Not So Snow White Read Free

phone, she turned her gaze back to the courts below and once again tried to ignore the painful pang. Not the lingering one in her shoulder. The new one, somewhere in the vicinity of her heart. "You need to handle this better, dammit," she whispered, putting voice to a fear that had been growing rapidly as one sponsor after another walked away.
    Fear was not in her vocabulary.
    Yet here she was, scared shitless. And not a soul to turn to.
    The one thing she still had in her favor was that the world at large generally assumed she'd wi sely invested the multimillion- dollar fortune she'd amassed over the decade she'd spent in the pros. She'd bought this place for her twenty-third birthday and felt quite the grown-up at the time. There followed the flat in Paris, the summer house in the Hamptons, and that quaint little place outside of London that was so perfect and private when she was warming up for the grass-court season. And, of course, there were the cars. Some women collected shoes or jewelry, and they certainly had their place. But Tess was of the decided opinion that houses needed accessorizing, too. Eve r y home should have one or two flashy vehicles parked out front. Sometimes three. Matching luggage was optional. But heavily recommended.
    All of it, except the property on which she stood, was now gone. She pressed her forehead against the glass. So fast. It had all happened so damn fast. If her father or her older brother Wade ever found o ut— She shuddered. How often had they hounded her about long-term financial security ? About hiring investment counselors and bui lding a strong stock portfolio? But honestly, she'd made the money, why should she give it to someone else to spend for her? Spending it was half the fun. Okay, almost all of the fun. Next to actually winning it.
    And her family certainly knew that when anyone tried to tell her what to do, she'd almost always do the opposite. Which made keeping a finance manager about as hard as keeping a coach. She was stubborn to a fault and a rebel to the end.
    "Well, rebel," she muttered as she caught her reflection in the plate glass, "the end is currently staring you in the face. Not a real attractive picture, is it?"
    Her cell phone rang just then, startling her. She didn't want to talk to anyone right at the moment. Maybe ever. She resolutely turned awa y from the view of the courts… and that lingering twinge of instinctive guilt she still felt because she wasn't out there right now pract icing. There were no mor e tournaments. No more escaping from life's more serious issues by immersing herself in a hectic tour schedule. For some it was grueling, an impossible pace to maintain without burning out. Not for Tess. For her it had always felt like her private domain, her own little kingdom, which she thoroughly enjoyed ruling. Just her and her racket.
    Tennis was the love of her life. Her absolute soul mate. Whether it be hard courts, grass, or clay, standing at the base line, looking across the net at the only thing standing between her and yet another victory, was the only time she felt completely, utterly at home.
    So how dare her soul mate abandon her like that?
    Shopping, she decided instantly. That's what she needed, A little retail therapy. Window shopping, she amended, remembering her maxed-out credit cards. She glanced down as her cell phone continued to chirp the theme from Pink Panther and noticed the incoming number. She hurriedly flipped it open, a smile already curving her lips. There was one person in the world she always wanted to talk to, no matter what.
    "Hey there, brat, what's happening? Whipping asses and taking names like your big sister taught ya?"
    "Not everyone considers a tennis court a battlefield." Bobby chuckled and she immediately felt herself relax. "But aye, aye, mon generale, the enemy has fallen again this week."
    "That's my baby brother! Where are you, anyway?" She knew exactly where he was. In London, playing the Queen's Club