"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 ten-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 towards 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 towards 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 towards 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 towards 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."
CHAPTER TWENTY
Fenton
I woke up when the melted ice slipped off my ribs and hit the floor. The bruise was survivable and I was annoyed I had let myself give in to it even for a minute. Maybe Kya had slipped me a sleeping pill along with the aspirin. It had nothing to do with the relief I felt at seeing her safe back in her hotel room.
The crazy girl had showed up at a bare-knuckle boxing match to tell me she had followed the criminals blackmailing me. I sat up and shook my head. No wonder I could not relax until she was behind locked doors. I could imagine her following the two thugs into the boxing match. She must have stuck out like real gold in a sea of rhinestones.
I got up and went towards the master bedroom. Our whole conversation had been foggy, but I remembered her saying one thing – it was me, not my business, she was interested in. The thought smoldered, and I had to hear her say it again. I needed her lips on mine.
The room was dark, but it was easy to see the snow-white duvet was undisturbed. I forgot about my stiff muscles and marched through the entire suite. Kya was gone.
I rushed back out to the living room and stopped cold. The white card from my private gym was gone. A smile cracked my split lip, but I grimaced more at Kya than the pain. She did not know that I wanted her safe more than I wanted my stuff. I worried that I had missed a call from my sister, but Dana Maria was tough – tougher than me. And, she had not accidentally flirted with the very criminals set on making me lose my next fight.