Sixteen Dominic
Sixteen
Dominic
“D ominic, over here!” several reporters yell as I exit the limousine at the Atlanta headquarters of my clothing brand, Dominic . I’m here for the debut of the new menswear collection. It’s a happy reprieve from Arizona after the encounter with Teagan went sideways a few days ago. Coming to this party is what I need to get my mind off the siren.
Besides which, Dominic is a labor of love. It’s a luxury line for the discerning buyer who wants to look fashionable in tailored men’s clothing. I started it a few years ago when buzz about me was at a fever pitch after I won four consecutive Grand Slams. I could do no wrong in the public’s eyes, and I decided to capitalize on it.
I stop for pictures and give my profile in several directions. I’m considered one of the greats so the media are still eager for a photo. I came prepared, wearing one of my signature Dominic looks in a blue single-breasted suit with notched lapels and a crisp white shirt open at the collar. I’ve never been one for ties. After the photo op, I depart the red carpet and head inside.
The event tonight will be relatively low-key. The designer, Ian Palmer, a gregarious young fellow who I’ve pretty much given carte blanche to design as he sees fit, approaches me. With dreads down his back, a complexion the color of shortbread, he wears a fitted blue tuxedo but no bow tie. He looks like classic Dominic . We shake hands and I head to my seat, but I see Justice is already there with my agent, Scott.
“Hey, Dom.” Justice rises to his feet and gives me a hug. He was already in town visiting friends and decided to come to the show. “Thanks for the invite.”
“You’re welcome, but it was also to help your business. Tonight will give you access to several athletes. Isn’t that right, Scott?”
My agent is seated to my left while Justice is on my right. “Absolutely. You’ll have male and female athletes attending tonight’s show. They’re all eager to see if Dominic is still on the pulse of what’s relevant with the next generation.”
“So they can take his spot?” Justice asks.
“It’s a dog-eat-dog world,” Scott says. “Lucky for you, you’re only interested in college and junior athletes. The professional arena is a lot more ruthless and we’d be competition.”
“You told Scott about my idea?” Justice asks accusingly.
“Bro,” I begin, and wrap an arm around his shoulder. “In a good way. I was telling Scott what a great idea it was, and if you gave me half a chance, I was going to tell you that I’m very interested in your new venture.”
“And willing to be a silent investor?”
I chuckle. “Not so silent. I can give you valuable insight as a former child athlete,” I respond, “but if you don’t want it…”
“No, no.” Justice shakes his head. “I absolutely want and need your help. And I’m sorry for jumping the gun.”
I nod. “It’s fine. Let me introduce you around.”
The next half hour consists of me taking Justice to meet several current tennis professionals who I’m friendly with on the ATP tour. They always come out every time I have a show. There’s also a couple of football players from Atlanta, a handful of NBA stars and some up-and-coming tennis and women’s basketball players. Justice not only takes the introductions in stride, but collects a few names on his own. I’m impressed with his business savvy. He’s always had a good head on his shoulders. With his big brother to back him up, he’s going to do great things.
The lights blink, indicating we should take our seats, and I prepare to be impressed by seeing the models in what Ian created this season. There’s applause and cheers as piece after piece crosses the runway. The line is stylish and luxurious.
After the show, everyone buzzes about how they can’t wait to purchase the clothing. While Ian soaks in the adoration, I go in search of my brother. He’s deep in conversation with a WNBA star, so I decide to head out but Scott stops me.
“Leaving so soon?”
“You know I don’t like the dog-and-pony show,” I reply. “I do it for the brand.”
Scott chuckles. “Of course you do. I was curious how things were going in Phoenix with Teagan.”
“Not great.”
“So you haven’t hashed things out?”
Talking isn’t what I had in mind the other day. I wanted to fuck her.
“I’d like us to get along,” I respond, not revealing my innermost thoughts. “She’s a member of the Phoenix Country Club and on the tournament committee, not to mention she’s playing again.”
“Is she?” Scott’s eyes light up with excitement. “Could be a great comeback story. Teagan Williams hasn’t picked up a racket in over a decade. It’s newsworthy.”
“I can already see your mind spinning, but you should stop. Teagan hates the press after they crucified her. She would never actively seek their attention. Limit the exposure I receive, okay? I don’t want to spook her.”
“If that’s what you want, I’ll honor it. Maybe you should spend more time together, though. It could help you figure out where things stand. Who knows, you could even play doubles.”
“Doubles?”
A light bulb goes off in my head. If we were forced to play together, Teagan couldn’t get away from me so easily. Our make-out session showed me I only have to light a spark to make her come alive in my arms.
What would she do if I ramped up her competitive streak? Would it bring out her fire and send her to my bed?
There’s only one way to find out. I’m headed back to Arizona.