Chapter Seven
Kya
I was holding my phone away from my ear. My boss was off on one of his supreme lectures, making me wonder for the thousandth time if my apparent listening was part of the reason he hired me.
"You hear me?" James Cort asked.
I did not have to utter a full word, just a hum and he launched into part three of what I suspected was going to be at least a five-part series. I punched a few cards on the video poker screen and paced away while imaginary money racked up.
"Are you really this lucky?" Fenton asked from behind me. He sauntered up and leaned against the end machine, watching my winnings calculate.
"I'm not sure you'd call this lucky," I held out the phone so he could hear my boss' chatter.
"Well, a lot of women would think you're lucky right about now," Fenton said. He nodded to one particularly catty looking woman with long black hair.
"Just because you're talking to me?" I asked. "James, Fenton is here. Yes, I call him by his first name. Right. No. Don't be gross." I hung up my phone and punched a few more cards on the video poker screen.
"Because you seem to be the only woman I'm interested in talking to," Fenton said. "Was that your boss you just hung up on?"
"Yes." I watched his smirk wobble a bit and I wondered if he had been drinking. "He told me to make you happy and get you signed."
He pushed off the video poker screen and leaned towards me. "I'd be happy to see that little black dress again," he said.
I glanced down at my silk blouse and jeans. "I've seen people gambling in worse. You're lucky I'm not wearing sweatpants and a fleece vest."
"Or that tight little tank top you wore on our hike. You sore from the Overlook Trail?" he asked.
I stepped back as he leaned closer. "Yes, I am a little sore, but nothing I can't handle. In fact, I was thinking I should join you again tomorrow. That's the best cure for sore muscles."
"I know a better one." Fenton’s laser blue eyes narrowed as his smile widened.
"Well, I can guess it’s not sitting on a stool playing video poker," I said. I punched out of the game and a slew of coins poured into the metal slot.
Fenton shook his head at my luck again. "Sign us up for a couple's massage. Don't you have an expense account or something? Call your boss and ask for his credit card number."
I raked the coins into a plastic cup. All the other agents I knew would do what Fenton said in an instant. And, it was not that I was not tempted. The idea of a couple's massage with him next to me was very tempting, indeed. My boss would be annoyed that he had not thought of it first. I could hear him rattling off his credit card number in his perpetually yelling tone.
"You're thinking about it, aren't you?" Fenton said. "You never know, it might make me want vitamin supplements even more."
I shook my head. "No. I've never landed an account that way before. Besides, you are just trying to take advantage of me. What kind of agent would I be if I just threw money away on my client's whims? I'm supposed to be proving to you that I have your best interests in mind."
Fenton laughed, and my stomach quivered. "Well, if you won't treat me to a couple's massage, what kind of schmoozing do you have in mind? I hear there's a great nightclub here if you feel like taking me dancing."
"What have other endorsement agents offered you?" I asked.
"Well, let's see. One just gave me and two friends an open tab for dinner," he said.
"Would that explain the hint of intoxication?"
He stuck his nose in the air. "Yes. Jealous?"
"Not impressed," I said. "What other sort of perks have you gotten?"
"A car lease, a timeshare vacation, a purebred dog, a leather sofa. None of which I accepted."
"What kind of dog?" I asked. I took my coins to the exchange and got a surprising wad of cash.
"A Pitbull. Sweet puppy," he said.
"Hmm, I see you as more of a Rottweiler type," I told him.
Fenton nudged me. "Really? I thought you would have noticed that I’m more the kitten type."
"Well, massages and live animals aside, I'm not sure what I can offer you besides a sound business deal," I said.
"Ah, there it is," Fenton said. "That's how you get all those Ivy League types. Make them think they are doing real business. We both know it’s selling out."
"Selling out is what other agents would push for. I'm here to help you trade your name for solid investments."
"Oh, the Kya Allen reputation at work," Fenton said. He sauntered away.
"Wait, fine. Alright. I know how to have a little fun while working," I said.
He spun around and looked skeptical. "I'm not accepting tickets to a show. I am the show, remember?"
"I wasn't thinking about taking you to a show. I've got reservations for the restaurant on the top of the Eiffel Tower. Say tomorrow night at eight?"
"Dress to impress?" Fenton asked.
"Of course."
"Then, it's a date."
#
I bought a new dress to wine and dine Fenton Morris. I could not bring myself to buy the fire engine red number, but the plunging neckline of my deep purple dress more than made up for the conservative color. The v stopped just short of my navel and somehow, the looping silver chains drew the eye to my cleavage instead of distracted from it.
The double takes and soft whistles should have boosted my confidence, but I was nervous. Fenton had said it was a date. He had also been drinking. What if he forgot about it all together?
I imagined him off somewhere with the jealous, black-haired beauty. I had not admitted it to him, but I had seen them enter the Tropicana the night before. She was wrapped around him like ivy and though he talked to his manager, his hand was still firmly on the curve of her hip.
Should I have booked a couple's massage? I asked myself for the hundredth time.
Fenton had probably gone back to the voluptuous woman right after I refused. They were probably still in his penthouse suite, ordering room service.
