Page 24 of Advantage Love

“Taming her.” Those two words echoed in my head. I gripped the steering wheel harder, my knuckles white as I tried to keep my emotions in check.

That idiot. My boss didn’t know shit about Avery.

Now, because of that stupid call, she was freezing me out. I glanced at her. She was hurt.

And the worst part? I couldn’t blame her. I wasn’t supposed to fall for her.

This whole thing had started as a business deal, but somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling fake. For me atleast. I didn’t want to let her slip through my fingers again like she did after Miami.

She wasn’t just another client. She wasn’t just a means to an end.

She was Avery. And now I had to fix this.

First, I am going to watch her dominate on the court, before, hopefully, I do the same to her tonight.

***

The sun was relentless, beating down on the stadium, but Avery was focused.

She was poetry in motion. The sharp crack of the ball against her racket echoed across the court, and the crowd responded with cheers, their energy electric.

This was her domain, her battlefield, and today she owned it.

I leaned forward in my seat; elbows braced on my knees as I watched her deliver another flawless serve. Her opponent scrambled to return it, barely keeping pace as Avery advanced on the net.

“Come on,” I murmured under my breath, gripping the edge of my seat.

Her opponent faltered, sending the ball just wide of the line. The umpire called it out, and the crowd erupted into applause. Avery didn’t smile or react. She simply turned and strode back to the baseline.

This was the Avery the world saw, but I knew the truth. The way she’d been in my arms, her body soft and warm, her gasps and moans echoing in my ears. She’d been vulnerable, open, so utterly herself—and now, watching her here, she was a completely different person.

Another rally began, the exchange fast and brutal. Avery’s movements were precise, her footwork flawless as she sent her opponent chasing down shots. The poor girl looked exhausted, her frustration evident in every rushed swing of her racket. Avery, on the other hand, was calm, her expression neutral.

The final game of the match was over in minutes, Avery’s dominance absolute.

She stood at the net, shaking hands with her opponent and the umpire before turning to acknowledge the crowd. The applause was deafening, a mix of cheers and whistles, and I saw more than a few people holding up signs with her name on them.

She gave a small wave, her smile polite but restrained, before heading toward the bench to grab her bag. I leaned back in my seat, watching as she slung her bag over her shoulder and walked off the court, her head held high.

She was back.

The Avery Blake the world had fallen in love with, the media darling who’d been written off after her meltdown, was back on top where she belonged.

And damn it, I was proud of her. Still, the knot of tension in my chest refused to loosen. I wasn’t supposed to fall for her, but watching her now, I knew it was already too late.

She was it for me.

Now I just had to convince her to believe it too.

The fundraiser tonight was my chance. Tonight, I was going to tell her. No holding back, no carefully crafted words. She needed to know how I felt, and I wasn’t leaving that party until I made her listen.

***

I was straightening my tie in the mirror, trying to push back the nerves that had no business being there, when I heard the click of her heels.

When I turned around, I froze.

Avery stood in the doorway, her dress a shimmering cascade of midnight blue that hugged every curve and fell to the floor. The neckline was low, just enough to tease, while the slit up the side revealed a tantalizing glimpse of her toned leg with every step she took.

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