Her anger didn’t subside as she rode the elevator down to the lobby and stormed across to the concierge, her heels clicking a staccato beat on the marble floor. She threw the keycard across the desk at him. “Do the next girl a favor and tell her Brad McClintock has left the building.”
On the street outside, she waved for a cab and gave the driver the name of her hotel. She hoped she could get a flight home soon; this trip had been a waste of her time and money, and she wanted to forget about it as soon as possible.
She wanted to forget about Brad McClintock as soon as possible, too.
* * *
Brad watched from the balcony as Simone’s taxi drove away. His bear felt like it was ripping him up from the inside, and Brad fought it so hard, he gripped the metal safety railing tight enough to turn his knuckles white.
He had repressed his bear nature for so long that he had thought he was in complete control.
Then she had walked into his life.
Simone.
Thinking about her woke the bear again. It wanted her, but not as Brad had wanted any woman before. The bear wanted more than a one-night stand or short fling; it wanted a mate.
Brad stepped into the room, into the chaotic remnants of last night’s party. His life consisted of adoring fans and fast women, and that was the way he liked it. The part of him that wanted to settle down, the bear part, needed to realize he wasn’t a settling-down type of guy, no matter how much seeing Simone had affected him.
He had deserved the slap that still stung his cheek because he had treated Simone the same way he treated all women, even though she was different. The bear had recognized her as his mate, but Brad had sublimated that thought and attempted to prove the bear wrong by being flippant.
He had proven nothing. The bear part of him, the part he had ignored for so long, knew that Simone was his intended mate.
I don’t need a mate. I don’t want a mate.
But even as he thought those words, a part of him longed to see Simone again. It was a longing so strong that it caused him pain in his chest.
I have to forget about her. Just forget she exists.
He felt sick. Stumbling to the bathroom, he gripped the edges of the sink and waited for last night’s champagne and canapés to make a reappearance. When they didn’t, and the feeling went away, Brad wiped the condensation from the mirror and looked at himself. He looked bad. The pain in his chest was still there, and he knew it was the bear fighting him, clawing at him.
It had remained silent for years, but Simone’s presence had woken it with a vengeance. It wasn’t going to be silenced again now that it had met its mate.
Brad was playing his first match this afternoon; there was no way he could play while he was in this state.
Brad locked eyes with his reflection. “Okay, I’ll see her again, but you have to let me play this afternoon.”
Knowing that he was going to see Simone again calmed him. The pain in his chest faded. The bear was satisfied.
Brad sat on the edge of the bathtub and wondered how he was going to convince the woman who had slapped him in disgust to give him another chance.
2
Simone felt much calmer a couple of hours later, after she had arranged her journey home. The flight wasn’t until tomorrow evening, which wasn’t as soon as she’d like, but there was nothing she could do about that so she decided not to get stressed about it.
She’d blown a lot of money coming to London for nothing, and now she had to find another client, but she was sure she could get her career back on track eventually.
Brad’s comment really hadn’t hurt her much, and the slap had been an outlet of her frustration over not getting the job more than anything else. She had been looking forward to working with Brad, and when she first saw him, her body had reacted in all kinds of crazy ways it never had before. Finding out that Brad was an asshole had been disappointing.
But was she really so disappointed that it made her feel down?
Hell no, she wasn’t going to get depressed over any man, especially one she had just met.
After a lifetime of failed and short-lived relationships, maybe she should just forget about men entirely. Every time she tried to enter into a relationship, she ended up driving the guy away. They all told her she was too closed, too cool, and too secretive about her feelings.
It was true, but it was also something that she couldn’t change. She was who she was. She would date men, and she would sleep with some of them, but she never let anyone come close enough to see the real Simone Jackson. She kept them at a distance, and eventually that drove them away.
Her phone buzzed, telling her she had a text. When she saw that it was from Brad, she almost ignored it. Yet a part of her became excited, despite Brad’s earlier behavior.
She picked up the phone and read the message.
Sorry about earlier. If you’re still interested, come to Court Number 3. I’m playing at 1 p.m. Brad
Simone frowned. What did he mean if she was still interested? Did he mean if she was interested in the job, or interested in having dinner with him?
She sighed, weighing her options. She had nothing better to do, and if she didn’t go to watch Brad play, she would probably just end up wandering around the hotel by herself. On the other hand, if she went to the court, Brad might get the wrong impression and think she was interested in him in a sexual way.
Hell, she was interested in him in that way, but she had just told herself that she should forget about men altogether.
Who was she kidding? She was going to go. After all, what better way to spend a sunny English afternoon than relaxing at Wimbledon and watching hot men play tennis?
If Brad had changed his mind about hiring her, and she got the job she’d come to England for, then that would be a bonus, but she decided to drive all expectations from her mind because that way she couldn’t be disappointed.
Simone looked through her suitcase for something to wear, and settled on a white and blue floral-patterned summer dress. She laid it on the bed along with a wide-brimmed hat and a white bra and panties.
