Page 118 of Drop Shot
WHIMSY
It’sthe first day of Wimbledon—arguably the biggest of the majors. It’s rooted in tradition and the one event most people know even if they don’t know tennis. The moment I step out of the car, though, Jackson is there.
He crooks a finger for me to join him.
“Hey, what’s up?” I ask, hoping I sound calm, cool, and collected and not like I’ve been letting my not-so-fake-anymore boyfriend fuck my brains out.
“One of the WAGs is working with Tennis Network for social media interviews. They want to have her talk to you about Elias.”
“Oh, okay. When?”
“Right now.” He pinches his brow. “Which means I have no time to practice with you or give you any kind of debrief. You’re going to have to wing it. Do you think you can handle that?”
As much as I don’twantto do it, this is what I was hired to do—help Elias’s reputation.
“Yeah, of course.” I sound more confident than I feel. I don’t have any media training, and with the podcast Elias and I were together. This will be me doing it solo.
“All right. Follow me.”
His shoulders sag and I follow after him.
He leads me to one of the Skyview Suites overlooking Centre Court. I assume the network has paid to rent out the suite for the interviews as well as their execs.
“Who’s interviewing me?” I ask Jackson as someone mics me up.
“Quinn Riley,” he answers me. She’s American but engaged to an Australian player. “Have you met her before?”
“A few times.”
Only in passing. I don’t think I’ve ever had a proper conversation with her, just a hello here and there.
“Good,” he says, straightening the bottom of his shirt. “Remember to talk up Elias when you can but don’t make it too obvious. If she gives you an opportunity though, jump on it.”
“I can do that.” I try to sound as confident as possible to ease some of Jackson’s obvious stress. I don’t exactlylovethe guy, but his job can’t be easy.
“I have to run,” he says with obvious distress. I’m sure he’s afraid I’m going to fuck this up. “Are you okay here?”
“I’m good.” I give him a thumb’s up that I hope is more reassuring than it probably is.
They’ve just finished doing a sound test on my mic when Quinn breezes into the room. She’sgorgeous—the kind of stunningly beautiful that has everyone nearby turning to look. Crimson hair cascades down her back and her pastel blue dress hugs all of her curves. She smiles in my direction and waves before heading over.
“Hi.” She extends her hand. “I’m Quinn.”
“Whimsy. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Are you nervous?” she asks, holding still as she too is mic’d.
“A little bit. I did a podcast but that was with Elias. I haven’t done anything on my own.”
“You’re going to be fine. This is not anything crazy, and truth be told, they’ll edit it down to probably only a thirty-second clip. But if you feel uncomfortable just let me know and we can cut it short or take a break. Regardless this shouldn’t be more than ten minutes.”
“I’ll be okay.” I smooth my hands down my skirt—glad I chose a pastel pink tweed skirt and vest-style top.
Once Quinn is mic’d, we’re put into position on pieces of tape pre-marked on the floor with a breathtaking view of Centre Court behind us.
Quinn gives me a quick rundown of how things are going to go and then we’re given a countdown before filming begins.
“Hello, Tennis Network fans, I’m Quinn Riley here at Wimbledon with Whimsy Allen. You might’ve seen her appearing on your screens this season at games. She’s the girlfriend of one of people’s favorites, if not controversial, tennis players—Elias Johnson. Thank you for joining us today, Whimsy.”
