Not So Snow White (19 page)

"Look this way, Gaby!"

"Come on, Tess, just a few more!"

"Hey now," she admonished with a sassy wink, "you got more than your ten minutes. We'll see you all after round one."

"You predicting an upset, Tess?"

"Think she'll beat Davina?"

Tess merely responded with a knowing smile as she quickly ushered Gaby off the chair.

"Come on, Tess," she whispered, "let me stay out here. This is great press."

"First ru
le of good press: Make 'em want, then make 'em wait. Wave, smile, and follow me."

Gaby looked like she was going to rebel, but at Tess's steady stare, she did as asked, and quite brilliantly. "Thanks for waiting, everyone!"

As they crossed the court, Tess told her, "There will be plenty more where this is coming from."

The crowd had migrated and were trying to come into the alley that ran between the practice courts and the main building, but fortunately security was waiting for them. She ushered Gaby and Petra ahead of her. "Just keep moving," she told them, "no stopping, no talking until you're inside." Tess moved more slowly, let the girls disappear inside. She smiled easily and waved as she passed by, but didn't answer any of the additional questions shouted to her, or pause long enough for another photo opportunity. Make 'em want, then make 'em wait. Not a bad first day as the coach who really wasn't.

Until she saw who was waiting for her at the players' entrance.

She forced a bright smile. "Hello, Max. We really have to stop meeting like this. So
…
now what did I do wrong?"

Chapter 15

"
W
e need to talk." Max turned, but Tess stayed where she was.

"We always need to talk. It neve
r
seems to get us anywhere, though. Did Gaby and Petra get inside okay?"

"They should be in the training room." Max looked past her at the crowd still hanging over the wall. He didn't need to give them any more fodder. Tess had already seen to that little bit of business. "Let's go to the players' lounge." He bit back a sigh when Petra stepped back outside. "Your mom is waiting in the training room," he told Petra, trying to stem the impatience in his voice. And failing, if the expression on Tess's face was any indication.

"Thank you, Max." Petra put her hand on Tess's arm. "Will you come back with me and talk to my mother? She watched me on court with you and she'd like to talk to you about maybe helping me with my game, too."

Tess looked from Petra to Max, then back to Petra. "I have to talk to Max now, but maybe later, okay?"

Petra's expression went straight to sulk mode, but she didn't argue further. "Okay. I will tell her you said you'd talk to her." Max didn't think Petra meant that to sound like a threat. But then, with her, everything sounded petulant.

"No problem," Tess assured her, sounding far more cheerful about the prospect than Max would have.

Maybe Tess had never met Petra's mother. He should p
robably warn her. Then again…

"Thank you so much," Petra said, perky once more as she gave Tess a quick hug. Adversaries one moment, old friends the next. Whatever got Petra what she wanted, he supposed.

They both waved halfheartedly as Petra flounced through the door toward the players' locker rooms.

Max looked back to Tess. "So, what, now you're the patron saint for teenage tennis players?"

Tess laughed. "Hardly."

She leaned against the wail, her expression settling once again into that knowing smile, an image that was popping up in his mind's eye far too often lately. That he was thinking about her at all troubled him, which was why he needed to talk to her. Now that the tournament was about to begin, not to mention the fact they were all residing under the same roof for the duration—albeit a vast roof—there
had to be some ground rules. And he was prepared to do whatever it took to make her take them seriously.

"You know what I think," she said, sparkly green eyes crinkling at the corners as her smile grew.

He supposed some people thought that was cute. He knew it was totally calculated, and he'd be damned if he'd fall for it.

"Maybe the younger girls like me because even though I was clearly and quite publicly not perfect, I still managed to achieve some pretty good success doing this. I've done a lot of things other tennis players only dream of, but at the end of the day, because I'm
not perfect, I'm human. So I'm approachable." Her grin could only be described as cheeky. "But I will never claim to be a saint of anything. Even I don't have that kind of moxie.''

"Will wonders never cease?"

"So what's got
your boxers in a twist this time?"

He just looked at her.

