Page 94 of Match Point

I rolled my eyes. “Why would they care?”

“Something about a conflict of interest. They wanted to make sure you won’t be coaching him during the tournament.”

“I can’t promise that,” I said. “If I notice things he can improve on, I need to tell him.”

Hammy sighed. “Just make sure you do so discreetly.”

“I can do that.”

He sipped his champagne and glanced at me. “And the other things we discussed? Are you any closer to making a decision?”

“I’m close, I really am. Give me two more weeks of patience?”

“For you? Anything.”

I kissed him on the cheek. “Now I’lldefinitelytalk you up to that Chilean star. And I won’t even need to lie!”

“Lucky me. I’m going to find some food. Hopefully they have portions larger than a thumbnail.”

After he was gone, I wandered around the event, mingling and making small talk. One of the downsides to being a former champion was thateveryonewanted to talk to me, if only long enough to get a photo taken. Players, coaches, agents, reporters. Roger Federer’s wife came up to me and spent ten minutes gushing about how much she loved my dress. I even had a journalist ask me if I had chosen a ghost writer for my autobiography. When I told him I wasn’t sure if I would even write one, he quickly gave me his card and said he would do it for half the cost of anyone else, because he was such a big fan.

“You look exhausted,” a posh English voice said when the journalist was gone.

“Tim!” Tim Henman, my partner in the booth at Wimbledon, gave me a big hug. “Didn’t expect to see you here. You’re not broadcasting with me, are you?”

“Afraid not. I’m with the radio team for Sky Sports. You’re paired with McEnroe. Say, I heard you’re doing a little coaching on the side. It has the NBC executives all in a stir.”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t worry, I’m not coaching him now. I was just consulting on a specific part of his game leading up to the tournament.”

“And how has the paparazzi treated you?”

“Surprisingly good! There were a few articles written about our relationship, but overall it has not been bad at all.” I thought about Gabriel stepping in and making the reporters stop.

“Well, I hope you don’t turn to coaching full-time. I’ve never had a better partner in the booth, and I want to see you at Wimbledon next year.”

After he left, I still felt thrilled by the compliment. It was nice knowing I was appreciated for what I was doing, even if I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be a commentator long-term.

For the first time since I had arrived, nobody was running up to accost me. I gazed around the room and saw the person I was looking for by the bar.

“Has anyone ever said you look like James Bond in a tuxedo?” I said to Dominic.

“Bond is English, so no, nobody has ever said that to me.”

I lowered my voice. “You have no idea how much I want to squeeze your tushy.”

“That wouldreallyset the papers talking.” He accepted two drinks from the bartender. “You’re right on time. Vodka lemon spritz. It’s the closest thing to a Mike’s Hard Lemonade I could get them to make.”

“I just had a major case of déjà vu.” I took the glass and touched it against his. “It feels like ages ago since you brought me one of these at the Australian Open.”

Dominic laughed heartily. “It does feel like that. So much has changed since then. For the better, I might add.”

“Really? You were number one then, and now you’ve dropped down to number two.”

He shrugged. “There are more important things than tennis rankings. Overall, I’m in a much better place now than I was in January.”

Tristan came sauntering up with a pint in his hand. “There’s my favorite bedroom partner.” He smiled. “And Miranda.”

“You’re really going to get the tabloids talking if they overhear you,” I said, hiding my own smile.

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