“Caroline Morneau. Your father has hired me as representation.”
“Representation for what?”
“For you.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
“I’m your agent, Indiana.”
For the next twenty minutes, Caroline rattled on, but Indy barely heard a word. Only a few things stood out. Caroline worked for a company called Trinity Agency that specialized in representing athletes. They were a subsidiary of the law firm that her father had on retainer, and as soon as the news of her ranking had dropped, her father had put Caroline on a plane to North Carolina.
It was typical. Her dad was always doing things like this, barely speaking a word to her for months and then having a car delivered to her driveway for Christmas. Her mom used to say it was his way of showing affection. To Indy it screamed of a guilty conscience. She wanted to go pro and sign with an agent, but hell would freeze over before she let her dad have anything to do with it.
“Indiana, are you listening to me?” Caroline finally asked, pulling her from her thoughts.
“No, I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right, I can start again.”
“No, that’s not what I mean. I’m sorry you wasted your time coming all this way. I haven’t even gone pro yet, not officially, and anyway, when it’s time, I’ll pick my own agent.”
Caroline smiled, a small rise of the corners of her mouth that made Indy feel like she was five years old. “Perhaps you should call your father.”
“Perhaps,” Indy agreed. But if he wanted to talk about this, he could pick up the phone. She had zero intention of telling her dad anything. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m late for a training session.”
“Of course,” Caroline said. “Take this with you. It is your contract. There is no need to decide today, but your father wishes to protect your interests.”
“Sure.” She took the papers and sped out of the office, down the stairs, and back into the atrium.
“Everything okay, Indy?” Roy asked, laying aside his newspaper as she nearly flew past his desk.
She stopped dead and turned to him with a smile. If he knew her better, he probably would’ve been able to tell the smile was fake. “Do you have a recycle bin behind your desk?”
“Sure do.”
“Could you throw this out for me?” she asked, holding out the contract.
“No problem,” Roy said, taking it and glancing down at the cover page. “You sure you don’t need this?”
“Positive.”
PENNY LEANED OVER, HANDS ON HER KNEES, GASPING FORbreath, and glanced over at the sideline of the court where Dom was observing. She was dying and she and Alex had only been training a little over an hour. They were playing a mock match and were supposed to be working on each other’s weaknesses. Alex’s was his tendency to go for a winner too early in a point, and hers was reverting to a defensive game while dealing with the clay surface instead of staying aggressive. Instead, all they’d managed to do was exhaust each other.
Playing tennis against Alex Russell was almost exactly like having sex with him. No awkward fumbling of a first time or a short, unsatisfactory encounter, but the mind-blowing kind of sex most people dreamed of and very few actually had. It was intense and a constant struggle, a push andpull, every point a battle of wills, taking all of her physical and emotional strength and leaving her body suspended in a constant state of pleasure bordering the edge of pain—a really good pain.
Alex wasn’t faring much better than she was. On the other side of the court, he was hunched over, each breath coming heavy and hard as he stared at her. His gaze was beyond unnerving. Not creepy, but not totally pleasant either. It was like he was looking deep inside of her into places she’d never let anyone see—not Jack, not Dom, or even Teddy. Penny kept her eyes locked on his. Then he sent her a cheeky wink and quickly pursed his lips in a phantom kiss before looking away.
“What the fuck is going on with you two?” Dom marched onto the court from the sideline, confident that they’d sucked in enough oxygen to catch their breath and were ready to take a total tongue-lashing.
His face was shifting from lightly tanned to bright red, and the vein in his forehead was beginning to protrude. “P, why the hell are you letting him dictate the pace? Stop hesitating and hit the fucking ball.”
She tried to respond, but Dom was on a roll.
“And Alex, what is wrong with you? The way she’s playing, you should be thrashing her. What happened to the Alex Russell who would step on the neck of a player he had down? Just finish the point when she leaves you an opening! If either of you thinks this shit is going to fly in France, you’ve got another thing coming. We’re going to have media crawling all over this place in the next few days for the Classic. You don’t think they’re going to sneak a look at yourtraining sessions while they’re here? Take a tour, clear your heads, and come back ready to play.”
Penny’s legs were already carrying her to the gate, an instinctive response to orders issued by the man who’d had total authority over her training regimen for years.
A tour, as Dom put it, was a run around the entire campus through the maze of courts and then around the perimeter. She rolled her neck and broke into a jog, getting halfway down the pathway lining the practice courts before she heard Alex’s long strides in a flat-out sprint as he tried to catch up with her. For half a second, she considered picking up her own pace and trying to lose him, but Dom would probably be pissed at her and make her do another tour.