"What? Don't tell me you're a briefs man?"

He sighed.

"Boxer bri
efs? I could live with that
. But could you be that hip?"

"Can we go up to the players
' lounge?" He nodded past her
shoulder to the alley behind her. "I've had enough of your wolf pack for one day."

"My
wolf pack?" She folded her arms. "Gee, that's funny. I don't recall being the one who summoned them. I'm pretty sure that was, wait, yes, your sister. And if I'm not mistaken, I was the one who said we should lie low, let the resulting publicity just blow over. But no, you had to march her out here and make her face the music. I happen to think now that you were right and it wasn't a bad thing to do. But you can't have it both ways."

"You should have stayed at Wexley. I had this under control."

"Oh, right. You wouldn't have had the first clue how to deal with that crew. I know them, most of them, anyway. We've been doing that dance for years."

"They only queued up and descended on us, en masse, when you showed up."

"You're kidding yourself if you believe that. Once the word got out we were working together, they were here sniffing around for the story. And of the two of us, they stood a much better chance of getting something quotable and juicy from the rookie than they did the veteran. Especially seeing as she was the one that let it slip to Fionula in the first place."

"It must be a slow news day, then, if this rates as the top breaking story."

Tess's smile was desert-dry. "Yes, I am yesterday's news, thanks ever so much
for
pointing that out. But the tournament hasn't started yet and nothing juicy is going on. They need to fill column space. So yes, for right now, this is news."

"Is that why you showed up?"

She opened her mouth to respond, then paused for a moment, her expression turning to one of consideration. "What is that supposed to mean, exactly? Are you questioning my motives?"

His eyebrows shot up. "When haven't I been?"

"Exactly what are you accusing me of now?"

Max paused. She looked indignant, yes, as one would be when called out on the carpet. But if he wasn't mistaken, there was more than indignation in her expression.

She cut him off before he could speak. "If you think I'm a press junkie, you are sadly misinformed. Remember, none of this was my idea. You and Aurora cooked this whole thing up and I got dragged into it."

"I didn't see you resisting that much."

"That was mostly just to piss you off."

"What?"

"You heard me. I had no more intention of doing this than, well, than I had any intention of ever coaching anyone. I didn't come to London for this. But
then you were being all holier-
than-thou and tight-assed about me and my supposed horrifying impact on the younger generation of tennis players and, well, you pissed me off."

"You're saying you're only coaching Gaby—"

"I'm not coaching her!"

She'd raised her voice just enough to alert the hounds. Max took her gently but firmly by the arm. When she instinctively went to pull away, and given the hard muscle he felt beneath his fingers, he wasn't so sure she wouldn't have, he leaned in. "We're
attracting attention none of us needs. Smile nice and walk with me to the players' lounge."

Tess immediately relaxed and smiled at him as if he'd just told her they'd gotten a first-round walkover. It was scary how good she was at that. Like flipping a switch.

"Don't look so impressed," she told him, all perky smiles and bubbly body language. Her eyes, however, which suddenly looked ancient and weary, told the real story. "You get used to it after a few years. Gaby will, too. She's already good at it."

When he didn't move right away, she covered his hand still on her arm, and pulled it through. Outwardly, all chummy and good buddies. He was still hung up on what he'd seen in her eyes.

"Come on." She leaned closer. "You're right," she murmured for his ears only, sounding as weary of the whole process as she'd looked a moment ago. "The wolves have seen enough."

Max let her lead them inside, where, as he suspected, she dropped his arm immediately and hopped up the steps in front of him. He didn't like what he'd just seen in her eyes, heard in her voice. More to the point, he didn't like the response it had jerked awake inside of him. He didn't want to feel any empathy toward her. She'd willingly been a subject for the media all those years, using them to her own advantage as much as giving them what they wanted. She could hardly bitch now at the toll it had taken, or the price she might be paying.

And now was definitely not the time to be noticing the way her perky little white shorts clung to her backside, either. Christ. He needed a beer. Or three.

