Love. Set. Match.

by Taylor Lunsford

  “I’ll be careful. I promise. Both of you, stop worrying. I’m a big girl.”

  The words held more bravado than she felt, but she needed to say them. She loved her brother for worrying, but he had his own life to focus on just as she had to focus on hers.

  “Fine, you’re a big girl,” Owen said, “but that doesn’t mean we’re leaving you on your own until you’re tucked into your room for the night. All of us are sticking with you like glue. Got it?”

  The others nodded, even the silent Cruz. He stood by Maren, his brown gaze steady and sure as ever.

  Sighing, she nodded. “Okay. I should probably call it a night anyways.”

  They all moved toward the elevator in a huddle, her friends forming a protective circle around her, with Rob and Owen flanking her. The others chatted about this and that, but Rob remained silent until they got to her door.

  “You good?” he asked after everyone turned to walk toward their own rooms. His face stayed impassive, but his eyes spoke volumes. There was so much there Em didn’t know where to start.

  “Stay with me?” The words came out from a place deep within her. She hadn’t planned to ask him in. It was a stupid, stupid idea, but tonight she couldn’t bring herself to care.

  He reached up to brush a lock of hair behind her ear. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” She opened the door. “I’m not a fan of the caveman tendencies you’re showing, but I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

  He slammed the door behind him and pulled her into his arms. The warmth of his body pressed into hers; the smell of his mint and eucalyptus soap and the rough feel of his scruffy jaw did more to calm her than a dozen shots of bourbon. He was here. She was safe.

  “Do you get how much you matter? To me, to your brother, to our friends? I know you don’t take these threats seriously, but we do.” He spoke by her ear, teasing the sensitive skin there. “We couldn’t handle it if something happened to you. I couldn’t handle it.”

  A lump formed in her throat. It wasn’t a declaration of love or anything close, but for the first time since letting him back into her life, she almost believed that he would actually stick around this time. Having him here, after today felt…good. Right, even. “I really will be okay. But right now, I…I want to fall asleep with you holding me.”

  “Whatever you want, doll.”

  Sleeping in his arms wouldn’t chase the pain away forever, but it would get her through the worst of it. She needed him tonight, more than she should, and she was beginning to think she might need him for more than tonight.

  Chapter 13

  Rob stood toe to toe with Joey, his blood roaring in his ears and his fists clenched at his side to keep from taking a swing at the oversized man-child standing behind her.

  “This is the goddamn French Open. You’re really going to let him get away with pulling this kind of shit an hour before we go on the air?”

  Joey straightened the jacket of her impeccable tailored suit jacket and rolled her eyes. “Bruno’s the senior correspondent. He has first choice on stories and interviews. What part of this aren’t you understanding?”

  “I’ve spent weeks convincing Dera to let us do an in-depth interview while we’re here. She and I have a rapport. She agreed to sit down with me, not Bruno. You really want the world number three to think we’re pulling one over on her? The tennis players are just now starting to trust us and think that we might not be going for the lowest common denominator on stories.”

  Bruno smirked, his arms crossed over his barrel chest. “Exactly. This is a major coup, and I’m sure the network would want to see their top correspondent conducting the interview, not someone greener than a grass court.”

  It took all Rob’s self-control not to take a swing at him. This was the third story in the last week and a half Bruno had tried to steal from Rob. The first two, he’d had to admit defeat, but he wouldn’t back down on this one. Interviewing Dera and her family at her home tournament was too big a chance to waste on Bruno. Knowing the ex-football player, he’d offend Dera within the first five minutes, and she’d drop him flat.

  “Dera Calvet is not going to agree to let Bruno interview her, Joey. You know that. Why are we even having this conversation?”

  Rob and Joey both knew exactly why they were having this conversation: because Bruno was a pompous ass who liked to throw his weight around. He’d been worse than usual at this tournament. That’s why Joey was here instead of a local producer they usually used. Bruno had thrown a fit to get someone who he could “work with” in Paris, which meant someone he could bully into doing his bidding. Rob silently prayed Joey grew a backbone before Bruno completely ruined their coverage.

