Staying On Top

Chapter 1


Sam





“Are you Sam Bradford?”

This was getting to be too easy. I didn’t know how that made me feel.

I closed my eyes and counted to five. Ten or twenty would have been better, but that seemed like a long time to ignore someone. She sounded pretty, with a lilting, hard-to-place accent—probably Swiss. I guessed tall and blonde, maybe brown eyes, and found exactly that when I swiveled on the bar stool to face her.

“Oh, you are. Hi. I’m Chloe. This is Vera.” She jerked her head toward the shorter, less attractive brunette standing a foot behind her. “I’m a huge fan.”

They were always huge fans, just not usually of tennis. Girls were fans of things such as the shoes Nike had given me for the season, the way my hair curled in the humidity, or maybe the way my abs looked when I changed out of my sweaty shirt on court. And normally, I didn’t mind. Chloe was confident and beautiful, as Swiss girls tended to be, but I’d hoped getting to Basel a few days early would help me avoid the groupies.

Of course, bombing out of Valencia in the second round had helped my early arrival along.

I slid off the stool and dropped some euros on the bar, then grasped her hand. It was warm and soft, everything a girl’s hand should be, but I couldn’t muster the interest. For all the fun that went along with not having a commitment, lately the shine of the single life had started to wear a little thin. “It’s nice to meet you, Chloe.”

Disappointment shone in her dark eyes. “You’re leaving? I was hoping to buy you a drink.”

“If I didn’t have to go, I would buy you a drink. No way would I let such a beautiful woman pay for booze.” I winked and gave her a smile. A pretty blush crept across her pale cheeks, almost changing my mind. “Will you be attending the matches next week?”

She nodded. “Yes. My father’s company is one of the sponsors.”

“Well, then I’m sure I’ll be seeing a lot more of you.” I let the double entendre sink in, enjoying the glow of hungry excitement on her face. “Have a lovely night, ladies.”

I traded the overly warm interior of the bar for the chill of October in Switzerland, barely glancing at the scenery. The thing about traveling constantly was that every place started to feel the same. Switzerland was beautiful and friendly, and was actually one of the places on my list to consider settling down one day, but tonight a soft hotel bed was all I wanted.

Only a few weeks remained before professional tennis’s paltry six-week off-season, and I needed it more than ever this year. The injury my obliques sustained in Melbourne had healed by spring, but a rough five-set semifinal at the US Open had me hurting again in a way that begged for a long rest.

I felt tired—exhausted by the travel; by the practice and play; by women; by my small but invasive circle of friends, managers, and trainers; and by my bloodsucking family. It was impossible to recall the last time I’d been alone. I don’t think it had ever happened.

The windows of my hotel, a posh five-star job that cost me thousands of dollars a night after putting up my publicist, manager, coaches, and trainers, glowed in the Swiss evening. The silence of the empty lobby loosened the tension in the back of my neck. As I reached for the elevator buttons I was thinking maybe one drink from the minibar, then bed, when a throat cleared behind me.

Not again. The tournament didn’t start for two days—who would have guessed there would be so many women lurking around already?

It wasn’t a hopeful girl, though. The desk clerk’s face shone with a light sweat, his eyes flitting from the floor, to me, to the front desk, before settling on his toes. His white-blond hair made the redness of his cheeks even more prominent, and his sweat, along with the way he licked his lips, infected me with nerves.

“Mr. Bradford?” He licked his lips again, then darted a glance at my face.

“Yes?”

“There, um . . . seems to be an issue with your credit card. If you would care to step over to the front desk, I’m sure we can make other arrangements.”

“What kind of issue?” The travel weariness sank deeper, burrowing into my bones.

“It’s been declined by the bank.”

“That’s not possible.” I had no idea what my limit was except that it was extremely high—maybe non-existent, and I spent so much money on a monthly basis on training and travel that there was no way to keep track of my balance. I had an accountant and he hadn’t given me any indication of a problem. “Did you try it again?”

“Three times, sir, and we called. There are no funds available.” He stepped to the side, motioning to the front desk. The harsh lobby light glinted off his gold name tag, catching his name.