Page 2 of Advantage Love

"What a disgrace to the sport!"

"Someone needs anger management"

"Remember when she used to actually win matches?"

The worst part? They're not wrong. I haven't made it past the third round of a major in eighteen months. My ranking has dropped from number eight to forty-three.

My coach texts:Press conference in 10. Damage control.

I text back:Not happening.

Avery, you NEED to face this.

I can't. Not yet. Not when I can barely face myself in the locker room mirror. The woman staring back at me looks desperate, and nothing like the confident player who won the French Open three years ago.

Another text buzzes through, this one from an unknown number:Need an agent who can handle the storm? Call me.

I delete it without responding. I've got bigger problems right now than shopping for new representation. Like figuring out how to rebuild a career, or if it's even worth trying.

The locker room door opens, and a tournament official pokes her head in. "Miss Jenkins? The press is waiting."

I grab my bag, already planning my escape through the back exit. "Tell them I said to go to hell."

It's not my smartest move, but then again, I haven't made a lot of those lately. As I slip out into the Melbourne night, my phone keeps buzzing with notifications, each one another reminder that in tennis, like in life, love means nothing.

Chapter 2: Luke

"Jenkins Loses More Than Match: Nike Suspends Partnership"

I lean back in my leather chair, studying the headlines splashed across my monitors. Video clips of Avery's meltdown play on repeat. Most agents would see career suicide. I see opportunity.

"Mitchell." Sandra Peters, my boss, raps on my office door. "Partnership announcements next week. Ramirez just signed that teenage phenom from Spain." She gives me that look I've grown to hate. "What've you got?"

What I've got is a folder of solid but unspectacular clients. Good players. Reliable earners. Nothing that'll make the board sit up and take notice when they're choosing new partners. I was once a tennis star myself, but injuries had sidelines me early, but I had good instincts. I can spot a sports star, and now I had learnt how to handle them.

"Working on something big," I tell her with more confidence than I feel.

She arches an eyebrow. "You better be. We're not looking for safe bets in the partnership track."

After she leaves, I pull up another video of Avery's explosion. This time, I'm not watching the meltdown. I'm watching her move, the fire that made her a champion before everything went sideways.

My mind drifts to Miami, one year ago. A chance meeting at a charity gala. Both of us riding the high of our own personal victories. Hers was winning, mine was signing a huge client. My career as an agent was sky rocking.

She had something about her even then. Something that made me want to stay near her, and it wasn't just the way her black dress hugged every curve, or her perfume that mixed with the ocean air. It might have been her attitude and smart mouth though. She told me I was staring. I told her she telegraphs her moves on court. Her answer was swift.

"And what about now?" Her eyes had challenged me, dared me. "What am I telegraphing now?"

Christ. I shift in my chair, my body hardening at the memory. That night had been explosive. The way she'd pushed me against her hotel room wall, strong hands demanding more. Funny how she thought she was in control. That didn't last though. Soon she moaned my name when I'd pinned her wrists above her head, my mouth lapping every inch of her athlete's body. We'dcompeted even then, each fighting for control until we were both sweat-soaked and gasping.

The next morning, she'd been gone. A text:"Let's keep this professional."Then radio silence.

Professional. Right. Like I haven't gotten hard every time I've watched her play since then, remembering how those powerful thighs had felt wrapped around me.

My phone buzzes with another headline: "Wilson Drops Jenkins Following Australian Open Incident"

I pull up her stats. Former world number eight. French Open champion. Twenty-six years old, prime time for a comeback. The talent's still there, just buried under pressure and expectations. She needs the right motivation, the right management, the right... handling. And I need a client that'll put me on top.

A plan starts to form. Tennis loves a redemption arc. The bad girl finding her way back. Add in a public romance with a former tennis star, turned agent? The media will eat it up. It'll keep her relevant while she rebuilds her game at least.

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