Then she hit the shower.
Two hours later, she stood in front of the room’s full-length mirror, checking herself out in the dress and hat. The dress fit snugly over her curves. Simone was an hourglass shape, with extra hours on her butt, hips, thighs, and boobs. She loved her womanly shape and the way the dress accentuated her figure. She put on a large pair of sunglasses to complete her summer look and transferred the contents of her purse to a smaller, cute, white clutch.
Satisfied that she looked smoking hot, she left the room and rode the elevator down to the lobby. As she strode confidently for the exit, she noticed a few appreciative glances cast her way, and smiled to herself. She felt good, and she looked good.
It wasn’t until she was in a cab headed for Wimbledon that she wondered if her good mood had been caused by Brad McClintock. The text message had sent a thrill of anticipation through her as she’d read it. And now, as she was being driven through the hot, bright summer streets of London, she was looking forward to meeting Brad more than she had looked forward to anything in a long time.
After what he said to you this morning, you should probably ignore his message and spend the day shopping before you go home tomorrow.
Part of her was insulted by Brad’s suggestion that they “have fun” but another part of her wondered what having fun with him would entail. There was something about him—something beyond the good looks and muscles—that Simone found compelling. He might be crude, and a womanizer, but she was sure there was more to him than that. As a practitioner in the field of psychology, she knew when someone was putting on an act to hide their true nature.
If Brad hired her, she might get to see a glimpse of the man behind the mask.
Remember what you told yourself…no expectations.
She sighed. Since this morning, her thoughts had been tumbling through her mind like drunken butterflies. It wa
s as if Brad had somehow managed to break through her own mask and disrupt her usually calm demeanor.
Simone decided that no matter how Brad affected her, she couldn’t let him know. She needed to remain cool, collected, and indifferent. That was how she acted with everyone except her closest friends, and Brad was not her friend. She needed to remember that.
Stay frosty.
But even now, after only meeting Brad the one time, she felt like something inside her was beginning to melt.
3
“Miss Jackson?”
Simone turned around to face the man who had spoken her name. There was a sea of people outside the entrance to the tennis venue, and Simone had resigned herself to waiting in line under the noon sun, inching forward until she finally got through the gates.
The man looked like he was in his fifties. His hair was mostly gray, his face lined. He wore a dark suit and tie that must have felt like some kind of torture device on this summer’s day. Beads of sweat lined his forehead, but he seemed otherwise unaffected by the heat.
“I’m Miss Jackson,” she said.
“I’m Victor Black,” he said in a Brooklyn accent, offering a sweaty hand. “I’m Brad’s manager. He told me I’d find you out here and asked me to bring you through to the dressing room.”
“Okay,” she said, surprised. How had Victor known who she was in this crowd? She wondered how Brad had described her to his manager. ‘The fat black chick’? Or had he been more kind in his description of her and told Victor to look for the dark, sultry beauty with curves?
As she left the line of people and followed Victor along the street to a side entrance, she asked, “How did you find me among all those people?”
“Brad described you to me.”
“And what did he say, exactly?”
Victor showed his pass to a security guard and led Simone through a metal doorway that opened onto a long, tiled hallway. Framed black and white photographs of tennis stars from years past hung on the walls. As they walked along the hallway, Victor said, “He told me to look for a pretty black woman with curves in all the right places.”
“I see,” Simone said.
“He also said you’d look cool and unexcited, even though you’re at the opening day of Wimbledon.”
“Mr. Black, I’ve been to many sporting events as part of my job. I don’t get carried away with the excitement of the occasion. I’m a professional.”
“Of course,” he said, giving her a knowing look that confused Simone. “You work with a lot of athletes, do you?”
“Yes.”
“I guess it’s good to specialize.” He stopped before a door that was marked Men’s No. 3 Court Dressing Room, and said, “Wait here a moment. I’ll check that he’s decent.” He laughed, and then added, “Not that it matters, I guess.” He disappeared through the door and reappeared a few seconds later. “Come in, Miss Jackson.”
Simone entered the room, which was a large locker room with wooden benches running along the center. It smelled of steam, sweat, and cologne, just like every other locker room in the world.
Brad stood near the shower area, but instead of a towel, he wore a white polo shirt and white shorts. Every player at Wimbledon had to wear predominantly white as part of the rules, but Simone was sure that no other player looked as sexy as Brad McClintock. The shirt was tight, and clung to his sculpted physique.
She felt a flutter in her lower belly, and her mind went to places it shouldn’t. Why the hell did seeing Brad always give her dirty thoughts?
Stay cool.
Another man stood with Brad. He was in his thirties, and wore a light blue dress shirt, and black trousers and shoes.
“Simone,” Brad said, seeming genuinely pleased to see her, “I’m glad you made it. You’ve met my manager Victor, This is Tony Cotton, my coach.”
Tony said, “Hi,” but didn’t make a move to shake Simone’s hand.
