Chapter Two

After a long and successful business lunch in a noisy sports bar, Mercedes felt relieved to exit the restaurant. Coming out of the dimly lit pub, the glare from the bright afternoon sun blinded her, and she hurried to put on her sunglasses.

Max had decided to accept Lynda as a client conditionally, after he stated that he thought she might want to wait a year or two before attempting to go pro. He explained he had her best interest at heart. He wanted to spare her the extra risk of a severe injury, which oftentimes happens. Mercedes being a case in point, as well as shielding her from suffering the agony of defeat on national television.

The Smith family and Lynda’s coach parted pleasantly after they agreed to discuss the matter at length and made plans to meet later in the week for the quarterfinals, assuming all went well, and Max had a chance to go over Lynda’s statistics before either party committed to a final decision.

Mercedes noted that the Smiths appeared impressed when her brother told them he’d refuse to accept Lynda as a potential client rather than be responsible for having her destroy a promising future in tennis. He wanted her to be more physically fit and to have a chance to grow taller.

By the time she and Max arrived at the Marriott Suites in Old Town Scottsdale, after Max paid the chauffeur and they got to their rooms, there barely had been enough time for a quick swim before Mercedes had to shower and get ready for the evening. Still in her robe, she took out the iron and ironing board and pressed the dress she had worn earlier in the day. She checked to make sure there were no stains on the material.

Max, already showered and dressed, sat in the living room watching the news and enjoying a cold beer. He had already gone down to the lobby to arrange for a rental car for the rest of the week. He gave Mercedes a puzzled look. “Aren’t you going to change outfits?”

“I didn’t bring evening clothes because I thought you and I would be hanging out with the tennis crowd, not entertaining a high profile prospective client at some fancy restaurant. Fortunately, this dress goes anywhere and most people dress casually year round in Arizona.”

Her brother watched her in awe when she took out a tiny perfume bottle and sprayed the fragrance inches above the dress. “What’s that? Smells great!” He asked.

“My newest scent in a hair mist, but I decided to spray some to freshen my outfit,” she said, disappearing into her bedroom.

“Wait ’til Dante gets a whiff of that…”

“Max McFadden, stop trying to push that man on me.”

“I don’t believe I’d have to push him, and I wondered when you were going to bring up the subject,” he yelled over the television.

“I would have mentioned him in the car on the way to the hotel,” she said, poking her head out of her room, “and you don’t need to shout, but you were too preoccupied at the time talking about possibly signing two clients in one day for me to interrupt, and I can’t blame you.”

“One at the top of the success ladder and one at the bottom.” He motioned, raising and lowering his arm.

“All right, now tell me…”

“Why I invited him to dinner?”

“Exactly.” She and her brother had a way of speaking to each other in short, oftentimes, fragmented sentences.

“Several reasons.”

“One good one would suffice.”

“Well.” He sighed, which brought her back into the living room.

“I’m listening.”

“We simply didn’t have enough time this morning at breakfast to complete our business discussion, especially regarding contracts, and I promised I’d find time to do that before he left for Europe.”

“Max.” She sat down being careful not to get her dress wrinkled. “I already have that information.”

“Well, I thought this would be a good opportunity to have a friendly dinner tonight in order to develop our relationship since we didn’t have enough time together and he was anxious to settle the matter before the French Open.”

Max stretched out his legs and continued, “He wants me to go to France with him. If we can shake hands on a gentleman’s agreement, then I’ll have my office manager FAX over a contract for our signatures tomorrow because he leaves the following day.” Max sighed. “Look, if I get this out of the way tonight, we can spend the rest of our time together, the two of us.”

Mercedes picked up a throw pillow off the sofa and tossed the blob at her brother. “I know you better than that, but I’ll accept the explanation for now.”

“Listen, what’s not to like about Dante? You’d be fortunate to marry a man like him.”

“Marry!” She gave her brother an incredulous look. “Max, really. You, of all people, know how I feel about dating celebrities.”

“You’re one!”

“That’s not the same thing. A few people in the tennis business remember me, mostly because I’m your sister. My magazine articles are well read, but my readership for the most part thinks I’m a man and even those who know differently wouldn’t recognize me if they saw me in public, unlike the recognizable Dante. I don’t hang out on the sidelines at NFL games, nor receive comped seats on the floor of pro-basketball games, nor do I have my face on major magazines. I’m usually invisible.”

“Okay, don’t marry him. But I’m not giving up on you. And, frankly I don’t think Dante will either. I noticed how he looked at you.”

“Max, you’re absolutely incorrigible when it comes to fixing me up with guys.”

“Yep.”

“Have you decided where you want to eat tonight?”

“Yes. But I’m keeping that a secret. The manager at the tennis complex gave me the name of his favorite place and made reservations for us at seven o’clock. That was the only opening they had—must be popular.” Max put his arm around her shoulder and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Let’s go pick up Mister GQ.”

They walked to the elevators laughing.

“Remind me tomorrow to buy some SEE’s candy to take back home.”

