Love. Set. Match. Read online

  “He’s TWW’s new junior correspondent.” Dera went into her own stretches, her hair falling around her head in a wild mass.

  Anger flaring all over again, Emerson sat on the court, bending over her outstretched leg. “How could he go work for that rat hole of a network? Why did he have to come back in the first place?”

  How long before he started spilling her secrets? She could only imagine him using those nights during her first Olympics as interview fodder. God, Kole shooting off his mouth was bad enough. Rob could make her life hell and do it all on camera.

  “I’m sure Rob won’t hold your past…sparring matches against you. I can certainly see why they hired him. Between his pedigree and good looks, he could be a big numbers boost for them. So much more attractive than Bruno with all that golden Ashton hair and those lean muscles. He wouldn’t look out of place in one of Papa’s movies.”

  Emerson struggled to nod, the knot in her stomach dancing a polka—a really painful polka. Dera didn’t know the truth about her history with Rob. No one did, not even her long-time coach, Zoe, or her grandma. Only her grandpa had known.

  Dera was right about one thing—Rob’s movie star looks made him an ideal candidate for the job. If she pushed through the crashing waves of anger and worry and hurt, she couldn’t deny that the eye-candy factor was off the charts and ideal for a network more focused on gossip than the game. But that didn’t make the situation any better for her.

  Stepping onto the court tomorrow terrified her, more so now than it had when she woke this morning. Playing in her first tournament without Papa Vic broke her heart, but in the last few weeks she’d found a way to push past her grief and focus on the game.

  “I can’t think about him. Or Kole. I came too close to finally winning a Slam last year to let them distract me.” Em angrily threw a ball across the court. “I owe it to Papa Vic to win one this year. To show him everything he did for me wasn’t in vain.”

  Men like Rob and Kole thought the world revolved around them, but she’d prove she wasn’t going anywhere, no matter how many shots they fired at her.

  Chapter 2

  “Ah, Rob, there you are.” The slightly accented tones of the tall, blond local head of production broke through the silence of Rob’s temporary office.

  He glanced up from his phone, smiling at the text his sister had sent him after her match, teasing him about their coverage. “Sorry, Joey. After all morning with Bruno, I needed some breathing room.”

  “Can’t say I blame you. The man is great for ratings, but he does tend to suck up all the oxygen in the room and replace it with hot air.” She flashed him a grin. “But I think we’re ready to give you a chance to do an interview on your own. Bruno’s got a meeting with some of the executives. Now, I know this will be weird for you at first, what with you knowing a lot of the players.”

  “I don’t think it will be.” He tried to sound convincing. He honestly had no idea what it would be like to be on the other side, interviewing the guys he’d once played against, the women his sister still played against.

  “That’s what I like to hear. Unlike Bruno, you’re there to bridge the gap. You know, bring in the reporter and the former star angle; relax the players and have a little fun, but you’ll still need to remain a neutral party. No old rivalries coming to the surface or anything like that, yeah?” Joey straightened the jacket of her smart suit, keen eyes taking inventory of him.

  “No worries. I’ve been out of the game long enough that it shouldn’t be a problem. I’m just a fan now, like everybody else.” He flashed her a grin, one he’d perfected early on in his career. It was the smile of the golden boy of the great Ashton family, world renowned for their tennis prowess. The boy he could never be again. “So who’s my first interview?”

  She wiggled her eyebrows. “It’s a juicy one.”

  “Tell me it’s not Chessa Pavlich,” he teased. “She chews interviewers up and spits them out.”

  “I’m not that cruel.” The producer laughed. “No, you get the elusive Emerson Grace. Everyone’s been trying to get Amir al-Tammar, her agent, to book her, but when I told him you would be her interviewer, he couldn’t say no.”

  She might as well have punched him in the gut. Jesus, the universe had a funny sense of humor. Em as his first professional interview?

  He still couldn’t believe his luck—or was it misfortune?—as he settled into one of the two sleek, boxy chairs they’d set up angled toward the camera in the studio. One of the makeup artists fluttered around him, dabbing at his nose with more powder.

