Page 1 of Drop Shot (On the Court #2)

ELIAS

“Enough,” my voice cuts through the room. “I know what you’re getting at. Now turn that off.” I flick my fingers to the computer screen. I don’t need to watch a second more.

“ Do you get it, Elias?” Jackson, my manager for the past few years asks. He’s only about thirty-three but the lines around his eyes and mouth make him look older. Hate to admit they’re probably all from his frowning at me. “Because I’m not sure you do.”

“I do, believe me.” I turn away from the screen, doing a few revolutions in the chair.

Jackson lets out an exasperated sigh and slams the laptop lid closed.

“You’ve lost your shit in your last few matches.

Your temper used to be amusing to spectators, cute even, but now you look like a hot head who can’t control his emotions.

Not to mention, some of the photos that are appearing online of you out at clubs with women when you should be focusing on your sport.

You’re lucky most people don’t give a shit about tennis and these photos haven’t landed somewhere. ”

I grab a pen off the table, flipping it around and between my fingers.

“Is there a point to this tirade of yours?”

Jackson pulls out a chair and sits down across from me. To my left, my assistant, Whimsy scribbles furiously on her iPad.

I wonder if she’s writing my boss is an idiot over and over again. Wouldn’t blame her if she is.

“Yes.” Jackson laces his fingers together, laying his hands on the table. “This shit needs to stop. You need to show up to all your practices, you need to not lose your shit at matches, and you need to stop going out and partying.”

It’s a conversation we’ve had before, and I never listen. Not because I don’t care, I do , but because I’m in a rut I can’t seem to get out of.

“That’s where Whimsy comes in.”

Whimsy’s head jerks up at the sound of her name. Clearly, she’s as caught off guard by this new development as I am.

Jackson’s statement has me rearing back in confusion. “Whimsy? What the fuck does she have to do with any of this?”

If he’s about to place any blame on my assistant’s shoulders I might just punch him. Whimsy is a saint, saving my ass from all kinds of precarious situations I land myself in, and keeping my life running like a well-oiled machine.

“We’re going to release it to the media that the two of you are dating.”

Whimsy squeaks, her pencil falling to the floor.

She quickly drops to the ground in search of it, her light pink skirt clinging to her shapely ass.

I jerk my head away, scared of being caught checking her out.

I’ve never entertained the idea of going there with Whimsy, because frankly, she’s too good of a girl for me and she’s too important to me for me to risk ruining our working relationship for sex.

I cross my arms over my chest. “But we’re not dating.”

Whimsy pops back up with her pencil.

Jackson sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m aware. Celebrities have PR relationships all the time.

Why can’t you?” It’s a rhetorical question, because he barrels on.

“A lot of people in the tennis world know Whimsy, even your fans, and a relationship between the two of you would generate some much-needed good buzz for you and distract people from your recent behavior. It gives them something else to be invested in.”

I purse my lips, thinking it over.

Beside me, Whimsy says, “I had no idea about any of this. I swear.”

My brows furrow. “I didn’t think you did.”

She lets out a breath, shoulders squared.

For someone with the name Whimsy she’s so damn proper in her girly pink dress, half her blond hair clipped back. Makeup impeccable. I don’t know how she manages to put herself together, not a hair out of place, and take care of my entire life. But she does and she makes it look effortless.

“Whimsy, you’ll be compensated for your time, but this will cease your job assisting Elias. It doesn’t look right for him to date his assistant and for her to keep working.”

“Whoa,” I interject. “We haven’t agreed to anything.”

Jackson gives what’s probably his fiftieth body rattling sigh since I entered the room. “You will.”

“I like my job,” Whimsy says, looking between me and Jackson. “I’m perfectly capable of continuing to do my job under the radar if we do this.”

Jackson’s shaking his head before she gets the full sentence out. “People will know.”

I suppose he has a point there. When you’re in constant close quarters with these people they know things.

“So, won’t they know this is fake?” I counter.

“You two will have to act like your lives depend on it,” he says, making eye contact with each of us. “You will be sharing a room—and a bed—because again, people will think it’s weird if you’re staying in a room with two. You’re adults. I think you’re both capable of being mature about this.”

“Jackson,” I gripe. “Do you hear yourself? This is insane. I can make a public apology, maybe do a few interviews, go live a couple of times … whatever … and this will all blow over.”

“That might’ve worked in the past, but you’re too old for this shit. You need to look like you’re settling down.”

I look to Whimsy to see if she’s hearing this shit he’s spewing, but she looks mildly ill.

“Hey.” My voice gentles and I lay my hand on her knee—not on her thigh where I’d most definitely be crossing a line. “Are you okay?”

She gives a tiny nod.

“Look, you’re stressing her out,” Isnap at Jackson.

I slide my chair out and get up, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge in the corner of the office space. The bottle is smaller than my fist, but it’ll do. I take the cap off and hold it out to Whimsy who swipes it quickly and sips carefully at the liquid.

“Look, I’m not trying to stress anyone out. I’m just doing what you pay me to do and that’s clean up the streak of shit you’re determined to leave behind wherever you go.”

I settle back into the chair, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’ll only do this if Whim is okay with it.”

Whimsy’s head whips in my direction. “Don’t put this decision only on me,” she begs.

I shrug. “It’s up to you.”

Jackson drags a hand down his face. “If it’s not her, it’s someone else. I figured you’d be more agreeable since you already know each other and get along.”

