Chapter 4
INDY LOVED GRASS. NOT THE KIND OF GRASS THAT THEY USED to smoke at the skate park back home, but the beautifully maintained green grass courts at the end of OBX’s complex, far away from the clay torture chambers she’d had to use leading up to the French Open.
The frustrating effect that the clay courts had on her serve was reversed almost completely on the finely manicured lawns of the type she’d be playing on in England, and it was a beautiful thing.
Serve after serve, up the middle, out wide, into the body, it didn’t matter.
She was going to wreak havoc on each and every opponent she faced at Wimbledon, and what her serve didn’t handle, her forehand would.
Grass even helped her net game, the surface allowing her feet to travel just a little faster rather than getting bogged down on the clay; she could keep her footing more easily, and a dive for a ball didn’t result in being covered in red gunk or feeling like she’d landed on solid concrete.
It wasn’t soft, but it definitely hurt less.
She’d never had enough appreciation for grass before, but nowadays, it was her favorite thing in the whole world. Her game was made for it.
Her feet shuffled through the bright orange cones, pivoting on a dime, three crossover steps and then a spin, then a full-out sprint to the baseline, leaning over it to shorten her time by another couple of seconds.
“Excellent, Indy,” Dom called as she ran through the agility course.
He turned his stopwatch toward her and she read the time, a smile breaking through the desperate pants for breath, her hands on her hips, sweat running in rivulets down her neck.
Her entire shirt was soaked from the intensity of the workout, but she’d cut even more time off her personal best. This was what she’d dreamed about before she came to OBX, working with Dom, feeling like every second she spent out on the court was one inch closer to being the best tennis player in the world.
“Walk it off, stretch it out, and then grab some water.”
“Let me go again,” she said, swishing some water quickly but moving to the start of the small maze of cones he’d set up at the end of her singles training session.
“You know who you sound like?” Dom asked, the question going unanswered. They both knew. She sounded like Penny, and as far as Indy was concerned, it was pretty much the biggest compliment her coach could give her. “One more time.”
She put her toe on the line, filled her lungs, exhaled slowly, and on Dom’s signal, she ran.
“Heard you have a meeting with Ms. Morneau this afternoon,” Dom said as they gathered up the stray balls from the court.
Indy wiped away the sweat at her temple. “Yeah, she wants to go over some sponsorship stuff.”
“She mentioned something about it. Just…” He trailed off.
“What?” she asked. It was rare that Dom spoke to her about anything beyond what was going on with her game. She knew he shared deeper connections with Penny and Jasmine after training them for so many years, and it was something she wanted for herself, too.
“I know I’ve said this before and I don’t want to get in the middle, but be careful with how much freedom you give her, Indy.
Tennis has to come first or all the stuff that comes with it, well, it won’t be around all that long, if you know what I mean.
I’ve seen people get caught up in it. Hell, I had to learn that lesson the hard way, too. Just keep your eye on the prize.”
“You don’t have to worry about me, Dom. I know what’s really important.” She gestured around her to the court. “This is the only thing that matters.”
And yeah, that included Jack, who understood her priorities without ever having to be told.
“Good.” His eyes narrowed at her, like he was trying to see through her skin. Whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him, because he said, “Go on, then, you’ll be late for your meeting and you know how Caroline loves having her time wasted.”
Heading out from the locker room into OBX’s main atrium, showered, dressed, and running even later than she’d originally thought, Indy flew by the security desk, sending Roy, the facility’s head of security, a quick wave.
As usual, he was buried behind a newspaper, but still somehow managed to see her and raise his hand in greeting.
She found Caroline in one of OBX’s conference rooms, usually used by the coaches for meetings and other official things that needed to be kept confidential. “Sorry I’m late, Dom and I ran over during my session.”
Caroline’s hair was pulled back in a neat twist; her high-collared, sleeveless green silk shirt tucked smoothly into light gray linen pants.
It was a stark contrast to Indy’s cotton shorts and T-shirt.
Her agent tsked, letting her disapproval be known, but then simply gestured to the seat beside her at the long conference table.
