to imagine my client's hot kisses along the skin I exposed.
I was ready. Heavenly smells drifted from the kitchen. And it was already 10 minutes past the time I put on the invitation. The picture window framed a stunning desert sunset, but I could not enjoy a second of it. My heart sank faster than the fiery sun. Fenton had no reason to come. All of this was a waste and instead of a bonus, I would be paying off my expense account for the next six months.
If the client would not come to me, then I would have to go to the client. I had already suffered through an innuendo-laced conversation with Kev Casey and found out the gym where Fenton was training. He'd also let it slip that Fenton had slept there last night. I would head there first and then, I gulped at the thought, search all the strip clubs in Vegas.
I pulled open the wide door of the suite and teetered backwards on my gold strappy high heels. "Oh, you came! I mean, hello. Please, come in."
Fenton was caught halfway between the elevator and the suite door, clearly hesitating about which way to go. When he saw me, he scrubbed the back of his neck and ducked past me into the suite. "You didn't need to do all this. I think we've talked all the business we're going to talk," he said.
"Can I get you a drink, sir?" the personal chef asked. His light blue eyes iced over Fenton. "Ms. Allen, I hope you are enjoying that wine. Would you like another glass?"
I thanked him and he fetched the glass I left in the bedroom. Fenton watched him go and chewed on his lip. The blonde chef refilled my glass and winked at me as he brought it over.
The muscles in Fenton's shoulders rippled as he shrugged. He sauntered over and took my hand holding the wine glass. He brought it to his lips, sipped lightly, and then brushed a kiss along my fingers before releasing my hand. "Delicious. I'll take a glass of whatever she's drinking. Then, how about a tour?"
The tension between the two men did not dissipate until the chef returned to the kitchen. Fenton gave him one last look and then wandered into the master suite. I shook my head and followed. I was not used to being fought over, and it was every bit as thrilling as it was frustrating. This was just business, but I wondered if I was the only one thinking of it that way.
"So, tell me about the new gym? Probably nice to be in a real boxing gym versus the backstage setup at the MGM," I said. I kept my tone light as if the choice had been Fenton's.
"Getting kicked out has certainly boosted my notoriety," Fenton said. "Ticket sales for my next fight are through the roof."
"I'm glad it all worked out," I said.
"Why haven't you unpacked?" he asked. He circled around the master suite and ran a hand along the rim of the hot tub. "You changed for dinner, but you didn't take anything else out of your suitcase. Aren't you staying?"
"I am. I just have not decided which room I prefer," I said.
"Really? I would think a nice hot soak before bed would help take the pressure off landing your next big client," he said.
I leaned on one hip and tapped the toe of my other foot. "Funny, I thought the same thing, except I imagined you might like a nice long soak to ease your sore muscles. But, if you prefer sleeping at your gym, I guess that's up to you."
He scowled and planted both his feet. He took up a fighter's stance every time he was uncomfortable. "I told you, Kya, I don't need your charity or your bribes. I'm perfectly comfortable at the gym. I've slept in worse places."
I could hear my boss' advice in my head – The way to a client's signature is through his stomach, or if you're feeling it, through his pants.
"The chef said something about mushroom cap appetizers. I'm hungry, are you?" I asked. I headed back to the main room and found the appetizers artfully arranged on a silver platter. I picked one out and held it up to Fenton's frown. "Here, taste this. Let's forget about business for a while and enjoy ourselves."
He opened his mouth and accepted the savory bite. A shiver ran up my arm and tingled down my spine as his bottom lip brushed my fingers. "Delicious," he said and licked his lips.
The only way to break off from staring was to grab another appetizer. This time, it was a hard slice of cheese topped with a light dab of mustard and sprinkled with thyme. I held it out to him on a napkin, but Fenton stepped closer and opened his mouth again. The corners curled up as I gave in and fed him a second bite. I stood transfixed as he savored it slowly.
"My turn," he said. He selected another slice of cheese and brushed my hand away as I tried to take it from him. "Trust me, it tastes better this way."
I let him feed me the fragrant bite. My senses jumped as the perfect blend of flavors touched my palate and he brushed an extra flake of thyme from my bottom lip. I sunk to the sofa and took a long sip of my wine.
The chef cleared his throat. "Dinner is served."
"Excellent," Fenton said. He gathered up the silverware and both plates. "Smells great. Thanks. I think we can take it from here."
He left the chef holding out a chair for me and returned to the sofa. Fenton set the dinner plates down on the coffee table and picked up a mushroom cap appetizer to feed me. I opened my mouth to accept the taste, unable to deny my growing hunger. As I chewed, I caught the blonde chef's eye and blushed. All I could do was nod. He packed up his cases and left before I could swallow.
"I hope I ordered the right thing," I said.
Fenton nodded and picked up a complicated remote. A few buttons later, the lights were dimmed, the fireplace flickered warmly, and a slow song drifted out of hidden speakers.
"I love steak," he said.
I gripped my knife hard enough to hide the tremble in my fingers and cut a small piece. Fenton accepted the bite, sliding closer to me on the couch to catch all the juices. My mouth watered as I watched him.
He closed his eyes. "So good," he sighed.
My lips tasted the peppered char of the steak as I leaned in and kissed him. Fenton's blue eyes flew open then closed on another delicious sigh. The heat of his lips warmed me from my toes to the tips of my ears and when he pulled back to look at me he laughed.
"Ms. Allen, are you blushing?" he asked.
"It's the fire," I lied. "It's a little too warm. How about we move back to the table?"
"And let you cross back over to business? I don't think so," he disagreed. "I think I'm starting to agree with my coach. He doesn't believe business and pleasure should be separate if they come together naturally. It’s like holding apart magnets, just a waste of energy standing in the way of something like that."
This time, he kissed me and it was a deep, plunging taste. The hunger in my core sharpened, but it was not for any of the delectable food set out in front of us.
"So you'll stay?" I asked.