  “I never thought I’d see the day when the great Rob Ashton sat around getting his makeup done.”

  He looked up to see Em standing there, looking as casually beautiful as ever. Seeing her in passing yesterday was nothing like having her standing here before him. A silky top of sunny yellow clung to her slim curves before giving way to dark-blue skinny jeans and those fashionable bootie things his sister loved. His heart sputtered at the sight of her, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to sweep her into his arms. Instead, he stared at her like an idiot until the makeup artist stepped back and he managed to get ahold of his scrambled wits.

  “Hazards of the new job,” he said easily. “It’s good to see you, Emerson.”

  Her stubborn jaw tightened, and he caught the flash of temper he’d grown very accustomed to over the last few years. “Wish I could say the same. I can’t believe you actually had the balls to take a job like this.”

  She sat down in the chair across from him, letting the makeup artist pat her face with powder too. He’d missed the crackle in the air around her, the passion she always kept a tight rein on. He’d sensed it that first time he saw her in the cafeteria of the Athletes’ Village at the London Olympics. She hadn’t realized the effect she had on men—on him—even then. He wondered if she even thought of their time together the way he did.

  “Couldn’t stay away,” he returned. “Are you ready to do this?”

  “No.” She crossed her legs with a snort. “I can’t wait to hear the questions they’ve given you to toss at me. Let me guess, something to do with my relationship with Kole, right?”

  Jealousy flared up again at the mention of Kole, but he tamped down on it as his own anger bubbled to the surface at her insinuations. “They haven’t given me any questions, Em. I—”

  “Don’t call me Em,” she snapped.

  Ah, so she did remember. To everyone else, she was Emerson or Emmy, but to him she’d always be Em. “Fine, Emerson. I’m not here to—”

  “All right, everyone. Let’s get in positions.” Joey’s order interrupted him.

  Biting back a growl of frustration, Rob turned his attention to the people buzzing around them rather than the woman who hadn’t been far from his thoughts every day for the better part of eighteen months.

  “We’re here with Emerson Grace, world number four, fresh off her first match of the season.” He fixed his practiced smile in place as he looked into the camera. “Emerson, I must say it’s good to see you back on the court. It seems like you’re back in fighting form since the injury that side-lined you after the US Open last year.”

  Her own public smile tilted up her lips, never reaching her eyes. “Thanks, Rob. It’s good to be back. I’ve got a great team in my corner, and they all worked hard to help me rehab my knee.”

  “You could hardly tell you missed any time on the court from the looks of the match today. This was your first major injury in your career. Were there nerves about stepping out there again?” He watched her, studying to see if she realized his intent. He had no plans to take things where she—and probably Joey—expected him to. This was his chance to show Em and the other players on the tour that he didn’t intend to fit the TWW mold.

  Em hesitated. “Well, I’d be lying if I said there weren’t a few butterflies. The end of last year was a little rough all around, and it was…strange to be back after everything that happened.”

  Sym
pathy tugged at his heart. He knew how much her grandfather meant to her. Victor Grace had been an unflagging presence on the tour for the last ten years. “I think I speak for everyone here at TWW when we offer you and your brother our condolences on the death of your grandfather. Do you think he’d be proud of your performance today?”

  “I hope so,” she said with a bittersweet laugh. “I’m sure he’d probably offer some armchair coaching on my second serve or on the fact that I let Kaye win three straight games in the second set, but even when he was in the hospital at the end, he was encouraging me to keep pushing through, to get back to the form I was in for most of last year.”

  Good girl. Reveal a little, then pivot. It was the best strategy to hold in her pocket in any interview.

  “Is this your year? Are you going to win a Slam?” he asked, not missing a beat.

  A soft look flitted across her face, a sadness that quickly disappeared behind her mask. “We all hope it’ll be our year to win a Slam, you know that, Rob. But do I feel like I’m ready? Definitely. The time off gave me a chance to really get my head in the game. Zoe’s had me training harder than ever and brought in a lot of different training styles we’ve never used before. As long as I don’t lose focus, one—or maybe even all—of those titles are mine.”

