"Thanks for the advice. I'll keep it together," I said.
"We can help with that. Might be a little easier to keep things running smooth if you had a little extra cash." He rubbed his fingers against his thumb when he mentioned money.
"Sorry, I'm not signing any endorsements or any other deals. I'm fighting for myself all the way up to the title." I tried to walk past them, but the man in the black pants blocked my way.
"You'll like this deal, I promise," the man in the suit said. "You lose your next fight and you make a tidy little sum."
"And, what if I win?" I asked. I saw movement near the side door and hoped it was my manager. I had never wished to see Kev Casey, but his smarmy face would have been the most welcomed sight. If anyone could send off a couple of slime ball fight fixers, it was my slime ball manager.
Instead, the gym owner strode in and froze. His eyes darted over the pile of free weights and the unconscious man. Then he glanced over the man in the suit and his friend in the dark pants. He did not meet my eyes. He pursed his lips tight and looked back at the man in the suit. The wild hope that he would kick the men out died when he gave the man in the suit a small nod. He recognized them and said nothing.
"You closed up early, went to take your lady out for dinner," the man in the suit said.
The gym owner gave another small nod and turned on his heel. He was out the door. We all watched his shadow dart across the parking lot and heard the slam of his car door. The engine fired up seconds later, and his tires tore out of the parking lot. I shook my head, certain he was not calling the police from the safety of his locked car.
"If he closed up early, then I better get going," I said, trying to sound casual. "Wouldn't want to be trespassing after hours."
"No need to hurry. We go way back with the owner. He won't mind if we finish our business discussion."
"We don't have business together, and there is nothing more to discuss," I told him.
The man in the suit took a few steps closer to me. His eyes were narrowed and his smile sharp. "Like I said, you'll like this deal. However you want to lose is up to you. Just know when you do, there will be a nice fat wad waiting in your locker here."
"And what happens if I win the next fight?" I asked again.
"If you lose, we'll pay you. If you win you'll pay," the man said with his same sharp smile.
"I'll pay? Who's going to make me? I think you saw what I did to your friend." I crossed my arms over my chest.
"Why make things hard for yourself or your friends? Not everyone can face Tony with such aplomb."
"I'll take the compliment, but not the deal," I said.
"Make no mistake, Mr. Morris. Unless you lose we'll find a way to make you pay," he said.
"You don't know much about me, do you?" I asked. "I don't have friends, and I don't much care what happens to me. I like to fight. I like to win. I don't need your deal."
The big man called Tony groaned and heaved himself to his feet. He rubbed his jaw and checked his teeth before glaring at me. "He understand yet?"
"He will," the boss man said. "For God's sake, go get some ice. We're taking care of this."
"All you're doing is getting out of my way," I said. "You don't have any leverage over me and I'm not taking your rotten deal. I fight to win and I'm not bending for anyone."
"What's that saying? Some proverb or something about bending. If you don't bend, you break," the man said with a curled lip that made his smile a snarl.
His companion in the dark pants and shirt stepped forward and flashed his gun. "Lose if you want to stay lucky."
"I don't believe in luck," I said.
The men laughed and left, leaving a hollow silence behind them.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Kya
I showed up at the boxing gym early the next morning. I knew it was pushing too hard, but I hoped the coffee and donuts would soften my ambush. If previous mornings were a good indication, Fenton should have still been asleep in the back room.
"Left me a note, rented a private gym. Sorry, miss, that's all I can tell you," the owner of the gym said.
I drummed my fingers on the notched wooden bar he used as a check in desk. "A private gym? Are there a lot of those in Vegas? Which one?"
"It wouldn't be very private if I knew, now would it?"
There was something strange about the way the gym owner's eyes shifted over my head and swept along the front windows. He seemed nervous, as if he expected a bolt of lightning to strike him, even though the sun was shining.
"Why did Mr. Morris switch gyms? Did something happen?" I asked.
"No, nothing happened. Fighters are like that. Maybe he thought there was bad mojo here or something," the nervous man said.
If that was Fenton's reason, I was starting to agree with him. The gym owner made me nervous and I left quickly. Maybe the man just did not want to talk to me because I was the reason Fenton was acting erratic. I had not exactly been calm and predictable myself.
The only constant was my terrible attempts to sign him to the endorsement deal. No matter what I did, I could not separate the inevitable pleasure of his company with the contract I wanted, no, needed him to sign. My behavior was unfair to him as a client and as a date. Date? No, Fenton was more than a casual date. Those were not casual kisses we had exchanged on the couch.
I blushed, thinking about how easily I had thrown aside our business, the entire point of the evening, and let myself get carried away by how he made me feel. Melting and open, electric and consumed, Fenton's mouth on mine had kindled a response from my body that I could not control.
He must have felt as overwhelmed as I did because he was the one that suddenly broke away. His face was a storm cloud, all the friction between us charging him up, despite the fact he had refused my offer. He did not have to refuse. He could have stayed. That confused expression as he left made my heart soar; there had to be more between us.
Maybe that was why out of all the casinos in Vegas, he chose the Tropicana. I got out of the cab to hear a commotion in the main lobby. Fenton was leading a massive entourage through the casino to one of the bars. Did he hope that I would see him, join him?
I pushed my way into the throng and felt a thrill when his laser blue eyes caught sight of me. He turned away and continued berating a reporter and trash talking Mario Peretti.
"Like I said, it was a lucky punch. I hear he wasn't so lucky at his fight last night. No consistency," Fenton said.
"And, you'd say you're a consistent fighter?" the reporter asked.
"Yes. One misstep doesn't change my record." Fenton glanced over me again and then threw his arm around a ripe redhead. "Maybe you should go and do a little research before asking any more questions. I don't have time for you to try out headlines on me without any real substance." He used his free hand to shove the reporter away and strutted off with the redhead plastered against his side.
I ignored the desire to storm away and sulk. Instead, I followed the crowd into the bar and pushed my way to the tight circle around Fenton again.
"You really are a glutton for punishment, eh?" Kev Casey said. Fenton's manager snaked an arm around my waist.