“I didn’t think you’d miss seeing the candy shop on the corner, no pun intended. How could I forget how much you love chocolate? Truffles, right?”

“Yes.”

They drove through Old Town, catching every traffic light in the rush hour stop-and-go traffic while tourists hunted for a particular street, restaurant, and especially a coveted parking space.

Once the street widened and the speed limit increased to forty-five, the ride didn’t seem as tedious. They pulled into the hotel entrance and Max parked in a Registration Only space. “I’ll run in and find Dante and we can be on our way,” Max said.

Mercedes took the extra moment to check her face in the mirror, ran her fingers through the back of her hair, smiled, and closed the visor. Then, looking out the side mirror, she caught a glimpse of her brother and Dante exiting the hotel.

She felt her heart increase a beat and sighed. Dante, dressed in crisp white slacks, wore a light blue shirt unbuttoned a little more than the one he wore in the morning, and had added a navy blue linen blazer complete with brass buttons. He wore a pair of deck shoes, but still no socks.

When he got into the car, he touched her shoulder. “Good evening, Mercedes.”

“Good evening, Dante. Did you have a good afternoon?”

“Yes,” he answered, while Max got into the car. “I was telling your brother I spent some time at the pool, found a little island oasis with a bar in the middle, sipped some sparkling water and lime and relaxed.”

“No autographing?”

“Only the bartender. Can’t tell you how good having time to relax felt. If any people recognized me, they were polite enough to leave me alone. How was your afternoon?”

“Long, but we got to spend a little time at the pool, too.”

“I can’t wait to see where Max is taking us to dine.”

“He’s not saying, but I’m positive we’ll have a great dinner. He knows how much I love to go to a beautiful restaurant, savor every bite of a gourmet meal and sit back and chat after dinner, especially when he’s picking up the tab.”

She didn’t mention that she was leery about having dinner with him in public. Every time she had to meet a celebrity client at a restaurant, fans interrupted their meal and she disliked sitting there like a lump on a log while they gushed over the athlete. She feared tonight could turn into a nightmare.

“Sounds like you’d like the Riviera. Ever been?”

“I did some traveling when I competed, played at Monaco once, and also interviewed a couple of women players on tour a year or two ago. Only, I didn’t find enough free time to sample all the local seafood dishes, or go shopping.”

“You hate shopping,” Max countered.

“I know, but shopping in Europe is not the same as shopping in most places. New York is fine, but way too crowded for me.”

“Ah,” Dante said, “a woman who doesn’t like shopping or crowds.”

“How about you?” Mercedes asked, turning toward the back to see him. “Most men don’t usually enjoy shopping.”

“I don’t mind. Only I shop sparingly, spending all the money during two or three visits a year. And, if I’m in a rush for time, and need something for a special occasion, I call my mother and she ships me whatever I need from the house.”

“How wonderful that you have a mother to rely on, too,” Mercedes replied in a soft wistful tone, moved beyond words—a man confident enough about his masculinity to mention his mother?

“Here we are,” Max said as he pulled the car up to a restaurant’s valet parking stand.

“Lovely, Max,” she said. “This looks like a classy place.”

“We’ll see if the recommendation was accurate,” he answered, exiting the car.

Before the valet came around to open Mercedes’ door, Dante had beaten him to the task. He took her hand and helped her out, making sure she didn’t trip on the curb. She anchored her attention on his face and didn’t miss the flushed look that came over him the moment their hands touched. She turned her head wondering if he felt the same flow of electricity that ran through her body.

“Still in those sexy shoes,” he remarked, smiling while she was certain he attempted to recover, “and your fragrance smells wonderful. What are you wearing?”

Little did he know what his touch had done to her. She answered softly, “A fragrance called Flowerbomb.”

“By Viktor and Rolf.”

“You’ve heard of Flowerbomb?”

He gave a low chuckle. “Well, my mother has. In fact, I’ve accompanied her to a couple of events where designers have introduced a fragrance, and Viktor & Rolf was one of them. My parents own a perfumery in France and have several shops throughout Europe where women and men go in and sit down and an experienced perfumer, someone who is familiar with floral essences used for scenting, presents samples of perfumes that might suit someone’s personality or perhaps one better suited for their chemistry or skin.”

“I was in one of those shops in Bermuda, once. The place was temperature controlled and very cool.”

“Exactly,” he said, holding the door open to the restaurant. “She wants me to take over, if I’m interested, after I retire from tennis. On the off-season I travel with her, especially if my father is committed elsewhere and I’m learning the business.”

“Do you think you’d enjoy the work?”

He nodded. “The business part is easy. Learning about the chemistry of the fragrances is the challenge. The aroma emitted from this fragrance you’re wearing is as though they created the scent especially for you,” he murmured near her ear as they waited for Max to give the hostess his name.

Mercedes blushed in spite of the goose bumps that sent a slight quiver up and down her arms. Charming and dangerous—she needed to remember to add that to his portfolio. “Thank you, that’s very sweet.”

“Follow me,” the waiter said, leading them into the main dining room.