  Looking at the ferocity in her eyes, he believed it. She was a warrior, ready to take on the world. Getting the answer he wanted from her, he led her through the rest of the interview, talking about her trips to the finals in all four Grand Slams the year before, then touching briefly on her second-round match against a wildcard player from Japan.

  “Thank you again for joining us, Emerson. After break, we’ll go to Christiane and Julia with coverage of the final matches of the day at Rod Laver Arena.”

  They stayed in place until the director gave the all-clear sign. Then Em shot to her feet, reaching behind her for her mic pack.

  “Nicely done,” Rob said.

  She gave him a cool look. “Just doing my job, same as you.”

  “Would you like to have drinks with me tonight? Maybe catch up?” The words were out before he could stop them. God, he was an idiot.

  “Drinks? Catch up?” Her body tensed, and temper sparked around her, but she kept her voice quiet so as not to be overheard. “Sorry, I don’t meet socially with members of the press. Besides, the last time I had drinks with you, things didn’t go so well for either of us.”

  With that, she turned on her heel and walked off, hips swaying and heels clicking against the polished studio floor, leaving behind a whiff of lemon and rosemary, her signature scent. Instantly, he ached for her to come back. Hell, he’d ached for her to come back the second they—okay, he—ended things seven years ago, and that ache had lingered despite both of them moving on. He’d missed that, even the sparring, because it meant she was near him. Over the years, their sparring matches had been the only times he felt truly alive when he wasn’t on the court. Everything else had become a habit, a duty. When he was around Em, everything held more depth, more purpose, and he hated to let that go.

  “I knew it,” Joey said from behind him.

  Shit. Had he been that obvious? He’d always been so careful about hiding his feelings for Em. First, because they hadn’t wanted their fledgling relationship put on display, then because he’d made her hate him.

  Fear spiking, he whirled around to face her. “What?”

  “That you’d be totally brilliant at this.” She grinned at him. “That interview was exactly what we’re looking for.”

  “Really?” He frowned at her as he removed his mic. “I thought you’d be pissed that I didn’t bring up Naumov.”

  She winced. “Yeah, we’ll probably get some flak for that from the big bosses, but you read your subject so well. And you still got some personal moments out of her. We can build on that later. Emerson Grace has never been that open with one of our interviewers before.”

  “I just asked her the logical questions,” he said, not meeting Joey’s gaze as he moved past the cameraman. “Emerson’s always been the consummate professional.”

  “Professional, sure, but everyone around here’s always referred to her as an ice princess.” Typing out something on her phone, she shrugged. “But not today. I knew hiring you was the right move. If you can get interviews like that from everyone, we can go really deep, dig into stuff we’ve never been able to get comments on.”

  Warning bells clanged in his head, but he pushed them aside. She wasn’t saying what he thought she was. Was she? “I guess it’s easier for players to talk about their game, about their sport, if they’re talking to someone who’s been in their shoes rather than a former football player.”

  “Exactly. It’s like they’re talking to a friend. A friend they want to spill their guts to.”

  Positively gleeful, Joey turned down the well-lit corridor and sauntered off with Rob glaring after her. Clearly, she was saying what he’d thought. He’d known going into this that TWW’s motives for hiring him weren’t pure, and he’d accepted that. It didn’t mean he had to play along with them. Rob planned to do whatever it took to protect his friends from unnecessary invasions into their privacy, and that went double for Em.

  Chapter 3

  The insistent sound of her phone going off pulled Emerson out of a deep sleep. She’d stayed up late the previous night going to a party hosted by one of her sponsors, and her body craved more rest. Blinking, she squinted at the red numbers on the clock. 5:05 a.m.? Who the hell would call her so early? Outside the curtains, she couldn’t even see a glimpse of dawn starting.

