"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 towards 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 a
gent has ever given me," Fenton said.
The doors opened and the maitre 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.