Wildcard: Volume Two

Me: Is everything okay?

Her: It’s fine. I forgot about a meeting, that’s all. I’ll call you later. Have a great day xx

I grab my sports bag and leave the room. I’m still not convinced, but I’m also already running late. Whatever is up with her, it will have to wait.

***

As soon as I arrive at the club I’m called into Rick Mason’s office. I already know what this is about—my altercation with Cally. I’m expecting that this is where I get relieved of my duties and lose half of my sponsorship deals. That would give Matt a heart attack.

I’ve never met Rick, but I am aware he is the CEO of this club, the president of one of my main sponsors, and the chairman of the Junior Tennis Association.

In other words, he owns the arse I have to kiss.

I have my apology ready and scripted in my head, even though no part of me is really sorry. I don’t have the patience or inclination to teach know-it-all brats how to win when they have no fucking intention of actually listening to what I have to say—and yes, I see the irony in that.

But I’m also not ready to go back to London just yet—not until I figure out this thing with Scarlett, and what the hell is going on with her.

“Have a seat, Ryder.”

I sit down and wait for the shitstorm that I’m sure is coming.

“I understand you’ve been mentoring Cally Harmer.” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “I just received a call from her father. Apparently she was quite vocal on her dislike for you and your teaching techniques. Are you familiar with her career at all?” He sits back in his chair and waits for me to answer.

I shrug. I know enough: spoiled rich kid with a mild talent for tennis and a Daddy who answers to her beck and call.

“She’s a talented young girl, but she can be a fucking nightmare to work with.”

I laugh and rub my jaw. Rick is a picture of professionalism, and that, combined with his properness, makes hearing the guy swear hilarious.

Maybe this isn’t going to be the arse-kicking I’m expecting.

“Cally’s father thinks she can learn a lot from you. They would like you to coach her full time for the next two weeks. Jackson Harmer has donated over ten million dollars to this club in the past year alone, so you can understand my haste to keep him happy.”

Ah, Jackson Harmer. That explained some of this kid’s attitude. I’d never met the guy, but he is one of the top defense attorneys in the country. This guy obliterated every lawyer he came up against. He’d sacrifice his own family if it meant winning a case.

“Coach her?” I repeat, his words finally sinking in. “No offense, Rick, but I’m not a coach. I’m a player. And even if I were, I don’t think I could handle that kid every day—even only for two weeks.”

Rick smiles thinly. “Ryder, I want you to think about this before you give me a response. Maybe talk it over with Matt? I don’t need to remind you that many of your sponsors are concerned with your recent behavior.”

I stand up and smile tightly. I don’t like being threatened, and this is beginning to sound an awful lot like an ultimatum: either I teach the brat or lose my sponsors. “I’ll keep that in mind, Rick. Now if you don’t mind, I’m already running late.”

***

Matt answers my call on the second ring. “Ryder,” he says. He sounds amused, and right away I know he knows.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I protest. “There’s no way I can control this girl.” I’m beyond pissed, and it’s reflecting in my tone.

“I know how you feel, Ryder.”

I scowl into the phone, not appreciating the amusement in his voice.

“But you need to do this. It’s not up for discussion,” he adds. “By the way, how is your recovery going?”

“Fine,” I say, gritting my teeth. Every day I feel a little more like my old self, and the pain is

significantly better. Not that I’ll tell him that.

“Good. I’m going to organize you an appointment with a specialist over there, okay?”