“You’ll note your client is included in that chance.”
Caroline waved her hand in the air, dismissing his point. “Yes, but why doubles? Why not an entry to the French Open qualifying tournament? Or better than that, the women’s singles? When Penny Harrison won the Classic, that is where she went next, no?”
“Penny had already qualified for that year’s Australian Open and she’d have been given a spot in Paris either way, Caroline. You know that.”
Caroline sniffed, clearly unimpressed. “Still, I wonder that you did not inquire?”
Dom stood up, resting his hands against his desk for support, his face close to Caroline’s. “Of course I inquired, but I think the doubles will be a better experience for her, more worthwhile than the qualifying tournament. A little less pressure and a chance to acclimate herself to the tour.” He shook his head. “I don’t even know why I’m explaining this to you.I’mher coach.”
Caroline’s nostrils flared. “AndIam her agent. It is my job to look out for her best interest, and I wonder what is your motivation for these decisions?”
Dom threw up his hands. “Here we go. You ever need a good conspiracy theory, Indiana, go straight to your agent. She’s spectacular at making mountains out of molehills.”
“Do not make this about me,” Caroline said. “This is not about the girls. This is aboutyou.”
“Yeah, how do you figure?” Dom shot back.
“What are you even talking about?” Indy chimed in.
“Do you not understand, Indiana? Dom coaches a great men’s player and perhaps the best women’s player if Pennywins in Paris. Now he wishes to create a great doubles team. This experiment with you and the Randazzo girl, it is all about his reputation as a coach. He wishes to dominate all parts of the game.”
Dom groaned, throwing himself back into his chair. “You’re insane, do you know that? Totally insane. I knew it was a bad idea to let you in here. I should’ve kicked you out the day you showed up, just like I did five years ago.”
“You have a broken memory. You did not kick me out. I kicked you out.”
Indy exhaled in disbelief. Suddenly this entire argument made sense. It wasn’t even about her. It was about them. “Oh my God, you two used to be a thing?”
They both stopped yelling and faced her, gaping like they’d forgotten she was there.
Dom sighed. “It was a long time ago.”
“A very long time ago,” Caroline added, crossing her arms.
“So, since this thing,” she said, waving her hands at them, “clearly isn’t about me, how about we settle it like this: Dom’s my coach, so he makes the tennis decisions. Caroline, you work with whatever Dom sets up.”
“Sounds like how things are supposed to go,” Dom said, a smug grin spreading across his face as he looked back at Caroline.
“Right, okay, I’m going now,” Indy said, spinning around and racing out of the office. Her mind was still reeling. Her coach and her agent. She tried to think back and she remembered things being a little tense between Dom and Caroline, but she never would’ve guessed they’d been a couple.
She went back to the practice court, but morning sessions were over. She could grab lunch at Deuce, but that would mean seeing everyone who’d watched her get bitch slapped by Jasmine Randazzo, and she wasn’t quite up for that yet, so she turned and headed back to her dorm. With every step, what happened that morning started to hit home. She’d gotten into a fight, her coach yelled at her, her agent yelled at her coach, and apparently, they had a long history that had absolutely nothing to do with her, but none of that really mattered, because in the middle of all that, she’d also been invited to the French Open.
For half a second, as she unlocked her door and tossed her bag inside, she thought about calling her dad, but as soon as the thought fully registered, she dismissed it. She’d probably get his voicemail, and then in a few hours, his secretary would email her—or worse, Caroline would stop by, since it seemed she was his new go-between.
Indy sat down on her bed and kicked off her sneakers before lying back and staring up at the ceiling. She was going to a Grand Slam, the first of many if she had her way. A surge of energy flowed through her body. She punched her hands into the air and kicked her legs out, letting a small shriek escape her throat. Popping up onto her feet, she bounced on her mattress for a moment before throwing herself back down, laughter bubbling up into her throat. Holy shit. She was going to the French Open.
ONE OF THE GREAT THINGS ABOUT BEING A PROFESSIONALathlete in the twenty-first century was that even when practice was done for the day, there were hundreds of other ways to train. For Penny, that often meant sitting in the cool, dark analysis room studying video of herself and her potential opponents, breaking down strengths and weaknesses. Usually her attention was fully focused, pulling her into a zone not unlike what happened when she was actually in the middle of a match.
However, as she stared at the screen, trying to establish a pattern in Zina Lutrova’s shot selection, her mind drifted. Rolling her eyes at herself, she paused the video, pulled her phone from her pocket, and thumbed through the picturesAthlete Weeklyhad used in its article.
A pictorial review of the biggest mistake she’d ever made and the constant distraction Alex had proved to be sincethen. His physical presence every single day was the sweetest torture, like nothing she’d ever felt before. So, what was stopping her?
Then someone flipped the light switch, blinding her for a second.
“What are you still doing here?” Dom frowned at her from the doorway.
“Just some video.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” He nodded at the paused screen that she obviously hadn’t even been looking at, let alone analyzing. “Go home, get some rest. We’ve got a long road ahead of us once we get to Paris, and an even longer season after that.”
