Chapter 2
Inés
What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Paranoid—The Beaches
“What do you mean they’ve dropped me?” I sat straight up in the leather chair, feeling smaller than I ever had in the wood-panelled office
of my longtime manager.
I’d flown to the States, returning to New York ahead of the summer hard-court tournaments.
But opposite me, Selene let out a heavy sigh. “ELITE didn’t renew the contract.”
“So, I have . . .” I sank back, trying to remember who was left. At one time, it had been countless; now it was harder to
keep track of who was still working with me. “Two sponsors left?”
“None.”
My brows shot up. “None?”
Selene shook her head. “ELITE was the last. The other contracts finished earlier this year.”
My chest tightened and a familiar sting of shame crept up my spine. Over two years ago, they’d been lining up to plaster their
branding over every inch of me, of my team. Anything for a bit of my airtime.
“Tennis’s Hottest Player” they’d called me. “The Next Big Thing.”
Except the next big thing had lasted only weeks after Roland-Garros before injury had kicked in. One moment, I was everywhere; the next, I was forgotten. In two years, I’d spent longer on the bench than I had on the court.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Selene’s head tilted to the side, a sad expression across her face. “I didn’t want to psych you out before Wimbledon. I was
hoping if you did well, then we’d be able to drum up some more sponsorships.” Her voice softened, almost apologetic.
I’d signed with her eight years ago when I was seventeen. She’d managed my entire professional career. Through the highs and
the lows, Selene had always been by my side.
Selene paused for a moment, calculating her words. “The supplement brand, SmartServe Gummies, is still interested.”
“No,” I said firmly.
“It’s a good deal,” she pressed. “It’s your only offer.”
“They are frauds,” I said. “These supplements can’t do anything that they claim.”
“Inés . . .” she said. “Without a sponsor, it’s going to make paying for all of this incredibly difficult.”
Her words hung in the air like a weight. I clenched my fists under the table, thinking of the growing pile of medical bills,
the money I’d been sending home to my family, and my quickly dwindling bank account.
Mi familia. The thought wrapped around me tightly. This was supposed to be for them, but all it did was take me farther and farther from home.
“How much longer can I survive? I’ll work with anyone.” She raised an eyebrow at me. “Almost anyone.”
“Months. If that. And that’s not including any future medical bills you might have.” Her words cut me like a knife. “And that’s
with the bare-minimum team. You know how quickly these expenses add up.”
She was right. Between my coach, a hitting partner, fitness trainer, physiotherapist, nutritionist, sports psychologist, and the entire PR team who handled the huge task of my social media, keeping everyone on really added up. I couldn’t even blame them for
being expensive. Each person was a cog in the fragile machine of my career.
I was lucky I didn’t outright pay Selene. But then again, a slice of nothing didn’t really come to much.
“Are there really no other options?”
She shook her head. “We can try to drum up something you’re happier with. Let’s go over your schedule for the next few days.”
“I’m supposed to be out in the Hamptons with my friends; there’s a charity tennis event.”
I’d been dying to get away. A long weekend of friends, sun and beach. It felt like my first opportunity to unwind all year.
While I’d been keeping Henrik at arm’s length since he started dating Chloe, it would be nice to have some extended time to
reconnect without her around. I’d missed our friendship.
Selene looked brighter at my information. “Okay, that could be some good press. Who are you going with?”
“Henrik will be there. And Scottie, Dylan, their partners . . .”
“They both are really popular at the moment. The media is obsessed with Scottie and her brand.”
I swallowed my discomfort at boiling down one of my closest friends to her social media metrics. “Yeah, we’ve known each other
for a while.”
“Do you think you could get them to tag you in their socials? Maybe you can increase your visibility; you never know what
offers might come in from being around them.”
I bit my lip. “I don’t like the idea of using my friends like that.”
Even saying it made my stomach churn. They’d been there for me during some of my worst moments. It felt wrong to use them
for something like this.
“Ask them. I’m sure they’d be happy to help you out,” she pushed.
“Technically, they’d be helping their competition,” I pointed out, hoping it was enough of a counter argument to end this.
“And their friend,” Selene stressed. “The best you can do is ask. I know Scottie has a big sponsorship with ELITE, but Dylan has a few different
ones. It could even be as much as catching their attention or upping your follower count.” She clearly read the remaining
discomfort across my face. “It’s this or the gummies.”
“Fine, I’ll try it,” I reluctantly agreed. My mind raced, already dreading how I’d frame this task without sounding desperate.
“Who are ELITE moving on to anyway?”
Selene shrugged. “I’m not sure yet, but I’ve heard it’s a huge launch they are doing in the next few days. I thought maybe
Jasmine Carter or Ruari Reilly but only time will tell.”
I sighed, resigning myself to the ruthlessness of the industry.
“See what you can do this weekend. Maybe as you carry on with the tour, you’ll get some more offers.”
“Hopefully.” I sighed. “When does SmartServe need an answer?”
“By the end of the month. You have time to see what you can do,” she answered. “But if there’s nothing, do I have your permission
to accept?”
My chest tightened at the thought, but I didn’t have much of a choice. Reluctantly, I nodded. “But the minute anything else
comes up, call me.”
“Absolutely. Anything for my favorite client.”
“Aw, I bet you say that to all of us.”
“Of course not.” She swiped her hand at me. “Besides, how many other clients keep me on my toes like you do?”
I offered a weak smile, but the discomfort wouldn’t budge. The thought of using my friends multiplied the churning in my stomach.
I had to make it to the US Open, and I had to up my ranking if I stood a chance of getting my tennis seed to a comfortable
entry level. With my wrist feeling better after Wimbledon, the time for failure had passed; these next few days would be my
one chance to breathe.
“Try and have fun,” she said, her voice turning soft. “I know things have been hard recently.”
“I’ll try.” I pushed myself out of my chair. “And I promise to try the social media thing.”
“I’ll do everything I can on my end. The smallest whiff of a sponsorship and I’ll hunt it down to the ends of the earth for
you.”
“Thanks, Selene.” I quickly said my goodbyes, allowing her to carry on with her busy day.
As I stepped out into the sunny street, I started counting down the time until I left for the Hamptons. I was in desperate
need of a vacation.
The fight I’d felt yesterday, the strange thrill I’d gotten from watching Chloe Murphy crumble on court, still lingered, like
a spark refusing to die. That weakness I’d seen in her had felt like a thread of hope, one now slightly frayed from the reality
of my situation.
But I knew I could still do it. I had to. That drive to survive kept my focus sharp. These next months would be far from easy,
but I knew that failure was not an option.