  With a groan, she fumbled around on the nightstand until she grabbed her iPhone and blinked at her agent’s face smiling back at her from the display. “Amir. I know you struggled with the whole different-time-zones thing, and I’m usually up early, but I have a match today, and I was stuck at a party you insisted I attend last night. I was counting on at least another hour of sleep. Why on God’s green earth are you calling me at five in the morning?”

  “Shit. I thought it was six there. Sorry.”

  She groaned, shifting to lay on her back, her eyes squeezed shut, and the phone pressed to her ear. “You’re a middle-aged man. Do I really need to teach you how to use the little world clock app on your phone—again?”

  “Not important right now.” From the tension in his voice, she could almost see him pacing his office, his tie askew and his Armani suit coat slung over the back of a chair. Typically a snappy dresser, he only looked rumpled when someone got one over on him—a rare occurrence. “I’m assuming you haven’t seen the blogs yet? Or the news?”

  She yawned, not even trying to muffle it. “Amir, do I ever see the blogs or the news if you don’t tell me to look?”

  “Right. You need to fix that,” he barked. “We’ve got a problem. A big one. Huge.”

  She struggled to sit up and reached for her iPad. “What site do I need to look at?”

  “Pick one. TMZ. Tennis Beat. Perez Hilton. TWW. All of them have it.”

  She typed in a general search for her name and waited for the slow hotel Internet to load. What the image search delivered woke her up better than a gallon of coffee. “What the fuck? Who did this? How did they get these pictures, Amir?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know. Who took those? Tell me you didn’t pose for them.” He was in full crisis-management mode, so she tried not to get offended by his accusatory tone.

  She struggled to see straight through the typhoon of emotions pelting her. The night she’d let Kole take those pictures appeared in her mind’s eye, as clear as the hotel room around her. She and Kole had been together for three months, and they were still in that fun, sexy honeymoon phase. What had started as a publicity stunt had developed into something more real than she had anticipated. She’d splurged on some La Perla while they were in New York for the US Open, and Kole talked her into modeling the lingerie sets for him.

  “I…Kole took them. In August. We were…I told him to
delete them after. It was supposed to be for fun.” Tears stung the backs of her eyes and clogged her throat. Shame and fear and the now familiar waves of hurt slammed into her. “How did this happen? Did Kole release them?”

  Amir let out a long breath. “Too soon to know. I’m working on tracking it down now. I needed to confirm that they were authentic and not photoshopped. Jesus, Emmy. How could you do this?”

  “Really, Amir? How could I do this? That’s what you want to say?” Acidic bile crawled its way up, choking her almost as much as the emotion. “The privacy of a young woman you’ve represented for ten years is violated, and you really want to blame her when some jackass—a jackass you advised her to date—releases pictures of her in her underwear for the whole world to see?”

  Thankfully, he didn’t immediately respond. Otherwise, she might be minus an agent/publicist while she was in the middle of a PR crisis of epic proportions. “Fuck. Sorry, Emmy. This just…out of all my clients, you’re the last person I expected to have a sex scandal. In this day and age, I thought you would know better than to let someone take pictures like that. Anyone could hack into the cloud or find a lost phone, or hell, post them out of revenge.”

  For a man who didn’t know how to differentiate time zones, he certainly knew a lot about posting dirty pictures in the digital age. And he had a point. She curled her knees to her chest, wishing like hell the water beside her bed could turn into a big shot of vodka instead.

  “I—I wasn’t thinking. I never imagined anyone but Kole would see them. I thought that he deleted the damn things after we broke up.” She rubbed her forehead. “What do I do? I have a match in…six hours and a press conference after that. How do I go out there with this hanging over my head? And oh God, what about my sponsors? They’re going to flip over this, aren’t they?”

  “You’re a trooper, Emmy. You go out there, you play your match, and you avoid the cameras. Let me worry about the press and your sponsors. By game time, I’ll have some talking points worked out for you, and I’ll clear it with the tour’s press people to pull you out of there.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry this happened, baby doll. You’re a good kid, and you don’t have to tell me that some of this is my fault. I didn’t expect the Naumov thing to spiral this bad.”