Game of Love (24 page)

“You only live once, but you get to serve twice.”
~Author Unknown

esley’s spacious Chiswick Park office had always been a place of rewards and accomplishments. Today, it stood for everything that was wrong with Gemma’s life. She shifted slightly in her seat and held Wesley’s gaze.

“How did this happen?”

Wesley didn’t blink, while Tish dropped her gaze to the floor. Gemma wanted to say plenty, but needed to remain calm and measured.

Wesley cleared his throat. “Gemma–”

“I’m struggling to understand,” she interrupted, “how this event that was carefully orchestrated by you turned into such a disaster.”

“Please calm down,” Wesley said.

“I am calm, Wesley. I’m just confused. You’re my manager, aren’t you? You’re supposed to protect me–my brand, as you call it. How could this happen on your watch?”

He blinked.

Her hands threatened to tremble while her left knee shook. Her voice was on the verge of cracking.

“You’re jumping to conclusions–” Wesley said

“The only thing I’m jumping to is the front page of the newspaper.”

She had woken to a copy of the morning paper with her picture on the cover and Johnny kissing her. It read,
“Love Made in Hollywood Heaven.”
A phrase that sounded ominously like Wesley’s past proclamations.

Wesley was the one who had put her in this situation. With a drunk in the equation, anything could happen. Anything. He knew that better than anyone else.

She squeezed the armrests of the chair and attempted to speak calmly. “Please cancel all appearances that have nothing to do with tennis. I can’t–” The words choked in her throat. She squeezed the bridge of her nose and breathed out slowly. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“I understand,” he said.

“Do you? I’m not so sure. You dragged me back from my vacation for this event that was supposed to fix things. Instead, it has put me right in the middle of a public embarrassment.” She glanced at Tish. “You guys are my team, right? Mine. If I can’t count on you to protect me, then who?” She recalled Andre’s words.
If not me, then who?

“What he did shocked all of us. I called him and gave him a piece of my mind.”

“Please don’t patronize me.”

Wesley flinched. “He was drunk. Maybe a bit more than just drunk. He has issues,” Wesley said.

“I don’t care about him and his issues. I want my team to focus on one thing: Tennis. No more appearances. No more anything with Johnny. No more making me look like the prized idiot. Please.”

Tish’s eyes remained downcast, while Wesley stared directly into Gemma’s eyes.

“Wesley, crush the innuendoes. Do whatever it takes.”

“I’m all over it,” he said.

That’s exactly what she was afraid of.

Tish and Gemma left Wesley’s office together. “Please watch my handbag for a minute?” Gemma asked as she went to the loo.

She just needed to clear her head before facing Tish again. Tish had failed both as an assistant and best friend. Gemma had asked Tish to join her team to avoid these types of situations. She hoped Tish would know where to hold the line. So much for hoping.

Gemma splashed water on her face, dried off, and then stepped out into the hallway. Tish jumped to her feet and handed Gemma her bag.

“Here you go,” she said.

Gemma studied her friend. She was acting erratic. She took her bag and entered the lift without exchanging words.

Gemma hated conflict. She had plenty on the court. She didn’t need conflict with her team. She felt an equal measure of anger and regret as they drove to Birmingham. Tish wasn’t to blame, not fully. Yet if Tish had considered things from Gemma’s perspective, she could have minimized the exposure.

“How was LA?” Tish asked.

Tish was trying to break the ice that pervaded the backseat of the car. Gemma would accept the olive branch. “It was nice.”

“Do anything interesting? Go anywhere?”

Gemma glanced at her. Tish seemed a bit too interested. “Went to the beach.”

“The beach? Wow, that’s a personal breakthrough. Thus far, a beach home hasn’t meant actual use of the beach. What brought this on?”

Something was definitely up. “I met up with some people and hung out with them.”

Tish shifted in her seat. “You? Met some people and hung out? Who?”

“Friends of someone I know.”

“In LA? Anyone I know?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Andre. From Paris, last week.” There, she said it. Saying his name sparked a cut in her. She wanted to be with him. Right now.