“Are you sure it was Dom who delayed you? No one else?”
Indy braced herself for the lecture she’d managed to cut short the day before when Caroline had seen her with Jack. “Yes. It was Dom, and if it hadn’t been Dom, it would still be none of your business.”
“We’ll see.” Caroline arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow. Indy was about to protest again, but Caroline cut her off with a sharp shake of her head. “Let’s get started, then, since we are short on time.”
Large stacks of paper encased in plastic covers, each with dozens of tiny fluorescent-colored sticky notes jutting out of the sides, were laid out on the shiny mahogany surface in front of an empty chair.
Indy sat, staring at them for a moment before she said, “All these companies are interested in me?”
“There are several different piles. These are the companies that have expressed interest and contacted me with offers,” Caroline said, motioning to the first pile.
“Next, companies I reached out to and that have made offers since. The last two are companies that will be interested perhaps after a few more victories and companies that have offered deals we should not concern ourselves with, though I felt it was incumbent on me as your representative to make you aware of such offerings.”
Indy bit her tongue, still not moving her eyes from the table. A soft laugh drew her attention away. She would have called it affectionate if she didn’t know better. “Where do we start?”
Caroline tapped the pile closest to her. “We start here, with the bidding war I have facilitated for your outfitting deal.”
The sides of Indy’s mouth twitched. She was trying to play it cool, but it wasn’t possible to keep the grin down. “Bidding war?”
“Yes, ma chère, a bidding war. Though I must mention, the deals are not quite as lucrative as I had hoped.”
“Okay, why not?”
“It seems, after your most recent display together in France, the usual sponsors are considering you and Randazzo as a package deal. There is nothing in here that comes even close to the offers your friend Penelope was presented with after her win; though Bari is not quite Madrid, the difference is much larger than I would like.”
“So, what you’re saying is the deal like the one Penny has isn’t on the table?”
“Not while the world thinks you are focusing on doubles. Though perhaps if you and Jasmine signed together, then while it would not be exactly the same, you would find it closer to the amount your talents are worth.”
“And how much would that be?”
“Five million dollars annually for your main sponsor, be it Nike or Adidas or perhaps Athleta or even Lacoste. Though I think you would do better with a company that has a more solid foothold in American sporting wear, we should not discount the global market either.”
“Right, okay,” Indy agreed, her mind starting to spin, not really sure what Caroline meant. “Can you explain that?”
Caroline waved a hand at all the offers with a dismissive sniff. “For now, all of this means nothing. You must establish yourself more, and then we will see.”
“Establish myself ?”
“Yes,” Caroline said. “Qualifying to the main draw at Wimbledon and then winning a match or two at minimum. Though a trip to the second week of the tournament, into the third round or the fourth round, if you can manage it, that should do the trick.”
As if Indy needed it explained to her that she should try to stay in the tournament as long as possible.
“Well, that’s always been the plan, so you can let them know it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“There you are,” Indy said, winding through OBX’s quiet work areas, usually occupied by the club’s juniors but basically deserted now that their academic summer break had started. Jack was tucked away at the table in the back corner.
He looked up and the stern line of his mouth softened immediately. “Hey, champ.”
Her mind flashed briefly back to the first time she’d heard him call her that, pressed gently back into that mattress, his mouth firm against hers, their bodies moving together, but she fought against the memory spiral. Now wasn’t the time.
“Wow, that’s a lot of stuff.”
He was surrounded by piles of paper, his laptop open on the desk off to the side.
“Contracts,” Jack muttered, his frown reappearing. “Penny’s the favorite to win Wimbledon, bum ankle and all, and since the Nike commercial started airing, we’ve got about ten times the media requests we had before Paris.”
“The commercial was awesome,” Indy said, pulling a chair up beside him and dumping her bag on the table. “Mind some company?”
“Have a seat. Sponsorships?” he asked, nodding to the folders she pulled out.
“How’d you guess?”
“Wild stab in the dark. How’d the meeting go with the she-devil?”
Indy flinched. “The meeting was fine, but…” She trailed off.
“But…” he echoed.