Okay, maybe I’d disappeared for a bit too long.
“Where have you been?” Dani stormed towards me. “We need to get some interviews done! I’ve got somebody fromThe Daily Tealined up to talk to you!”
Somehow, I couldn’t escape the feeling I was about to be fed to the wolves.
She hauled me across the room, her hand on my back. I managed to grab a glass of non-alcoholic champagne from a waiter. “It was alloutlined with ELITE; they have some basic, preauthorized questions to ask.”
Dani had helped me prepare and walked me through a few canned responses to give.
Of course I’m delighted to have my own line!
A partnership with ELITE? Of course it’s what every little girl dreams of.
No, I do not know anything about ELITE’s dodgy business practices, I’m a cute little tennis player. What do I know about the inner business workings of a multi-million-dollar corporation?
I greeted the journalist, Rachel Kendrick, a tall blonde woman with a polite handshake. Her eyes were already glazed over, clearly as bored as we all were. She launched into some of the rehearsed questions.
“So, Chloe, how does it feel to have your first sneaker design? It must be pretty cool, right?” the journalist asked, thrusting her phone out towards me. Beside me, Dani walked away, abandoning me as her phone vibrated in her hand.
I forced a smile. “It’s great. I’m excited. It’s a goal to have something like this, so to achieve it so early in my career feels great.”
“How much did you have a hand in the design?” she asked.
Absolutely none.
I swallowed my honest answer and tried to force enthusiasm. “I worked really closely with the designers at ELITE, really pitching them my vision for a pair of sneakers that were both fashion-forward and comfortable. And I really love the mix of color, with the green and the white.”
The journalist nodded, and without even skipping a beat, the line of questioning switched. “Scottie Sinclair’s sneakers sold out in under an hour. Do you feel pressure to hit that same benchmark?”
My stomach twisted uncomfortably at the question, my eyes almost immediately finding the blonde player across the room.
This time, I didn’t force a smile. “I could see how it would be easy to pit us against each other; we are competitors after all.” I thought ofScottie, in the Hamptons. How she’d immediately greeted me with kindness.Did she get these questions too? Were we all a part of the same machine?I swallowed it all down, continuing, “But off court, I don’t think that should be the case. I’m sure both our lines will be successful in their own right.”
The journalist hummed, as if unhappy with my answer. I took a sip from my glass, nearly gulping down a mouthful. But instead, I winced, the flavor leaving a bitter taste on my tongue.
All of a sudden, the dimly lit wine bar came flooding back. Inés’s eyes on mine, her hands on me, her mouth...
“Are you worried at all, with this happening so quickly, about being seen as a brand rather than a player?” The question pulled me back.What kind of interview was this?I looked around the busy Brooklyn warehouse, searching for somebody to call on to get me away from this woman, but nobody was paying any attention.
“Furthermore, if the US Open doesn’t go your way, how will that affect your ‘brand’? Don’t you think your fans are waiting for you to recapture that spectacular win you had back in Paris?”
I wanted to walk away, to end this interview, but I knew that was unprofessional and would make whatever they did end up reporting worse. Maybe it was better to stay, to smile through the discomfort.
Trying to pivot, I answered, “I’m a tennis player first and only. Brand deals, like this one with ELITE, are fantastic partnerships to have—”
She cut me off. “Like yourpartnershipwith Inés Costa.”
This time, it felt impossible to ignore the deeper instinct kicking in. “That’s different.”
“Different in that you’ve been romantically linked together? I know fans are feverish to get an update on your relationship.”
“Our professional relationship as hitting partners,” I stated matter-of-factly.
“And your relationship off court?”
“That’s private.” The words felt like a jagged knife, cutting deep into me. I knew I didn’t owe anyone our relationship status. I had seenfor myself the speculation online. I guess we hadn’t been as sneaky as we thought we had. Even an innocent photo of our first date had found its way online, where we’d been walking down the street together.
I glanced across the room, back over to Calvin, as if begging him to intervene.
