Page 9 of Long Shot

François marched past her and opened the balcony doors, the sounds of Paris flooding into the room. Following behind him, Taylor walked out on the private balcony. Straight ahead was an unobstructed view of the Eiffel Tower.

“Room service will bring up breakfast for you at your request. Mrs. Young sent ahead an order.” François checked his mental list for any details he may have missed. But after nearly three decades of attending to Taylor as she ran through the halls of the Hotel George V, he had it pretty down pat.

He leaned closer to Taylor, a conspiratorial smile creeping onto his face. “But as usual, if you’d like to order something that’s not on her preapproved menu, feel free to call me at any time.”

Taylor smirked at him, patting his shoulder more roughly than she meant to. “You’re the best, Frank.”

Taking his cue, François made his way out of the suite. Taylor let out the breath she’d been holding once the door closed. Pacing around the suite, she wandered toward the bedroom.

When she walked in, a massive, off-white package with a black, silk ribbon tied around it was set out on the king-sized mattress. She recognized it immediately: her kit for the open. Sliding her finger underneath the flaps of the clothing box, Taylor revealed a simple black outfit.

A short tennis skirt was accompanied by a matching, black tank top. The familiar check logo was front and center. They had been her sponsor for a long time, and her commercials for them alone paid all of her bills.

Prize money had become a bonus.

Tossing the package on the floor, Taylor sauntered into the bathroom. Surrounded by mirrors and gold trim, a massive, standalone tub with a wood wrap sat in the center of the room. She ran her finger along the cold porcelain, looking out of the windows just a few feet away toward the Eiffel Tower.At least it’s a nice view for a cold plunge.

Taylor stood in front of the double vanity, looking from her own reflection to the empty, second sink. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t tear her eyes from it. Memories of summer camp flashed in her mind – dirty outhouses and communal showers.

But one detail stuck out. Mackenzie’s face. They had spent that summer attached to each other’s hips.

Shaking her head, Taylor let her hand slam against the marble countertop. A light sting ran from the side of her hand up her arm. “Shit,” she muttered. It was her racket hand. Kim would kill her if she ended up with an injury right before Roland Garros.

Taylor lifted her head and took a deep breath as she stared herself down in the perfectly buffed mirror.

Her gaze softened as her mind wandered.I wonder if she’ll be here.

Taylor’s alarm startled her awake at the same time as a loud banging came from the front door. The clock on her phone read 5:30 am. “Just a second, Mom,” she hollered as she rolled out of bed.

She slipped on a pair of clean bikini briefs and an oversized hoodie as she stumbled down the hallway. By the time she unlatched the lock, Kim was already pushing the door open.“You’re running late.” She whipped past Taylor and into the suite. As she walked down the hallway, Kim peeked through each doorway.

“Mom, what?” Taylor gawked. “Do you think I hired a sex worker or something?”

Kim turned on her heels and glared at her daughter. “This isn’t a joke, Taylor. You know how important the pretournament rules are.”

Taylor doubted any parent on the planet had a more detailed report of their child’s sex life. But Kim had made it her business ever since that summer. There was no room for Taylor to slip up — not without an army of lawyers and a few dozen NDAs.

Satisfied with the thoroughness of her search, Kim leaned against the French doors in the living room, looking out over Paris. “This room does have a better view.”

“I told you,” Taylor shrugged.

Kim laughed, her anxiety easing for a moment. But like a tsunami, it flooded back in as soon as she checked the time. “You need to watch the qualifiers today. I want you to see your competition. When you’re done, we’ll train.”

Taylor scoffed. “Mom, those players aren’t a threat. Anyone worth worrying about is already qualified.” The top 100 players were guaranteed a spot in the Grand Slams. Only players with lower rankings had to participate in qualifier rounds. If they could manage to win three matches in a row, they’d earn a spot in the first round bracket for the tournament proper.

Raising an eyebrow at her daughter’s dissent, Kim’s lips turned to a light snarl. “At one point, Serena Williams had to qualify. And so did Osaka. And so did you.”

Taylor sucked her teeth before relenting. “Fine. Who am I watching?” It wasn’t a hill worth dying on. Besides, Kim might be right; someone new might end up making it to the finals.

“Whoever you’d like.” Kim nodded before zipping past Taylor and heading out of the suite just as quickly as she came.

Once peace was restored to the room, Taylor made her way to the walk-in closet and selected an outfit. She’d be forced to wear short skirts for the next two weeks, so she selected an elegant pair of pleated trousers. Each pleat led straight to her waist.

On top, she decided on a cropped, cotton polo. The off-white paired perfectly with the beige of her trousers. As she checked her reflection in the mirror, the light outline of her toned abs peeked out just over the top of her pants.

Her chest tightened as she thought about the day to come. If she knew anything about Mackenzie Bennett, it was that she would be in these qualifiers. Her stomach twisted at the thought of Mac’s warm, hazel eyes training in on her.

A part of her wanted Mac to see her, to see just how far she’d come, to see that the sacrifice had been worth it. But as she looked around the penthouse suite, Taylor’s heart pounded.Was it?

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