Page 2 of Rivals and Liars

"Okay," she answers, leaving it at that.

"Good. Get some rest."

Her dad hangs up and she takes the opportunity, phone already in her hand, to open her messages. She finds Kate's name and taps on the conversation. The last text is from Kate, sent before the match.

"Make it clear who owns this tournament."

Leire runs her thumb over the screen, and something in her expression softens.

A tennis player's life has its downsides, and the one Leire can't stand is the mandatory sponsor dinners — like this one she's had to sit through tonight.

"It's a shame you didn't win the Australian Open. With today's win you'd have two of the four Grand Slams and you'd be a serious contender for the calendar Slam," says Isaac Melero, seated to her right.

Leire sometimes gets the feeling her agent is a little clueless when he makes comments like this. She already knows exactly what she's in contention for and what she's not, and she's always been irritated by people who dwell on things in the past that can't be changed. Of course she would have liked to win in Australia — but she didn't, because she faced Kate in the final, and Kate on home soil is unstoppable. It's as if the energy of her own country takes hold of her and makes her invincible. The proof is that the redhead has won seven of the nine times she's played the Australian Open.

Leire doesn't answer and attacks her dessert as if she hasn't eaten all day. She's barely touched her dinner — she's more tired than hungry, and all she wants is to go up to her room and lie down — but no matter how little appetite she has, when it comes to something sweet, she can't help herself.

"Tomorrow I'll have my first meeting with Costel. We're going to talk about renewing the sponsorship contract."

Leire sets down her spoon, caught off guard.

"Renewal?"

"Yes, this month marks five years since you signed."

She goes very still, staring at the piece of chocolate cake balanced on her spoon while her mind turns the name of the brand over. The contract Isaac is talking about brought her ten million euros over those five years — half in cash, the other half reinvested in her: clothing, equipment, private travel, hotels, everything she needed at tournaments.

It was, without question, an incredible deal. But Leire sometimes wishes she'd never signed it — or at least that's what she tells herself to justify her own cowardice.

"Did they make an offer, or did you reach out to them?"

"They came to us. Ten million again — but you're not the same player you were back then. Your numbers are way better now, and that needs to be reflected."

Isaac licks his ice cream, and Leire looks away, faintly disgusted. As far as she's concerned, dinner is over — and so is this exhausting day, though part of her wishes it weren't quite finished yet.

Chapter 2

"Hey, sweetheart," Diane Park—Kate's coach—says as she leans down and kisses the top of her head.

Kate looks up and watches her until she settles into the seat across from her.

"Hi, Diane."

"Want another one?" the coach asks, noticing the sparkling water Kate ordered is almost empty.

"No, I'm good."

"Are you going?" It sounds like a question, but it really isn't. Diane knows perfectly well that Kate is just killing time until Leire gives her the signal.

"Maybe."

Diane makes a face and Kate drops her gaze to her glass of water.

"How are you feeling?" she continues, shifting the subject to keep the player from getting uncomfortable—though this one isn't much easier.

Kate tightens the elastic on her ponytail, then drags a finger along her left eyebrow, tracing the scar that cuts through it. It's an unconscious habit she falls back on whenever she's nervous, uncomfortable, or riding too high on adrenaline, and Diane has been by her side long enough to know that right now it's the second one.

"Fine, it doesn't hurt," Kate says.