“Andre? The ‘Merican?”

“That’s the one.”

“You barely know him. Did I miss something?”

“We happened to be on the same flight to LA and we spoke. So we hung out.” It felt like months had passed since she had spoken to him last. She had to explain Johnny before Andre assumed the worst.

“He happened to be on the same flight with you? Interesting coincidence. G, it’s not like you to meet someone and then go off with them. Please be careful. A lot of suspicious people out there will want to use you for their personal benefit. You know this.”

“Not him. He’s not that type.”

“And you think you can identify
that
type?”

Gemma faced Tish and peered directly in her eyes. “I’m learning to read people. I’m getting pretty good at it.”

Gemma leaned back and pulled out her mobile. Something was wrong. She had been reading an article before the meeting with Wesley, but her phone was on the calendar app now. She glanced at Tish. Had she been snooping through her e-mails and texts when Gemma went to the loo? That was nothing new. Tish regularly cleaned up the mess in Gemma’s contacts and calendar. Tish must have read her texts. She scanned the ones she had exchanged with Andre. Nothing juicy, but enough to possibly pique Tish’s curiosity. Which explained her earlier interrogation about LA. She had been fishing for more.

“Bedric is pissed, by the way,” Tish offered.

Gemma could only imagine. “Did he say something specific?”

“When I told him we’re driving down together, he said he was happy for us.”

“Ugh. I may have to listen to all his coaching advice for the next couple of days to win his favor again.”

Tish faced Gemma. “I’ve noticed sometimes you argue with him over tactics or training.”

“Sure,” Gemma said, “he’s not always right.”

Tish went silent. “How do you know? What I mean is, when do you take his advice, and when do you listen to your instinct? He’s the expert after all, isn’t he?”

Gemma glanced at Tish. “The truth is you don’t know.”

“Then how do you choose if you should listen to him, or tell him to bugger off?”

“Sometimes the only way to know is to try it on. Sometimes it’s listening to your gut because logic and planning are not always right.” Andre’s face, his smile clouded her vision. “Sometimes you have to go with your heart.”

Tish leaned back. “Try it on. If not, listen to your heart. And then have the courage to say he’s full of crap if you disagree,” she recited, almost to herself.

“And if that doesn’t work, I use guerrilla tactics. Which I may need to resort to with Bedric. Do you recall which Belgium chocolate brand he fancied?”

Tish grinned. “All taken care of. I have half a dozen of his favorite bars in my bag.”

“Brilliant. I need more of that type of thinking from you.”

Andre studied the flight schedules to Heathrow. He had attempted to convince himself that this turn of events was for the best, but he was far too smart for that. He knew without Gemma, there was an absence in his life. It seemed improbable that after only a few encounters he felt so strongly about her, but there it was. She’d screwed it all up. She had dug a space for herself in his life, and the thought of some nitwit, greasy-haired actor spending time with her was, to be blunt, annoying.

He would not be a spectator. He could wait it out, but he had an uneasy feeling about the effects of time and distance, particularly with his upcoming assignment. It was not like him to take a backseat and let things happen. But he wasn’t a pest either, running after the girl. He would be patient for a day or two. She was preparing for her tournament. Better than most, he understood the space a professional needed. He would give her a couple of days. For now.

His cell phone chimed as if in response to his sentiment. A reply text message from Gemma to the text he had sent the night before.

“
Thanks.
”

That’s all it said. That’s all she gave him.

Gemma wrote various drafts before she sent the text.

“
Call me, I want to talk
,” and, “
I miss our time at the beach, call me
,” and, “
I’ve fallen for you, you American bastard.
”

But when she caught sight of Tish’s wandering eyeballs, she had written the first thing that had come to mind and hit
Send
. Now, in retrospect, she hoped the message wouldn’t come across as dry or crass.

She dropped her phone in her bag and decided a few days of silence would be good for both of them. Sometimes, distance and time clarified things. Sometimes, they screwed up everything.