Page 3 of Match Point

Sighing, he accepted some paper towels from Belle and wiped off his shoes before he trailed behind the disappearing couple. Using all his military discipline to ignore the coffee-soaked pant legs against his abused skin, he entered the office and shut the door.

“I’d like to talk to you alone, I… what I have to say is confidential.” She stared pointedly at Leo, who retrieved some cold water bottles from the small refrigerator in the board room. He kept his expression neutral; the years of being in the army were paying off big-time today. What he wouldn’t give to leave for the night, have a few cold beers, and exchange IM’s with a Kat, a woman Howler’s wife, Raina, had fixed him up with. He was about to realize his dream when Sorcha showed up and put a damper on his plans.

Howler waived a dismissive hand and indicated she sit to his right. Leo served the drinks before taking his own seat at the end of the table. As far away from her as he could get. She disturbed him in so many ways, it was hard to pick one.

“Leo can be trusted. Everything that’s said in the room will be kept in this room.”

Leo waited for her answer, torn between wanting to leave and staying to hear more.

“That’s fine,” she said, not looking at Leo. She twisted the top on the bottle. Her nails were long and tipped with white, her hands delicate looking. Deceptive, like her. Her serve was clocked at one hundred and twenty-nine miles per hour.

“I have to admit, you caught me off guard. I’m curious as to why you’re here.” Howler said.

Leo opened his notebook computer and entered his password. Focus on work and not how silky her hair had been between his fingertips, fiery like her personality. The internet popped up and he typed in her name. Articles, ten deep, on the first page populated the search engine and he scrolled through them with his good eye. Her earlier behavior was reflected in the numerous articles. The top few were from a recent tabloid story and it wasn’t a pretty sight.

If what was reported proved true, she had an attitude problem. She wouldn’t be the first top athlete to have one. His shoulders sagged in disappointment. Her persistence had been impressive, and she was quick on her feet. She was also high-profile. Which begged the question, why was she so insistent on seeing Howler and with such urgency?

None of your business. He linked the Bluetooth to the projector screen and sent a text. Howler was the one who had to work with her. Leo was his assistant—a temporary position until he decided on his next career move.

Except he’d been doing the job for two years.

Howler’s phone dinged and he checked the screen, frowned, and then offered Leo a curt nod. “Let me get this straight. You’re choosing to leave your current representation—that you’ve been with for over eleven years—to come to my agency because…?”

“Because you tried to recruit me at the European Open and I liked what you had to say.” Sorcha leaned back in her seat, her long hair drifting down her shoulders, curling slightly at the ends. She crossed her legs, the heel of her sandal dangling off her foot. Confidence had exuded from her in the lobby but there was tenseness in her face now that hadn’t been there before.

Something was up with her, and instinct told Leo to dig deeper to find out more.

He shot off a quick email to a friend of his who worked at her previous agency and read through another tabloid, screenshotting the headline. A pattern started to emerge, along with a hard truth. An email reply popped up and he had the answer to his earlier question. She was trying to get ahead of the curve. Signing her wasn’t his decision, it was Howler’s. As his assistant, the best thing he could do would be to give the man the tools to make an informed decision. Disappointment couldn’t begin to cover what he felt at the moment, because as infuriating as she’d been, he’d admired her fortitude.

If it were true. Everybody deserved the benefit of the doubt, even Sorcha.

Chapter Three

Sorcha ignored the man in the back of the room and studied Howler. Thirty-something, he was attractive, with dark hair and nice eyes. And he was married to Raina, the Pioneers’ attorney.

A smile played around his lips. “I recall you declining, yet here you are.”

He knew. Otherwise he wouldn’t be playing coy. Holy hell. News traveled fast. She faked a smile and pushed back the inner quaking. After two disappointing years and many fights, she’d parted ways with her longtime agent. Not that it should come as a surprise. Athletes changed agents all the time.

She had a successful athletic apparel line and a huge fan base. “Your agency has been signing quite a few women. I like where it’s heading, and I want to be a part of its future. I want a fresh start. New coach, new publicist, new agent, the whole retinue.”

Howler studied her for a long moment, and she kept eye contact, not daring to give in to the desire to look away first. She had to project self-assurance if she had any hope of pulling this off.

He picked up his phone and hit a button. The monitor on the wall came to life with a picture of her under the headline: “Tennis Court Princess storms off court.” The byline read: Her coach says enough. .

She glared at Leo. This was his doing. He was sabotaging her from the start. But why? To research a potential client for his boss like a dedicated assistant should. Except he was digging up dirt on her and she didn’t like it. The tabloid pictures were one of the ugly truths about being in the limelight and the nickname Tennis Court Princess was one she’d coined for herself when she was fourteen, a child with her first taste of fame. “That’s an exaggeration. She was a drill sergeant who had it in for me because her boyfriend was handsy.”

Howler flicked a button and another article came up. “Tennis Court Princess loses multimillion-dollar endorsement deal? Tacky headline, but effective if you’re selling trash magazines.”

“It was a tampon company. I don’t see them sponsoring a man. How cliché can you get?” Evade and deflect, never let them see your weakness.

“They sell feminine hygiene products, but that’s a moot point. Every single woman I represent would kill to get that particular sponsor or any one of the other dozen that you’ve lost this year alone.”

“Eighteen total,” Leo said, his clinical voice devoid of the smirk she was certain he wanted to add.

She curled her fingers into her palm. She was still a top-ranking female tennis player. He should be jumping at the chance to represent her. “Then give them the bloody money, I don’t need it.”

“That’s unfortunate because I do. Or I would if I represented you. Which I don’t.”

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