  Finally, her shoulders sagged, and she rubbed her temples. “Rob’s right, Bruno. He’s done the prep work and got the athlete’s agreement. He’s doing the interview.”

  “Thanks, Joey.” Rob nodded to the producer and walked away before Bruno could continue the argument. He had a few hours before Dera was scheduled to come to the studio, and he needed to do some last-minute prep.

  His phone chimed as he returned to his temporary office. Hey, handsome. Headed to dinner with Owen and the uncles. Wish you could join us. Maybe we can meet up after?

  He smiled. Ever since their last night in Indian Wells, something had changed with Em. She was more…open. The walls were starting to come down, and he liked it—a lot. During the Miami Open, he’d managed to spend a few nights at her house. She’d been quiet, but she’d done a hell of a job showing him how she felt with her body.

  So far, she’d been playing well. She’d had her quarterfinals match today, and she’d kicked some serious ass. He loved watching her play; the way she moved, the intensity she put into every second of the game, it was like watching a dancer at the ballet. He wished he could have been in her box with her family and Zoe like a normal boyfriend, but that wasn’t an option. As long as he had this damn job, it would never be an option.

  On days like this, when Bruno’s assholish tendencies went off the charts, Rob considered quitting. Every time he did, he reminded himself there wasn’t another job that would let him be this close to the game, that would let him keep an eye on Em and his sister the way he could now.

  So far, there’d only been a handful of signs that the stalker hadn’t given up. The police intercepted a package with a doll dressed like Em that’d been sliced in a few places, and there’d been a few emails from different accounts, but they hadn’t been able to trace them.

  “Thanks for making that relatively painless, Rob.” Dera met him after her interview as he headed for the elevators. While they’d always gotten on well, he knew she didn’t like the interviews that went beyond her role as an athlete. He got that; living in the shadow of your parents’ legacies was harder than most people thought. That’s why he’d insisted on doing the interview with her instead of Bruno.

  He chuckled. “I promised, didn’t I? Not all journalists are ogres.”

  She made a very French sound of disbelief. “I heard what that ogre you work with tried to do. My agent got a call this morning. She and I were not pleased. I’m glad you managed to talk sense into them.”

  “Bruno’s an idiot. He’s been trying to steal my stories this whole tournament, but I wasn’t letting him win on this one.” He gave her a wink. She’d really opened up, talking as if the cameras weren’t there. She still kept stuff back, and he didn’t try to push her beyond what they’d talked about in the pre-interview meeting. They steered clear of her personal life. It was common knowledge on the tour that Dera was bisexual, and while she didn’t go out of her way to hide it, she didn’t discuss her personal life with the media.

  They emerged into the tennis complex together, the sun just starting to set behind the sea of courts.

  “What’s that?” Dera asked, pointing to a small group off to one side. Looking closer, Rob noticed it was a small gathering of cameramen and reporters, and they were surrounding someone coming out of th
e players’ facility.

  “I don’t—” His stomach dropped. Bruno led the pack, and he had a microphone shoved in Em’s face.

  “Merde. What’s that bastard up to?” Dera started toward Em.

  Rob’s mind kicked into overdrive, trying to decide what to do. If he went and got into Bruno’s face, not only would the whole thing be caught on camera, but Bruno would get suspicious, maybe even leap to conclusions—he was an expert leaper. There was no way Rob would be able to handle this calmly. Right now, he was ready to pummel Bruno for cornering Em, and he didn’t even know what it was about yet.

  “Dera, call Zoe. I’ll call Owen. Damn it, where’s her security team?”

  As they got closer, Rob could make out the questions Bruno hurled at Em.

  “Emerson, is it true that you now have a stalker? Is that why you’ve had increased security at the last few tournaments? Do you have a message for your stalker?”