They entered the players' lounge, which was glassed in on two sides and looked down over a broad section of the grounds. The qualifying rounds were going on, so there were a few players, some coaches, a few agents, and other player personnel milling about, but in comparison with what the place would be like tomorrow, it was sparsely populated now. Neither of them
spoke as he motioned them to a table in the center of the room, where the press below couldn't spot them through the soaring windows.

He pulled out her chair. When she raised an eyebrow, he pulled his own chair out with a bit more force than necessary. "I do have manners, you know."

She said nothing, merely smiled at him in that way she had of hers, like she knew exactly what he was thinking. Which was a rare feat since he didn't even know what to think at the moment. About anything. Certainly not her.

She
folded he
r
arms
on
the table.
"So,
what horrible tenet of moral decay am I being accused of flouting this time?"

"Will you cut that out?"

She leaned back, letting her hands fall in her lap, and snorted. "How can I when you keep reminding me every two seconds."

"I said nothing of the kind."
So
what if he was thinking
it?

"You don't have to," she said, reading his mind again.

Was he really so obvious? And even if he was, why did that matter? He wasn't exactly hiding his feelings about her or her reputation. "I simply thought that you coming here today only served to escalate things, when if you'd hung back at Wexley House like we'd agreed, this would have just blown over faster. The first round starts tomorrow and they'd have had fresh meat to suck the life from. When Gaby showed up the following day for her first match, we'd already be yesterday's news."

"I initially agreed about letting Gaby face the music, but then I realized it was highly possible that you, or she, could make it into an even bigger story than it had to be. Inadvertently, I mean."

"So, let me get this straight, you're saying you came here to deflect the press from Gaby? To reduce the spotlight on the two of you?"

Tess's eyes narrowed and they took on a darker green tint that even he knew, after limited exposure, was a dangerous sign. "Are you insinuating I came here to do anything else? That I had some sort o
f personal stake in any of this
?"

She was really good, Max thought. Really good. But he'd been in the world of highly competitive sports for too long not to recognize what he was really seeing here. A good offense was always the best defense. He leaned forward and folded his arms on the table, very directly holding her gaze. "Are you saying you don't?"

She didn't back down, didn't even blink. She matched him action for action, until their faces were almost inches apart. "If you're accusing me of something specific, then come out with it. Otherwise, I'm only going to say this once: I don't give a good goddamn what you think of me, my past, my rep, or anything else. But I'm not going to sit here for the next week or two and be you
r
punching bag, either. So unless you can specifically tell me something I've done to harm you or your sister, you need to back way the hell off."

They sat there, staring each other down, neither one wanting to back off first. Finally Max said, "My one and only concern has always been Gaby. I don't care whether you like that or not."

Tess shoved back her chair, hands braced on the table as she pushed to a stand, and in doing so, moved her face even closer to his, until he could see the pupils in her eyes shoot so wide they almost swallowed all that electric green. "As hard as this might be for you to believe, she's my concern now, too, and I don't much care what you think about that."

They both seemed to simultaneously realize that the room had fallen silent. Tess eased back slightly and allowed a slow smile to curve her mouth. That electric green now took on an entirely different hue, And damn if Max's entire body didn't stand up at attention. He was only human, after all. He knew it was for
show. And if only half the press about her was to be believed, she was as good at this little game as she was at painting the lines with little green balls. But even knowing that, in that split second, he was powerless to do anything about it.

"I haven't done anything to hurt her, or her chances here. I'm not going to do anything to hurt her, Max," she purred. Her voice was so low now, her words didn't reach anyone but him. He was quite aware that they were giving off another impression entirely than the one that was really taking place.

Part of his brain questioned the wisdom of playing this particular angle. Which story would look worse in the press? That Gaby's brother-slash-manager was battling it out with her mentor-slash-coach—the bad girl of tennis, Tess Hamilton? Or that there was something else g
oing on between Gaby's manager/
brother and that very same bad girl of tennis? But even though he knew it was false advertising, the part of his brain that was ruled by the bulge currently growing inside his shorts was dominating this particular argument.