Page 18 of Match Point

Arms crossed, he followed her into the kitchenette. “Anything in that statement that shows a pattern? Let me give you a hint. It’s the word I.”

Even narrowing her eyes hurt. “Like it or not, this is about me. This is all about me and my career.”

“There you’re wrong. The real world isn’t about I, it’s about we. You have thousands of people who depend on you for their livelihood. You have a company that depends on you, people who sew your product, sell your product, market your product. Our agency is counting on you. All of this has been built around you and the sport of tennis. If you continue to piss off the right people in the Tennis Federation enough times, you’ll tarnish your reputation so much, you’ll be blackballed.

“I don’t need you to remind me of that, Leo.” Her temper deflated and she opened the cabinet door. “If I were a man, they wouldn’t say shit and you know it.”

“No, there is no denying that women are treated differently than men. But you’re not a man,” he said. The words were spoken in a softened tone, one that set her in high alert. He’d kissed her back, but he’d turned down her invitation after he’d taken her home. Maybe he didn’t think she was attractive? The thought hurt more than it should have.

One look at the near empty shelves and she sagged against the countertop. “We can discuss this later. There’s no coffee and I need to go back to bed.”

She slipped by him and caught a whiff of aftershave. The same scent she’d inhaled when she’d kissed his neck, exploring his strong jaw.

“Sorcha, I’m serious. You need to pack your shit. We need to leave.”

“Leo, why are you always so intense? We don’t have a schedule.” Patience. She was used to setting her own schedule. Being the best allowed you that luxury. Yet she was no longer the best. She’d lost her standing, and while the narcissistic part of her hated it, the woman who’d lost her dad couldn’t give a shit. There was more to life than success and fame. Family meant everything, and she’d lost the only parent she’d ever known. Now she was in search of the family she never knew she had, but the road would be a rocky one. Either she’d find a smooth path or fall into an emotional hole that she might never climb out of.

“I’m not going to beg you to do the right thing. You have fifteen minutes to decide or I’m leaving without you.” He turned and exited the room, his rigid back disappearing down the hallway.

“You. Are. So. Annoying.” She gritted her teeth until the throb in her temples increased. Screw it. She’d find someone else to represent her, or she’d quit. She was rich enough to retire.

What about Miller?

She raked a hand through her hair. It was a stupid plan; one she’d hatched out of loss and desperation. Thus far, she’d found out nothing about Raina other than she was Howler’s wife, the attorney for the Pioneers. If Trent had known about any change of her professional status, he neglected to say anything. Or perhaps he did so out of caution. Raina was his friend and Sorcha was a mere acquaintance.

Yet the rumor she’d heard over the past year were that Miller had stepped down and Raina was running the franchise. What was it about her that instilled his trust? He was a player. Perhaps she was having an affair with him. It wasn’t unheard of, especially with that man. He owned the Scandal, a rag-mag that delighted in trolling her whenever it got the chance. It was public knowledge that Miller kept many mistresses all over the world, women he’d sired children from. She was one of them. Her mother was an Irish exchange student when she became pregnant with Sorcha.

Would Howler put up with his wife having an affair? He didn’t seem the type but then again, he wasn’t exactly an angel. Quite the opposite. In the words of one of her favorite historical romance writers, there was no better husband than a reformed rake.

Leo wasn’t cut from the same cloth as Howler. Somehow, she imagined he’d be awkward around women, although he had the looks to pull off the strong, silent type. He was a great kisser; she’d give him that. She released a nervous laugh and regretted the action. Moving into the bedroom she stopped and stared at the bed. Every bit of her wanted to climb beneath the sheets but she veered to the closet instead.

She was in this for the long haul, hangover or not.

Sighing, she began to pack.

Chapter Fourteen

Leo tapped the steering wheel and watched the clock. The minute hand turned on the half hour and he sighed. His ultimatum hadn’t worked, and he wasn’t about to wait around to risk further humiliation. He put the car into drive and made it to the end of the driveway when she pounded on the window.

Biting back a triumphant grin, he put on the brake and popped the trunk. She threw a suitcase and tennis duffle into the back and hopped into the passenger seat. She twisted and buckled her seat belt, the curve of her breast visible above the neckline of her sports bra. Those same breasts had pressed into his chest, firm and round, when she’d kissed him. He averted his gaze and put the car into gear, suppressing a tinge of unwelcome lust. Her hair was in a haphazard ponytail and the ends brushed his hand on the gearshift while she shoved her purse onto the floor.

“You know, I fucking hate you for this, right? You could have had the decency to wait.” She straightened, her movement sending out the faint hint of toothpaste. Would she taste like sweet mint instead of cinnamon like she had the previous night?

“You were late. I said fifteen minutes and I gave you five more for leeway.” He accelerated onto the main road and cut across to the freeway exit. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it was rude to make someone wait?”

“Of course, but in my defense, you didn’t give me much warning.” She stared out the passenger window, profile to him. Her skin was pale with traces of a flush across her face where sleep still lingered.

“I gave you a fifteen-minute warning,” Leo said, daring her to contradict him.

Sorcha wrinkled her nose. “It’s also rude to give someone fifteen minutes to pack. Especially when that person is your boss.”

She was correct in a technical sense. He met her amused stare and shook his head. “Do you really want to play that game? You’re the one who pushed your way into the agency because you claim you want to be back at the top. If that’s the case and you’re not just blowing smoke up my ass, then you need to be serious about your workout.”

Far from offended, she merely grinned and zipped up her jacket. “I was just pointing out the obvious, and if I weren’t serious about my workout, I would have stayed in bed. Or had a massage, or better yet, a spa day. I have a chip in my nail and could use a massage.”

Her body all warm and sultry beneath a white sheet, ready to be rubbed down. Stop doing this to yourself. She’s being rude and you’re thinking with your dick. “I can’t help you there.”

“Howler said you’d take care of things for me, and since we’re on the subject, I expect coffee, black, with a muffin for breakfast every morning. I prefer blueberry but I’ll take whatever is fresh.”

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