The Fight (A Standalone Novel) (MMA Bad Boy Romance) Page 9

  "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.

  I did not struggle even as my stomach clenched. Kev was repellant, but he guided me right next to Fenton. I went so far as to put my hand over Kev's shoulder and delighted in Fenton's immediate frown.

  "Now, don't look like that, Fenton," Kev said. "We need her. Now that you've gone full diva on me and rented a private gym, it might be time for you to consider Ms. Allen's deal a little more seriously."

  Fenton released the redhead though she clung to his arm. "Ms. Allen has never managed to fully articulate her pitch."

  "We can go over the contract any time you like," I said. "You know where my suite is when you're ready."

  "I'm ready," Kev said. "How about we head up to her suite and make it a private party?"

  The redhead nodded and tried to slip under Fenton's arm again. He unpeeled her and crossed his arms over his chest. "We don't need her or her fancy suite."

  "Then, how exactly do you plan to pay for that private gym?" Kev asked.

  "It just so happens I met two other endorsement agents today. I thought you might like them, too," Fenton said. He waved to a tall, striking woman with straight brown hair and her curly haired, curvy friend.

  "Bethany Smith and Alice Meadows," I said.

  "Oh, you
know them?" Fenton asked. His smile was wicked as beckoned the two women over.

  "They work exclusively for a big time shoe company. Shoes that you don't or would ever wear. They're for basketball," I said.

  "What's wrong with that? If they're willing to pay me, I can wear them outside of the ring," Fenton said.

  I swiped my hair back. "I warned you about the bigger brand names. They have tricky contracts that can drop you for any little thing. Like getting kicked out of your hotel suite," I said.

  "Well, let's just say I like their approach better so far," Fenton said. "No mix-ups or mixed messages."

  "Is that what you think?"

  Fenton gave me a deeper look, but the two women joined us and pulled his attention away. "We heard you like tequila, Mr. Morris, so we took the liberty of ordering a bottle. The good stuff, no need for body shots unless that's what you're in the mood for," Bethany said.

  "Hello, Kya. I almost didn't recognize you out of linen button-ups and off the tennis court. Must feel kind of strange," Alice said.

  "What's strange is a company that makes basketball shoes looking for a MMA fighter to endorse their product," I countered.

  "We make shoes for everyone. Everyone needs shoes," Bethany said. "Not everyone needs vitamin supplements, do they Mr. Morris? Do you take vitamins?" She squeezed his bicep and batted her eyelashes.

  "Speaking of shoes," Alice continued. "Our company made a pair especially for you. Completely original, custom designed. Come try them on."

  They led Fenton to a V.I.P. booth. Waiters cleared away the small table so they could make a big scene of revealing his custom shoes. Alice knelt to help slip them on, her generous cleavage attracting more attention. Bethany poured him a glass of tequila and held it to his lips.

  I waited until he stood up and roped his arms over the two women. They started off on a lap around the bar to try out his new shoes. I deliberately crossed their path and pretended not to realize I was in the way. When Fenton cleared his throat I made sure to hold eye contact as long as I could.

  "Not really your style," I said.

  He glanced down at the shoes and then back up at me. "Who cares?" Both he and my rival agents laughed.

  Fenton finally broke away from the other agents and mingled with fans. I endured the awkward attentions of a young Mixed Martial Arts fan as he waited for an autograph.

  "I love how he just does what he wants. That's like me, you know?" the ruddy young man said.

  "I can imagine," I said.

  He launched into a story about standing up to his manager at the restaurant where he worked. I nodded and kept him jostling closer to Fenton. When it was almost my young hopeful's turn, a rotund man jumped in front of him. We were both surprised by the man's grace.

  "Ling Pho Lounge, tonight," he said to Fenton.

  Fenton nodded. He signed my young friend's cocktail napkin and turned away without even looking at me. I had to recapture Fenton's attention. He circled back through the bar and settled into the booth with Bethany and Alice again.

  If I could not get Fenton to look at me, at least I could get him to notice who I was with. I scanned the bar for the man most likely to make Fenton jealous. At the bar stood a tall man in black pants and a tight black t-shirt. He was passable handsome with short, cropped brown hair and a semi-vacant look. He nodded at whatever his friend in the suit was saying. I decided to introduce myself.

  "Excuse me, do you mind if I squeeze in here? I've been trying to get a drink, but it’s so crowded," I said. I smiled up at the man in the black t-shirt.

  The man in the suit looked me up and down with narrowed eyes and a slow smile. "Buy her a drink or I will."

  "No, please, I don't want to interrupt," I said.

  "I'd like to," the tall man said. He sounded as if he did not talk much. "He's always going on about work."

  The man in the suit flicked a quick look at the bartender and my drink appeared in seconds. The man in the black t-shirt scooped it up for me. I realized he had nice brown eyes, sort of sad, too soft for the hard muscles and sharp angles of the rest of him.

  "Thanks," I said and meant it.

  His smile never had a chance to appear. Fenton was in his face the moment we stepped away from the bar together. Though he was taller and just as hard-bodied, the man in black took one small step back.