  Shit. This was not good. Not good at all. He thought he’d buried the story. If Joey had pursued this story behind his back…

  He stopped, pushing Owen’s name on his contact list. “Owen. Get your ass to the players’ center now. Bruno’s ambushed Em, and her security’s AWOL.”

  He ended the call before his friend could respond, taking in the scene and trying to come up with a plan. Dera didn’t hang back; she waded in among the reporters who had joined Bruno, picking up on his line of questioning and running with it.

  “Leave her alone. Did you not hear her say ‘no comment’?” Dera growled, golden eyes flashing. She spouted off some choice insults in French, and with her arm wrapped around Em, she tried to push her way through the throng of reporters. Unfortunately, they couldn’t move. Rob couldn’t push through even if he wanted to.

  “Come on, Emerson. This is just another scandal in a long line of problems,” Bruno jeered. “Do you have a comment? Did the sex photos incite the stalker? Are you sorry about those photos? Do you wish you hadn’t taken them?”

  Rob’s heart clenched as Em’s face paled, and so many emotions ran through those dark eyes. Last time he’d seen her in person, those eyes had been so at peace; she’d given him that wonderful, sleepy smile and pulled him in for a long, thorough kiss. Now she resembled a caged animal, searching for a way out.

  Rob was about to say to hell with it all when Owen came sprinting out of the players’ center door. “What the hell is this? All of you need to back the fuck off.”

  “Oh, come on, Owen. Did you know about your sister’s stalker? Do you think she deserves this?” one of the other reporters shouted.

  “Yeah, give us a comment, Owen,” Bruno said, shoving a microphone in Owen’s face. Em’s security guards came jogging out not far behind Owen, moving to put themselves between the reporters and Em.

  Rob spotted his opening and took it. “All right, everyone. Let’s back off. I’m sure the Graces will make a statement when they’re ready. You’re not going to get anything from them right now. Barry, Jeff. That means you guys. Let’s go.”

  He grabbed the TWW camera guy and sound technician by the shoulders, tugging them away from the crowd.

  Bruno was harder. “No, Ashton. This is my story. I want a quote from the new scandal queen of the WTA. What do you have to say for yourself, Emerson? Are you proud of yourself now?”

  Something snapped on Em’s face, and pure rage surfaced from the fear and the hurt. “Proud? No, you jack—”

  “Bruno. Back. Off.” Rob got between Em and his colleague. The last thing they needed was for Em to go off on Bruno with all those cameras around. “Let’s go back to the office and talk about this. This is not the way to do this.”

  “You arrogant little shit. Who are you to tell me how to do my job?” Bruno bleated as Rob forcefully guided him away from Em, Dera, and Owen. The security guys were dispersing the other reporters, and Barry and Jeff had lowered their equipment after Rob called them off.

  “You were ambushing one of the top players and bullying her about her stalker,” Rob hissed as he followed Bruno inside. “That’s not doing your job. You’re not some dumb paparazzo. You’re supposed to be a journalist.”

  “I was going after one of the best stories of the tournament.” Bruno’s voice boomed through the halls. “What, are you trying to get in Emerson’s pants or something? Why are you always defending that bitch?”

  Rob’s fist clenched, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him from actually throwing the punch.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Joey asked, her hair standing on end and dark circles under her eyes. “Shouldn’t you be back at your hotels by now?”

  “You would think,” Rob snapped. “Except that Bruno was outside ambushing Emerson Grace about her stalker.”

  Joey’s shrewd blue eyes widened. “A stalker? I knew it! Did you get a comment from her?”

  “No, because this arrogant asshole wouldn’t let me,” Bruno said. “I almost broke her, but he got in my face and dragged me away.”

  “Ashton, is this true?” Joey braced her hands on her hips, her don’t-fuck-with-me face firmly in place. “You said you couldn’t verify the story two months ago. Now you’re interfering with Bruno doing his job. What the hell?”