“Listen,” Brad said to Simone, “I want to apologize about this morning. I’ve been thinking, and I want you to watch my match today. If you think I can use your help, then I’d like to hire you for this tournament and maybe the Hall of Fame Championship in Rhode Island next month.”
“Wait a minute,” Tony said, stepping forward. “What’s happening here?”
Brad looked at his coach. “Simone is a motivational coach. I’m going to hire her to improve my game.”
“A motivational coach?” Tony looked shocked. He looked at Victor. “Did you know about this?”
Victor shook his head.
“I told you I was going to hire Simone when I sent you out to look for her,” Brad said.
“Yeah,” Tony said, “But you didn’t say she was some kind of coach. You told Victor she was a pretty black woman with curves in all the right places, and you were going to hire her. What were we supposed to think?”
Brad’s eyes narrowed. “You thought she was a prostitute?”
Tony shrugged.
Brad moved so quickly that Simone didn’t know he had made a lunge for Tony until he had slammed his coach into the lockers. The metallic clang echoed off the walls of the room. “You apologize to her right now,” Brad growled.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” Tony said, looking over at Simone. “I had no idea.”
Simone nodded. She thought it ironic that the man who had made a pass at her earlier today was now defending her honor.
Brad released Tony and stepped back while the coach rearranged his shirt where Brad had grabbed a fistful of the fabric.
“Look,” Tony said, “I’m real sorry about that, but the fact remains that Brad doesn’t need any more coaches. Victor and I have his career in hand. So sure, go ahead and watch the match this afternoon, but we won’t be requiring your services.”
Simone had heard enough of the coach’s bullshit. “Oh, you have his career in hand, do you? I suppose that’s why he’s playing on Number 3 Court today, and not on Number 1 Court, or Center Court. Is that why he keeps losing his temper and has a reputation of being the bad-boy of tennis, because you have his career in hand?”
Tony shook his head, as if Simone had no idea what she was talking about. “Hey, look, that’s his style. We…”
“Shut up, Tony,” Brad said. He grinned at Simone. “You’re hired.”
“You’re making a mistake,” Tony said.
“Well, it’s my mistake to make,” Brad said. “Now go ahead and show Simone to her seat. The match starts soon and I need to clear my head before I go out there.”
Tony sighed. “Fine. Follow me, Miss Jackson, and I’ll show you to the players box.”
He opened the door and he and Victor stepped out into the hallway. Simone went to follow, but Brad stopped her with his voice. “Simone.”
She turned to face him. “Yes?”
“Any tips before I go out there?”
She thought of the videos she had watched of his earlier matches. “Just one. When you’re out there playing, try to get in contact with the desire to win that’s inside of you. Because I think that, so far, you’ve only been winning to prove a point to somebody else. I don’t know who that person is, or why you think you need to prove anything, but I do know that proving a point isn’t a strong enough drive to win a tournament. You have to want to win it for yourself.”
“I don’t fucking believe this,” Tony said from the doorway. “What kind of new-age garbage is that?”
“Shut up, Tony,” Brad said again. He looked at Simone, and she could see that her words had made some impact. His eyes seemed to have softened slightly, as if he understood something about himself that had eluded him before now. “Thank you,” he said softly.
“Have a good match,” Simone said. She turned to leave the room.
“Just one more thing,” he said.
“What is it?”
“We’ll need to go to dinner tonight so we can discuss your techniques and strategy.”
She smiled. The idea of going to dinner with Brad was much more appealing now tha
n it had been this morning. In fact, it was extremely appealing. “Yes, I guess we will,” she said.
* * *
Sitting next to Victor and Tony in the box that was reserved for players’ managers and spouses, Simone was happy that she had a job but wondered how much trouble she was going to get from the two men next to her. It was obvious that they didn’t like her or her methods, and that they thought they should be the only two people giving advice to Brad.
She had to try to forget the two men and do the job that Brad was hiring her for.
The seats around the open air court were full of eager spectators expecting an exciting afternoon of tennis beneath the clear summer sky. The sounds of matches being played on the other courts could be heard faintly, and there was a faint scent of cut grass in the air. The grass courts were well-manicured, although by the end of the tournament, there would be bare patches where players had slid or dived to reach shots that could make or break their careers.
If Brad lost here today, he would be out of the tournament, and Simone’s job would be made much more difficult. Brad had mentioned the Hall of Fame tournament in Rhode Island next month, but if he lost in the first round here, it would be a long road to get him psyched up for that.
She looked over at the dark green scoreboard. The players’ names were displayed on yellow cards. Brad McCLINTOCK v Juan SALVADOR. Simone had heard of Salvador before. He was ranked number eighty-three in the world, where Brad was at number sixty-two. So at least the stats were in Brad’s favor. Now, if he could just control his temper.
The players were announced, and despite having earlier told Victor that she didn’t get excited at sporting events, Simone felt a thrill when Brad walked onto the court. He set his sports bag and rackets on the ground next to his seat at the side of the court, and looked up at her. Even at a distance, his eyes seemed to lock on to hers, holding her with his gaze.
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