Bad Professor (An Alpha Male Bad Boy Romance) (108 page)

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.

The man in the
suit flagrantly counted a large wad of cash. He flapped it into his friend's
hand. The man who had bought me a drink folded the cash up neatly. He then
strode up to the ring, nodded to the boxer in the red shorts and slipped the
cash into his robe. I was the only one that noticed.

Or
I'm the only one stupid enough to watch
, I thought.

The two men were
coming back out and there was nowhere for me to hide. I shuffled along the row
I was in, but knew they would spot me soon.

"Here, you
look cold," a nondescript man said. He tossed a tan sport coat over my
shoulders.

I sat down, glad
the plain sport coat concealed my dress and made me blend into the seats.
"I recognize you. You've been following Fenton Morris," I said.

"Sure beats
Iowa, eh, honey?" he asked.

I nodded lower
into the tan sport coat as the two men strode past our row. Neither of them
looked our way.

"Alright, Ms.
Allen, they're gone."

"How do you
know my name? Who are you?"

"You can call
me Matt Smith," he said. "You're wrong. I'm not following Fenton
Morris, I work for him."

"You're a
private investigator," I said. That would explain the average looking
man's ability to disappear so easily. It would also explain why I felt certain
his name was a fake. Matt Smith was almost too carefully common to be true.

"Very astute.
Now, what you'd think of the fight?" he asked.

"Oh, I don't
know. I wasn't really here to watch the fight," I said. "Did you
notice those two men?"

"The ones you
were following?"

"Yes. Wait.
You changed the subject. Why does Fenton Morris need a private investigator?"
I asked.

Matt Smith
smirked. "Again, very astute. Mr. Morris no longer needs my services, but
I have to admit, I saw him with the two gentlemen you mentioned and I was
curious, too."

He swung the
conversation so easily away from his private business with Fenton that I knew I
could not pry. Instead, I concentrated on why I had come there in the first
place. "I think they were threatening him somehow."

"And, did you
notice anything strange about the boxing match?" Matt Smith asked.

I frowned. He
seemed so average, so regular, that it was surprising how utterly he controlled
the conversation.

"Yes,
actually. I could have sworn the boxer in the red shorts noticed those two men,
and then almost right after he spotted them, he lost the match," I said.

"And?"

"And then, I
saw lots of money changing hands," I continued.

Matt Smith nodded
and polished a pair of wire rim glasses I had not noticed before. He said
nothing and waited.

"I think they
might have fixed the fight and told that poor boxer to lose. That way they can
place bets and win big," I said.

He slipped his
glasses on and pushed them up his nose. "And now, they're trying the same
thing with Mr. Morris?"

"Oh my
God," I said. "That's awful. We have to call the police."

"What would
the police do?" Matt asked. "There is no proof. The men will deny
threatening Mr. Morris. It would be his word against theirs. And, I doubt
things will get better for him after they learn he has talked to the
police."

I stood up and
handed back the plain, tan sport coat. "There has to be something we can
do. I'll talk to Fenton right away. Maybe you can get photographs of them doing
what they just did?"

"People carry
cash in Las Vegas, that's no crime," Matt pointed out.

I thought about
the large wad the tall man had pulled from to buy my drink. "Oh my God, no
wonder Fenton did not want me talking to that man. Of all the men in that bar,
I managed to flirt with the one trying to strong-arm him into a throwing a
fight. No wonder he hates me!"

"I think it’s
possible that it’s the opposite of hate." He slipped back on the tan sport
coat.

"I've got to
go," I told him. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Smith."

I turned around at
the arena door and was not surprised when the nondescript man was already gone.
He never answered what kind of work he did for Fenton. For such an average
looking man, he was incredibly good at his job.

I rushed back over
to the Tropicana and into the dark bar. In the time it took for my eyes to
adjust, I groped my way to the empty booth. Fenton was gone. There was nothing
there but a large shoebox and a pair of custom-made shoes with his name on
them.

"Back to
throw yourself at him again?" Alice Meadows asked as she came up behind
me.

"Couldn't get
him to keep the shoes on?" I asked. "That can't be a good sign."

She snatched the
shoes out of my hands. "He had them on and he liked them. We'll have
Fenton Morris signed by the morning."

"You and
Bethany always work in tandem. At least, that's what people like to say you do.
I mean, I guess I can't judge the way you get your results because you
definitely get results, I just don't know how you can do it," I said.

"Don't be
such a prude, Kya," she said. "Just because we're women doesn't mean
we're not allowed to enjoy sex and have it just for fun."

There was a lump
in my throat and I swallowed hard. "Is that where Bethany is? Having
fun?"

"Why? Would
that bother you? Is the Country Club Princess falling for a blue collar
fighter?" Alice asked.

"Ooo, did she
admit it?" Bethany asked as she joined Alice in the booth and handed her a
large drink with two umbrellas sticking out of the top. "I bet Alice you'd
fall for Fenton Morris. They say opposite attract, right?"

I shook my head.
"I don't have time for junior high gossip. Where is Fenton?"

Alice sipped her
drink and shrugged. "Beats me. One minute he was slamming tequila, and the
next, he was gone. I thought he'd gone off to find you. Way he was looking at
you all night. What a waste."

"When did he
leave?" I asked.

"About twenty
minutes ago," Bethany said.

I ran for the door
and straight out to the cabstand. I had to find Fenton before something bad
happened.