I told myself the burning in my chest was not jealousy. I had grabbed a tiny bottle of liquid courage from my mini bar. It had to be the whiskey still burning its way down. It was no big deal if Fenton was having wild, passionate sex with another woman while I stood in a replica of Paris and shivered in the surprisingly chilly evening.
"Need my coat or can I warm you up?" Fenton’s voice came from behind me.
"Oh, thank God you came," I said. "I mean, I'm starving. And I hear the foie gras is to die for."
I led the way into the Paris Casino so he could not see the relieved blush on my cheeks. Fenton had come to meet me for dinner – he was not off with anyone else.
"I should have told you, you could have brought a date. I'm sorry I did not say anything sooner," I said.
The elevator doors shut and Fenton gave me a wolfish grin. "Bring a date on a date? What sort of man do you take me for?"
I smiled, more relieved. "I thought you were a bad boy. I thought you were the show."
"Yeah, yeah, I remember saying that," he laughed. "And, I've been wondering. Aren't you afraid that my reputation is going to ruin your reputation?"
I backed toward the corner of the elevator as he slid closer. His gaze was locked on my lips and I licked them nervously. "Maybe they cancel each other out and we can just be regular people," I countered.
His eyes softened and he stopped looming over me. I missed the heat of his body like the sun going behind a cloud. Then, he reached for my hand.
"I'd like that, Kya. Now that would be something no other agent has ever given me," Fenton said.
The doors opened and the maître d' ruined the effects of my statement. He bowed low and welcomed us to the Eiffel Tower. He seated us right away at a special table with a view of the Bellagio Fountain. Heads turned as we took our seats.
"Being regular for the night might be a tall order," I said. I gestured out the window to where a neon billboard almost a story high showed Fenton in action.
He turned away from the window and concentrated on me. "It's at least worth a shot. What do regular people talk about on dates?"
"Work?" I asked.
He laughed, and again my stomach quivered. I loved hearing him laugh. The head waiter explained that we did not need menus; the chef had prepared a special meal. Then, the sommelier approached and poured the right wine to match our first course.
After all the flourishes were finished and we had taken a few long sips, Fenton smiled again. "Alright, tell me about work. But not like you're an agent trying to sign me. What would you tell a date?"
I touched my thumb to the small, comma-shaped beauty mark near my mouth, a sure tell that I was nervous. "It's a been awhile since I went on a date. I guess most men want to know how I got into my profession."
Fenton leaned his forearms on the table. "What I want to know is how you ended up working for James Cort. I asked my manager about him and he just laughed. They seem to be cut from the same slimy cloth."
"I ran into him at a country club," I said.
"You're joking."
I laughed. "No, it’s true. I was on a road trip and needed to go to the bathroom. The nearest place I could find was this country club, so I sneaked in and used the facilities. When I came out, security was looking for me. James snagged my arm and introduced me to the golf pro. I must have charmed him because James left there with a new client, and I left with a new job."
"What kind of car were you driving?" Fenton asked.
In my mind, I could see the rust flaking off the door and smiled. "An 80’s Thunderbird. The two-door kind. Big long heavy doors that tended to sag on the hinges when it was as rusted as mine."
"A sweet 16 present?"
"No," I said. "I bought it myself just after high school. I needed something to get me to college."
"Ah, yes, the ivy league." Fenton leaned back in his seat.
"University of Chicago," I said. "You shouldn't believe everything you hear."
He smiled. "How many prospective clients get to hear that?"
"None." I sipped my wine and felt warm. Talking with Fenton was easy – no patter, no holding up false impressions.
He rolled up his sleeves and fixed his eyes on the candle between us. "Then I suppose it’s only fair I tell you something true."
"About your reputation?" I asked.
He nodded, his look faraway. "I hit that cop. He'd arrested my sister."
The warmth inside me spread. I raised my glass to Fenton. "Here's to the half-truths that make us regular people."
His smile returned and made me dizzy all throughout the meal. When we were finally walking down the Strip later that evening, it did not feel at all strange to be arm in arm – just like it felt natural for him to walk me back to my room at the Tropicana. And then, it was only right that I invite him in for a nightcap.
As soon as the door closed behind us, he kissed me. I lost track of time – my only anchor in the universe was his lips. I rose up on my tiptoes to wrap my arms around his neck. He lifted me clear off the ground, the delicious heat of our bodies flushed together taking me even higher.
We pressed and tangled, the iron bands of his arms holding me as close as possible. I wanted to be closer. The thinness of my dress, that had worried me all night, was suddenly too much of a barrier. Fenton held me aloft so easily, as I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him closer.
He groaned, stumbling back into the center of my small room. His hands were in my hair, our mouths locked in a deep give and take. I felt as if breaking away from his lips for even a moment would make me spin away into the desert sky. He seemed to hear my thoughts and laid me down on the bed, his weight on top of me a welcome pressure.
"Wait, no," I protested. "Not like this."
"Kya, please," Fenton said.
I wanted to give in. I wanted it more than anything, but I could not. I thought I was wining and dining him, but here Fenton Morris was in my room, on my bed, on me. I was being seduced, and that would ruin everything.