  "She's with me," Fenton said.

  "Didn't seem like it to me," my companion argued.

  "Or me, either," I said.

  "Kya, I need you to come with me now," Fenton said. He reached out a hand without taking his eyes off the taller man.

  "I'm sorry," I said to the brown-eyed man. "I have no idea what his problem is."

  He looked down at me and I saw the flash of sadness there again. "I do and it’s only going to get worse."

  "Not before I do some serious damage to you and your friend over there. Now, turn around and leave," Fenton said.

  He stood with his shoulders thrown back, his arms raised away from his body, fists coiled, but not yet clenched. Fenton was a step away from fighting the other man and I had to stop it.

  "Excuse us, please," I said. I grabbed Fenton's arm, but he did not budge.

  "You're leaving. Both of you. Now," he said.

  The tall man shrugged his shoulders and looked over at the man in the suit. The narrow-eyed man finished his drink and nodded. They both headed towards the exit.

  As soon as they were gone, Fenton dragged me into the back hallway of the bar. He was breathing heavily, muscles still coiled.

  "I'm sorry. I just didn't want to see you get taken in by those other agents. I had to do something," I said.

  "This was about work?" he asked. His voice exploded in the small hallway. "You were trying to get my attention to pitch your contract? With that man?"

  "What was so wrong with that man?" I asked. "He was a perfect gentleman. I didn't see him running around signing women's breasts and trash talking every male in his vicinity."

  "Get it through your head, Ms. Allen," he said. "I'm never going to be the buttoned-up client you are hoping for. You're not really interested in me, and I'm done with you."

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Kya

  I wanted to follow him, but his shout still echoed in my ears and kept me frozen. Fenton was angry and he had every right to be. Not only had I manipulated him by flirting with another man, but I had done so only to further my business aspirations. He thought I was interested in nothing else but the dotted line of the endorsement contract.

  There was no way I could explain that beyond the thin connection my work had offered us, I felt tied to him in a way I had never felt with anyone. I was all tangled up in Fenton Morris and had been since the moment we met.

  I could not tell him any of that. What if he felt the same? He needed to keep his mind clear, focused on his next fight. What if I distracted him and he lost again? The image of his laser blue eyes dimming as he toppled to the mat still made me feel sick. So, the only excuse I had to be near him was the endorsement deal.

  Except now. Fenton was upset and it was obvious it was more than just my tacky business tactics. Why had he been so upset about that tall man in particular?

  I came out of the back hallway in time to see Fenton disappear out the exit the two men had used. He was going after them. By the time I reached the same exit, I saw him catch up to the men in the middle of the roulette tables. James Cort's gambling advice to always bet on black rang hollowly in my head. There was something menacing about the man in the black pants and tight black t-shirt. His brown eyes might have had a hint of something else, but he was clearly built to enforce whatever business he was in.

  He loomed over Fenton. The muscles across Fenton's shoulders rippled as he flexed and faced off with the taller man. The man in the suit stood back, a sharp smile on his face. He was the only one talking, but I could not hear what he was saying.

  I sidled along a row of video poker machines and hoped I could get closer before a fight
broke out.

  "The deal is simple, Mr. Morris. Just do as we say and your luck will stay intact," the man in the suit said.

  I did not understand the threat, but nothing more was said. With one last sharp smile, the man called off his hard-muscled companion. He gave Fenton one last tense-jawed look, then turned and left. I ducked as Fenton turned back towards the party and was glad he did not see me interfering again.

  I followed Fenton back towards the bar, but stopped when I saw him rejoin Bethany and Alice. It was useless for me to reappear. Anything I did now would only drive him further away.

  Unless… I thought and spun around. Unless I figured out why the men were threatening him and then got him out of a bind. It was one way I could prove I had his best interests in mind.

  I rushed out of the casino and caught sight of the two men on the Strip. They were heading across the street to the MGM Grand, and I dodged through traffic to follow. Two horns honked and the tall man glanced around. I dove into a gaggle of young men and could not extract myself until we reached the arena doors. They begged me to join them for Blackjack, but I pretended I had prepaid tickets for whatever was happening inside.

  It turned out the event was free, a featherweight preview boxing match. I went into the nearly empty arena and stuck to the back rows, hoping the two men would not see I followed them. It was strange to be in the cavernous space where only days ago cheering crowds had watched Fenton step into the ring.

  The two boxers dodged around each other, on their toes, with heavy punches coming in sporadic bursts. I was transfixed for a moment by the differences between classic boxing and the exciting flurry of mixed martial arts. There was an art to both, but what Fenton did with his whole body was truly amazing. I could appreciate the skill and power as the boxers clashed, but without the kicks, spins, and lethal combinations, it just did not get my heart pounding. Not like Fenton did.

  I slumped down in the nearest seat when I spotted the men I was following. They marched right up close and did not bother to sit down. The boxer in the red shorts noticed them and took a kidney punch. Within a minute, he lost his focus completely and was taken out by a whirlwind of jabs straight to his chest and chin. The fight was over and though it was discreet, I saw lots of money change hands.