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Mac’s body tensed at the question. “I fucking hope so. Barbara has been pushing me pretty hard.”

Jerry patted Mac on the shoulder. “Well, that’s what she’s there for. Got an extra ticket?” He asked with a wink.

Blowing a raspberry, Mac scoffed. “I could barely convince Babs that my mom should come, let alone my best friend.”

Jerry clutched his heart. “Aw, I’m your best friend?”

With a roll of her eyes, Mac rushed toward the elevators. “Of course you are, Jer!”

Just as she was about to push the “up” button, the door swung open. A woman in killer pumps waltzed out of the elevator, her phone up to her ear. As Mac stumbled back, the woman scanned her figure, raising an eyebrow and nodding her praise at Mac’s muscular physique.

Mac blushed slightly, enjoying the admiration as she slipped into the elevator and selected her floor. When the doors opened again, Mac was greeted by SDO’s receptionist.

“Morning, Ms. Bennett.” Agatha smiled.

“Hey, Agatha. Just here to see Tommy.” Mac scanned the floor for her agent.

Her eyes landed on a towering businesswoman. Tommy beamed when she spotted Mac, waving her into her private office. Mac thanked the receptionist and skillfully weaved through the field of cubicles, careful to keep her duffel pinned to her body. Her sneakers slid smoothly over the polished hardwood floors, their traction completely worn from training.I really need to buy a new pair…

Mac shook the thought as she stepped into Tommy’s immaculate office. Glass walls surrounded a gorgeous walnut desk. Behind Tommy’s chair was a view of Manhattan’s uptown.

Tommy gestured for Mac to shut the door behind her with a wide grin. “So, how’s the training? Are you going to win us the French Open?”

Mac swung the door shut a bit too quickly, underestimating its weight. The unexpected thud made her jump. “Why is everyone asking me that? I haven’t even qualified for a Grand Slam yet.”

“Because, you’re my star.”

Taking a seat at her leather desk chair, Tommy folded her hands together. “So, let’s talk press. We’ve been slowly dripping out some training videos and some stuff about your background.”

Mackenzie nodded as Tommy slid a folder across the table. “Got it, what kind of stuff?”

Tommy leaned back. “We’re seeding you as the underdog. In a tour full of legacy players, seasoned pros, you’re the fresh face from a small town. You learned on a cracked, cement court with your construction worker father before he passed. Then, you taught yourself until your mom could afford to send you to summer camp.”

Catching the drift, Mac picked up. “Where I met all the nepotism babies and rich kids. I had to work three times as hard just for scraps.”

“Ding, ding. That’s our story.” Tommy nodded.

“Well, that is actually my story. It’s not a lie.” Mac wrinkled her forehead.

Tommy cleared her throat. “Of course. And that’s why it works; we’re trying to frame you as the humble beginnings player that every brand and sponsor should want in on before your big break. Now, talk to me about training.”

Hesitating, Mac swallowed her anxiety. “My follow-through could be better. I just don’t know if I have the gear to make it happen.”

“What do you need?” Tommy let her elbows rest on the desk. It had been a risk to sign such a no-name player. In fact, Mac hadn’t earned her a single cent. But for some reason, Tommy had believed in her ever since she played Memphis International. It wasn’t a Grand Slam, but it was the first time Mac had qualified for anything beyond a local league.

Mac sighed, biting her lip as she debated asking for what she really needed. She caved, “A new pair of shoes. My arches are killing me, and I can’t get enough traction. The clay courts are too slippery.” As much as she hated what felt like a handout, Mac knew she couldn’t win the French Open in these rundown sneakers.

Without another word, Tommy grabbed her phone and dialed a number. A few silent seconds passed before Tommy spoke. “Hey, Danny. Look, I’ve got a new underdog going to compete in Garros. We want to see her sponsored. And I can’t imagine anyone wanting to miss out. Think we could get a gear set?”

Mac bit her lip as she tried to make out the muffled chatter on the other end of the line.There’s no way this is going to work out… Tommy didn’t even give my name.

“See, this is why I call you first. Look, she’s gonna be great. Give us something that pops; we want her to stand out. Think BJK’s blue suede. Thanks, Dan.” Tommy hung up the phone and scribbled a note. “Adidas is sending you a kit. It’ll be in your hotel room when you arrive. Break the shoes in immediately. Babs will know what to do.”

Mac tilted her head. “Do I owe them anything?”

Tommy shook her head. “Nah, just take a few pics of the outfit. But don’t tag them in any posts. They have to pay you for that, understood?”

With a nod, Mac stood from her chair and grabbed her duffel bag. “Thanks, Tommy.”