Page 92 of The Challenger

Rodrigo mutters something in Spanish that rings with quiet desperation.

Morgan’s lovely manicured fingers turn white as he clutches the railing in front of us.

June and Vandana each lay a hand on my leg, both women eerily still.

I bury my face in my hands.

I know it’s just a game—there will be more matches and opportunities. But there have been too many losses. The lost years with Cori and Edgar; the loss of the tennis career I chose not to fight for. Losing Hamilton, and the final, painful loss of knowing the truth about Ava. Positives are on the horizon, more than I can count, and that should be enough, but after five exhausting hours and enough acid in my throat to fill a bathtub, I cannot watch Chavez lose.

ChapterThirty-Six

“Did you see it?”Vandana squeals. “It’ssooocute!”

“Hold on,” I say, juggling my coffee, phone, and hotel key card. “I just got back to our room.”

I shoulder the door open, set my coffee aside, and am floored at how many new texts have landed since I last checked. Chavez and his incredible comeback win yesterday set the world abuzz. His phone must be spewing flames.

I open Vandana’s text and burst out laughing. “Oh my God. Chavez is going to love this. I’m sending it to him right now.”

What to say when you become a trending GIF on Twitter? Chavez scrambled into the player box post-win yesterday and went to town with me. Full dip kiss with tongue and an ass grab. File underAww.

“How did today go?” Vandana asks. “He must be exhausted.”

Last night’s celebration rolled into the wee hours of the morning, and Chavez was up early for a full day of press commitments. I joined him for the first leg, being shuttled around Paris to be photographed with the trophy. He’s finishing up the last of several interviews, and I’m back at the hotel to chill.

“He’s running on fumes, so I expect a full crash.”

She slurps into my ear, and I'm putting ten bucks down it's a Red Bull. The beverage of choice for hard-partying socialites. “Last night was such a blast. I’ve never seen Morgan so drunk.”

We raised a few eyebrows in Pur’, an elegant, Michelin-starred restaurant. They expected a monied group of well-behaved citizens and not a rowdy celebration party. Rodrigo, Vandana, and I danced like teenagers; June downed champagne like it was water; and Morgan paraded around with Chavez, three sheets to the wind and handing out cigars like Chavez was his firstborn.

“Is he conscious?” I ask. “He and June must have swilled three bottles of champagne between them.”

Vandana cackles. “Barely. The plan is to lay low tonight and give you two some private celebration time. But let’s do lunch tomorrow before we fly home.”

Home. I look out the window with a smile. For Vandana, Monaco is home now. Something June has slowly come to terms with. Which reminds me…

“Did June say anything else to you before she left?”

We both received a cryptic text from June early this morning. She flew back to LA to deal with a work emergency, and when we pressed for details, she said she couldn’t talk about it.

“No,” Vandana replies, and I can hear her concern. “But I suspect it has to do with her business partner in this new deal. He sounds slimy.”

We devote the next ten minutes to unpacking what may or may not be happening. Her latest project has taken a toll on June mentally, and it might finally be the thing that encourages her to slow down. She is a multi-millionaire who doesn’t have to work anymore, but the thrill of a company succeeding is her version of cocaine addiction. Chavez and I fly back to LA tomorrow night, and I promise Vandana to get the full scoop and report back.

After we hang up, I grab my laptop, get comfortable on the bed, and comb through two day’s worth of unattended emails. Most surprising are the congratulatory wishes from fans via my Flynn Dryden website who have been following my path with Chavez. I never knew how many of them were such rabid fans.

And there is one email that my lawyer, Jax, sent on Friday. No subject. I open it, breathe hope into my lungs, and skim the few lines.

Flynn,

Lots to gossip about but long story short, Nathaniel got fired! You are good to go. I know you are busy in Paris, but call me when you have a minute.

Jax

It isn’t beneath me to fist pump with a,Yes!Nathaniel wanted the rights to my mystery, claiming it as the book I contractually owed. Jax pushed back, insisting a fiction book did not fall under the same terms. A drawn-out court battle was the last thing I wanted, and now that Nathaniel got the boot, I’m free to start shopping my finished novel. Chavez will be thrilled. But where the hell is he? His interviews were supposed to wrap up at one, and it’s now half past two. No texts. No nothing. But I’m not going to be that girl, creeping on him on the biggest day of his life, so I go back to reading and purging emails.

Brandon sent a note of congratulations, and I will pass it along, but I delete his email right away. That chapter is over. It took a lot of pushing on my part before Chavez thanked him for his assistance, and he did it on his terms. Text only, no call, and after, he requested that we forget all about Brandon. To be fair, I did send him an autographed book. Without his help, Jerry might still be running loose and Chavez would not be the current French Open champion.

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