The windows in the restaurant had no screens, but were wide open, which was one of the great things she loved about Arizona; one could dine alfresco, with almost no flying pests to harass you—something she discovered while attending a tennis camp one year in Scottsdale.

The atmosphere in the room was pleasant, full of light chatter with bright lighting, but they couldn’t hear what people said at the other tables, nor were they bothered by the soft music and clinking of glasses because the acoustics was perfect. All signs of a popular establishment. My favorite kind of restaurant.

Once they were seated she said, “This is a great choice, Max, even if the food isn’t.”

“Well, according to the man who recommended this place, I believe we’re in for a four-star dinner, maybe five.”

The men ordered a bottle of wine, and she said, “I’ll have a glass of wine with dinner,” and ordered a diet cola with lime. The conversation turned to travel, gourmet foods, politics, and even religion, as they snacked on a variety of fresh baked breads served with a cheese spread, before finally ordering their main courses.

All the while, Mercedes became conscious of the way Dante’s gaze found her whether she or Max spoke. And when he wasn’t eyeing her, she stole glances of him. His strong hands and long fingers, with their square cut manicured nails. His smooth, tan chest, glimpsed when his casually unbuttoned shirt gaped open slightly, made her wonder what gliding her fingertips across his skin would feel like, outlining his collarbone, and pecs, following the taut midline abs down to his waist and beyond. She made a sound in the back of her throat and lassoed her wandering imagination while mentally chiding herself.

If the tabloids could be believed, he was an experienced man. She didn’t want to be merely a conquest for him, or anyone else for that matter, or even thought of as a loose woman. She wouldn’t dishonor the memory of her parents, or the dignity of her adopted parents, for any man. She wanted to be someone they would be proud to call their daughter, and not an embarrassment. But this man was pure temptation, a man who could threaten to break down her invisible barriers.

Ordering became a fun event since each person could choose their entrée, but the side dishes were served family style. They agreed immediately on the lobster mashed potatoes and a salad, and each decided on a filet.

During dinner, she merely listened while Max took over the conversation and quickly outlined his contractual agreement. He told Dante he’d be pleased to represent him.

The agreement brought a smile to her lips and she felt delighted for Max that Dante accepted the commission and was more than a little impressed as Max detailed his ideas on how to advance Dante’s career, the top-notched sponsors he had connections with, and what he could do once he became number one in the world. “The sky’s the limit, even now, and your potential can only grow.”

Mercedes glanced around the room and observed people whispering while glancing at their table. She couldn’t blame them, as she too watched the continental way he ate, swirled his wine, and flashed that heart-melting smile. Dante’s European mannerisms, his handsome features, and couture manner of dress were hard to resist. She was certain that people would stare at him even if they didn’t know he was a famous tennis player. He was the most handsome man she had ever seen.

She was grateful that although some had recognized Dante they didn’t come over to the table seeking autographs. The stares sent toward them made her feel self-conscious and more insecure than usual, if that were possible. She straightened her spine, made sure her napkin remained neatly on her lap, and used protocol etiquette about how she cut her steak and chewed her food.

Max and Dante sealed their deal with a handshake, and Max promised to have the contract ready to sign and send to his attorney for final approval before he had to leave Arizona. Business over, she once again entered the conversation as the three of them waited for dessert, and she promised her brother she’d do her best to copy the lobster mashed potatoes recipe for Thanksgiving dinner.

“Crème Brule with raspberries and three straws,” Max teased, when he ordered the dessert, and a round of cappuccino. The three of them took their time discussing their favorite countries and cities to visit, something professional tennis afforded a player that might not otherwise have had that opportunity when they were young amateurs.

On their way out of the restaurant, Mercedes became acutely aware of Dante’s guiding hand riding at the small of her back, his touch spreading warmth that seemed to seep into her very core. At the door she stopped abruptly exclaiming to the incoming woman, “Linda, how nice to see you. I planned to call you tomorrow.”

She turned to introduce Linda Style, the Editor-in-Chief of VIEW Highlife Magazine, to Max and Dante, and felt Dante’s hand drop from her waist as he took Linda’s proffered hand. For a fleeting moment, she regretted the loss of his touch, then told herself that was foolish. He was a public figure. A man, any woman, friend or lover, had to share with the masses. And she certainly didn’t know him well enough, one way or the other, to be possessive of him even for this short while, and not likely to hold his attention for long even if she did.

“I only arrived this morning, unexpectedly.” She chatted with Linda while they waited for the valet to bring the car.

“What are you doing in Arizona?”

“A scouting assignment for a potential tennis client for my brother—a last-minute request. I’ll call you tomorrow and make plans to get together before I leave town.”

She said good-bye and hugged Linda, who whispered in her ear, “I want an Edwards’ interview for my magazine, with photographs of his homes in Italy and Florida.”

Mercedes chuckled. “All right. I promise to give you the article. However, I’m not interviewing him until after the U.S. Open.”

“I’ll put a hold on the end of the year issue. He’s worth the wait, a great stocking stuffer.”