I exchange a look with Whimsy, and she gives a tiny shrug. “How long would we have to do this?”

Jackson’s shoulders relax now that I’m not actively fighting against him. “Minimum six months but we’d prefer a year.”

“A year,” I croak, rubbing my jaw. I turn to the woman at my side. “Think you can handle being my fake girlfriend for that long?”

She gulps and before I have a chance to wonder why she looks so scared over the idea, she says, “Yeah, I can do it.”

“Excellent!” Jackson slams his palm down on the table. “Let me grab the contract.”

He turns, rifling through his bag.

“You already have it?” I blurt.

Jackson’s fingers freeze on a stack of papers. “Of course. Do you think I’d allow you time to try to wiggle your way out of it if you agreed?”

I purse my lips and sit in silence. He has a point.

He slides two separate contracts over to each of us.

Whimsy scans the first page and looks up at him. “Can I have a lawyer take a look over this?”

He sighs like he very much was hoping this question wouldn’t come up.

“Sure,” he replies. He turns to me. “Angus put it together and approves, but feel free to call him to confirm if you’d like.”

“I will.” I spin my chair to Whimsy and gives her a light kick to get her attention. “You don’t have to do this.”

Whimsy looks away from the tiny black text on the bright white printer page. “If we don’t do this, then what?” She addresses the question to Jackson.

He shoves his fingers through his hair. I doubt he realizes that it’s not sticking up in every direction.

“I can’t very well make you do anything, but I can promise you’ll be well-compensated.” He slides another piece of paper across the table to Whimsy.

She takes one look at it and blanches. Her French-tipped nails tremble at the edges of the paper. “That’s way more than what I make now. Who’s paying that?”

“The payment will be divided between Elias and us.” By us he means the PR firm.

I snort and take the document from her. “I haven’t agreed to pay anything.”

“You will,” Jackson says with surety.

I take a look at the amount and slide it back to Whimsy.

“You’ll be paid in installments, a large sum upon agreement and smaller payments for things like dates and interviews and any paparazzi shots we set up, and then another large sum at the end of the year. If you only make it six months then this amount is cut in half.”

Her lips pinch and blue eyes glance my way. I desperately wish I knew what she was thinking. She looks back at the document, then at me.

“What are you thinking?” My curiosity wins out.

“I’ll do whatever you want.”

With a sigh, I look across the table at Jackson.

I don’t want to force Whimsy to do anything she isn’t comfortable with. “Whim?” I prompt, forcing her to look at me. “Do you want time to think about this?”

She shakes her head. “No, I’ll do it.”

“Perfect,” Jackson says, flipping our documents open and pointing out where we need to initial and sign.

Perhaps dumb of both of us, but we both sign and hand them back.

He smiles as he tucks the signed documents into the manila folder.

“Starting now, you’re no longer his assistant and you’re no longer her boss. Remember, you’re a couple now. We’re going to do a soft launch the day of your first match in Miami.”

“I think that’s a hard launch,” I correct.

“Whatever.” He waves a dismissive hand. “We want to start getting the word out there. Remember, you’re in love. Smile at each other. Hold hands. Kiss. Do your thing.”

He shoos us out the door of his office and closes it behind us.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” I ask Whimsy.

Her little blond head bobs with a nod. “Yes, I’m fine. It’s not what I expected going in there at all. I don’t want you think I knew. I’m sorry.”

“I know you didn’t, Whim. Don’t worry.”

“You’re going to have to get a new assistant now. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I tell her as we head down the hall to catch the elevator. “I’ll survive.”

“I’m s?—”

“Whimsy.” I push the button to call the elevator. “If you say you’re sorry one more time I’m going to … I don’t know what I’m going to do, but it’ll be something.”

She turns those big blue doe eyes my way. “Sorry. Shit. I did it again.” She slaps a hand to her mouth.

Dropping my head back, I groan.

The doors slide open and we step on. I press the button for the lobby of the building and lean against the side while Whimsy stands in the opposite corner.

With a sigh, I move back to where she stands. “Whim?”

She clutches her iPad close to her chest. “Yeah?”

“We’re never going to fool anyone if you pick the opposite corner of the elevator as far as you can get from me.”

“Oh.” Her face falls. “I already suck at this.”

“Don’t worry.” I rub my jaw. “I’m not going to be great at this either.” I’ve never dated, not long term anyway. Even in high school I was so focused on tennis that it didn’t leave room for dating. I scratch the back of my neck. “We’ll just figure this out together.”

“Together,” she echoes as we step off the elevator and into the lobby.

Less than a minute later we’re outside in the Miami sun.

I grab her wrist in a gentle tug before we go our separate ways. “Maybe you could come to my place tonight or me to yours? Have dinner and just chat? Try to get to know each other like…”

“Like lovers?” she finishes for me.

I grin at her, trying not to laugh. “Yeah, exactly like that.”

“My place is small, but I’d rather you come to my apartment. I’ll text you the address. Are you okay with cats?”

I cock my head to the side. “You have a cat?”

She taps her fingers against her iPad case. “I’ve mentioned it before.”

“I must have forgot, but yeah, I like cats.”

“Okay.” She nods as she files this information away. “For dinner, can you bring Chinese takeout?”

I laugh. “Sounds good to me. Text me your order.”

“I will.”

I give her wrist a light squeeze before we head our separate ways.