  “He was bullying a major tennis star, Joey. Harassing her. Shoving a microphone in her face, and not taking no for an answer is not the way to get a quote for a story,” Rob retorted. “She has a stalker. The police are involved, and it’s a serious situation. We shouldn’t be giving this creep air time and stroking his ego and egging him on.”

  Bruno’s eyes narrowed. “Wait. How do you know there’s police involvement? That wasn’t in the tip I got.”

  Rob’s stomach sank to the floor. Shit. He’d overplayed his hand. “You’re not the only one with sources.”

  “You lied to me, didn’t you?” Joey accused. “You confirmed the rumors back in March, and you lied. You buried a fucking gold mine, Rob. Do you know how much traffic we’d bring to our site and the show if we’d run this story as an exclusive three months ago?”

  “This is a serious situation, Joey. A dangerous one. This guy’s been following her to tournaments and sending her threatening letters and emails. If we report on it, we make the police’s job harder, and we encourage this guy.” The thought of the creep getting off on them running this story sent waves of nausea through Rob. He hated that Em needed security guards and that she couldn’t even check her own mail without getting worried. Running this story would make it ten times worse.

  Joey’s face hardened. “You’re a reporter. Our job is to report the news, not coddle the players. I know this is hard for you, Ashton, but this is a story, and we’re going to run it.”

  “And I’m going to make sure the executives know that you buried a story because of your friendship with one of the players,” Bruno said, smugness oozing off him.

  “I withheld information for safety reasons, nothing more. And this isn’t the type of story we should be focusing on if we want to be seen as a creditable news source. This involves an athlete’s personal life, and it’s only a story if we make it one,” Rob argued.

  Bruno snorted. “We’ll see.”

  Rob watched Bruno and Joey walk away, their heads together. They were going to do the damn story. He wanted to scream and kick something. He thought he’d made a difference with how Joey was starting to see stories, even if he would never change Bruno from a slimeball to a halfway decent person. Instead, the second a juicy bone flashed in front of her face, she reverted to the scandal-hungry viper she’d always been. Not for the first time since taking the job, Rob felt like a layer of muck and filth clung to him. He worked for a network that fed off other people’s pain and weakness, and he wasn’t sure what he was doing here.

  He wanted to lock Em in a protected tower and throw away the key until this asshole was found. He had the sinking suspicion his job was suddenly on thin ice, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. All he cared about was Em and making sure she was all right. She wa
s all that mattered, and she had been for a long time.

  ****

  “Focus, Emmy. Half the Grand Slams are done. Dera took you out in the semifinals in France. There’s no room for error at Wimbledon.”

  Zoe ended her diatribe on how poorly Em had performed during her latest training session, and a weight settled in Em’s chest, the same way it did any time her grandma or grandpa gave her the “we’re disappointed in you” speech because she’d gotten a bad grade or skipped a class to get more practice. She hated letting Zoe down, especially now, after everything she’d done for her over the years.

  “What do you want me to do?” Em asked, glancing away from Zoe’s hard blue eyes.

  Zoe placed her hands on Em’s shoulder, her eyes softening. “I want you to get focused. Shake all of this off. You’ve got to put one hundred percent of yourself into the game if you want to beat Chessa. She’s on fire, and nothing but your best is going to get you that title.”

  Focus. Easier said than done. After everything she’d been through this year, it was a miracle she had any focus left. With Rob becoming part of the mix more and more each day, Em’s attention was only further divided. It was only a matter of time before someone found out about them if she kept seeing him. But Zoe was right. She needed to go back to basics and re-center her attention on her goal—a Grand Slam title.

  “Okay. I can do that.” Em hoped she sounded convincing, because she didn’t believe her own words. She didn’t think she knew how to focus anymore.

  Zoe tilted her head skeptically. “I want you to go have dinner with your grandma and your brother. Take a nice long bubble bath. Get some sleep. Then come back and be ready to work tomorrow. Got it?”

  As much as it chafed, Em did what her coach ordered. She didn’t remember getting to her grandma’s house, but she remembered being pulled into Gran’s warm embrace and letting the rest of the world fade away.