Game of Love (27 page)

“Tish,” she said, “do you have a minute?”

“Miss Champion,” Tish said, “what can I do for you?”

“Defend me from the sharks, don’t feed me to them.”

Tish’s face went pale. “What are you talking about? I–”

“I need you with me. Don’t get wrapped up with the celebrity bullshit.”

“What–?”

“At the premiere with Johnny, I needed your help, I didn’t get it. Wesley has a million ideas, but they are not consistent with what I want. I need you to stop things before they spin out of control.”

“Sorry, G.”

“Also, why didn’t you warn me about Johnny coming to the match?”

“I didn’t know. I found out when he showed up in our seats.”

Gemma wanted to believe her.

“It’s the honest truth, G. I am sorry.”

“Friends should never have to apologize,” Gemma said then hugged her and prayed Tish was still salvageable. Once one had tasted what was available in the circle of the rich and famous, letting go was difficult. It was harder to remember what grounded you in the first place.

Minutes later, Bedric approached Gemma. “You need to get off your feet,” he said.

“I’m nearly done here.”

“I have contacted the best therapist. We will start tomorrow morning.”

“Couldn’t we take a day off?”

“Do you trust me?”

She studied his eyes. “Yes, of course.”

“Then just trust me. There is no time to waste. We have only one week. You need to start tomorrow morning to understand if it is a strain or more serious.”

“Fine, tomorrow morning.”

She heard the commotion then saw the source. Johnny and his crew had made a grand entrance. When they made eye contact, he flaunted a big Hollywood-smile and walked toward her, his arms outstretched.

“Keep your distance from him,” Bedric whispered. “You promised me when you decided to return.”

She studied him. “Do you trust me?”

“Most of the time.”

She winked then strode toward Johnny, producing a faint smile. Just as he prepared to embrace her, she held him back with an outstretched arm. Smile on her lips, she leaned in and whispered in his ear.

“If you kiss me, touch me, or give another interview where you imply there’s something between us, I’ll drive your balls up into your throat.”

She stepped back, shook his hand and spun away. She strode up to Bedric and squeezed his arm. He almost smiled.

One conversation left. She found him at the bar just as he received a glass of champagne.

“Wesley, can we talk?”

“You don’t need to ask. I’m at your disposal.”

“I love you like a brother, but if you ever pull something like this Johnny shit again, that’ll be the end of our relationship. I want to be clear. I am indeed threatening you. Don’t fuck with me.”

The celebration was over. She was done with the interviews, the pictures, and the handshakes. She was finally home, tucked in bed and slowly drifting, while talking to the one voice that was her sanctuary.

“What are the doctors saying?” Andre asked.

“We’ll know more tomorrow, but initial prognosis is a strained hamstring. I need rest and physical therapy.”

“But when…?” he started, then stopped.

“Will I be ready for Wimbledon? I think I’ll be ready. With proper rest and therapy it should all work out. I have a full week to dedicate for rest and rehabilitation.”

“Listen to your body. It never lies.”

No
, she thought,
my body does not lie
.

“By the way, I loved the little message you sent after you won. It made my day.”

“Glad you caught that. The TV shows were thrown for a loop with that one.”

“How so?”

“They were confused. After all, if that idiot Flauto is in the stadium,
to whom did Gemma send a kiss?
Bloody morons.”

“So you admit you sent me a kiss.”

“I’m not admitting anything.’”

“You can’t concede anything, can you?” He chuckled. “I have a theory about you.”

“And what’s that?”

“For you, everything looks like competition.”

She went silent. Her immediate reaction was to refute it, but isn’t that what a competitive person would do? “Hmm,” she said instead.

“And I get that. All these years you’ve focused on winning. You’ve had to beat both your competition and your own objectives. Things are either going to end in a win or a loss.”

“True,” she mused.

“Just know this: when it comes to me, you can’t lose. I’m here for you whenever you need me.”

The excitement of the championship match in the morning and the conversation with Gemma in the afternoon left Andre drained. He wished he had been there with her.

An early morning meeting had been scheduled for the next day at M&T. The thought of yet another unplanned trip somewhere in the world drained him of the joy he was feeling. There were no breaks. In three weeks, Project Sunrise would begin. But for M&T, every day was an opportunity to cash in.

His phone rang. It was the doorman.

“Courier for you Dr. Reyes,” he said.

“Courier? On a Sunday? I wasn’t expecting anything. Legitimate?”

“Yes, sir.”

The courier handed him a manila envelope, then left. Andre opened the envelope and placed the contents on the kitchen counter. He stared at them for a few moments.

His cell phone chimed—a text message from Gemma. He read it, then studied the papers splayed across his countertop: Virgin Atlantic tickets to Heathrow, hotel confirmation at the Kensington Hilton in London, and an all access pass to Wimbledon.

He read her message again. “
What do you say? One week with me, then two weeks at Wimbledon. You said you’d be there for me if I ever needed you. I need you.
”

Recreational tennis players use the serve simply to initiate the point. For advanced players, the serve is a declaration of power. Aggressive players will often attempt a winning shot with their serve. A winning serve, untouched by the opponent is called an “ace.”
~Tennis Basics

“Do what you feel in your heart to be right.”
~Eleanor Roosevelt

oger Trutt’s office would’ve been the envy of any Fortune 100 CEO. Each time Andre entered, the panoramic 270-degree view of Downtown Los Angeles caught his breath. The floor-to-ceiling glass walls invited natural light, accenting the cherry wood furniture, which glistened like fine china. The office epitomized power. Just over a year ago, Andre had dreamt of the day this would be his office. So much had changed in twelve months.

“But I don’t understand. Is everything okay?” Roger asked.

“Yes, everything is fine. I need some personal time before the start of Project Sunrise. I’ll be available for calls, but for the next three weeks I’ll be out of the country.”

Roger loosened his tie, walked over to his fully equipped bar, and prepared a scotch on the rocks. Interesting choice for breakfast.

“I’m not comfortable with this. I was about to discuss a new project, send you to a site visit for tomorrow, and you drop this. Frankly, this is unprofessional and poorly timed.”

Andre uncrossed his legs and straightened, no longer comfortable in the plush leather sofa. “Unprofessional? Just last week you asked me to cancel my vacation because of the Homeland Security project. A project we didn’t need to rush, as it turned out, but we rushed it anyway.”

“I explained the reasons. We expected another engagement at the end of the week. I thought you understood.”

“I did. I do. I’ve always understood. To date, I have yet to take a vacation because they all had to be adjusted.”

Roger sipped his drink as he strolled toward Andre, his eyes shifting, calculating. Then the corner of his lips lifted. Roger sat next to Andre. “Andre,” Roger said as he placed his plump fingers, riddled with age spots, on Andre’s shoulder, “look here, son. You have my word as soon as this next engagement is complete, we will honor your vacation plans. In fact, you can use the company yacht. Maybe take a trip to Mexico? You and your friends? Rest for a few days before Project Sunrise.”

“I don’t need the company yacht. I don’t see why this is an issue. I have to leave, but I’ll be available for urgent calls. I have never abandoned clients in need, and I’m not starting now. As for this new client, there are other consultants here. Some who I’ve personally trained.”