Grand Slams

1

Noah

"I just don't understand what you were thinking." Marshall sighed for the umpteenth time.

I tried my hardest not to roll my eyes. I've been sitting in this office for an hour and a half and he's repeated the same phrase about five times.

"I just can't wrap my head around it. You're a professional, Noah. I can't keep cleaning up these messes." He continued on.

I narrowed my eyes and leaned forward, elbows on my thighs.

"I made the public statement apologizing on social media and said I'd pay for the damages caused. I don't know what else you want me to say or do." I sat back and grasped the front of my athletic t-shirt, pulling it away from my body to allow some air to hit my skin. I'd just played and won a three hour match against a fellow pro and sweat was stuck on my body like a second skin. I needed to get home and take a shower, but that seems impossible as we continue with this dilatory lecture.

"Money doesn't grow on trees. All of this-" he used his arm to wave around his office, his walls decorated with pictures of me from past tournaments, the one of me raising the Wimbledon trophy caught my eye. The smile on my face as I stared up at the crowd that never failed to cheer me on.

"-is getting to your head. You're not twenty anymore. You're turning thirty next month and you keep fucking shit up for not only me but yourself." Marshall took ahold of the black, thick framed glasses perched on his nose and tugged them off his face, placing them on the desk in front of him. He used his now freed hand to come up and rub the bridge of his nose. I sighed and sat up straighter in my chair, I placed my hands onto the arms, feeling the cool wood as I gave each side an uncomfortable squeeze.

"I get it. I fucked up." I clenched my jaw. It was a mistake. I owned up to it.

"This isn't just a fuck up. A DUI Noah? You had a full on collision with a food market at 9 pm on a Monday. I'm thanking the fucking heavens it happened to be closed and no one was inside. We have to fix this. I've got emails from almost all of your sponsors. Nike wants to take away your sponsorship. That took us almost five years to get ahold of." He lifted his hand to the top of his head, leaving it there as a way to brace himself.

My gut clenched. I have fucked up before, many times actually, but a week ago I throughly fucked myself over. I had decided I needed a nightcap at approximately 7 at night, and had been coming back from a bar a couple blocks away from my place. I'd also idiotically decided that driving there was a necessary feat since my legs had taken a beating during training earlier that morning. At the time, driving my Mercedes Benz a few streets plastered didn't seem like a bad idea, but now I'm thoroughly questioning my decision making skills, especially while inebriated.

Marshall's eyes stayed locked on my face, his lips pursed.

"Is something going on? I know I'm your manager but I like to think I'm also your friend. If there's anything you want to-"

Yeah, that's not happening.

"Nope. Just wanted a drink and went a little overboard. I'm fine." My voice was curt and straight to the point. No need to deep dive into my mind, especially after already hearing how much of a clusterfuck I've gotten myself into. 

"Tell me what to do. I want to fix this, I really do. Just tell me what I gotta do." I leaned back on a sigh as my hands rubbed down my face. I'm tired and just want to go home and run away from this disaster, but I know I put both Marshall and I in a bad place. Hell, my whole livelihood at the moment was in a bad place.

I watched as he picked up his cellphone that sat beside him and started scrolling through what I assumed were his texts or emails.

"Two days ago I received a call from a small tennis association." He started, not taking his eyes away from the screen.

"A tournament is taking place next week with a fair money prize. The amount needed to enter  the tournament is $500. They mentioned something about allowing players to enter without the entrance fee if they had a professional tennis player sponsoring them." He shut off his phone and glanced back up at me.

I furrowed my brows. "What's this have to do with me?" And only $500? I made that every time someone viewed the Gatorade advertisement I shot last year.

He sighed again and took a seat across from me behind his desk, lowering his cellphone to the table.

"Usually, small names sponsor. However, if you volunteer, it will bring lots of attention to you. Good attention. To show you care about the game more than you care about yourself." Marshall's eyes widened disbelievingly as the last words left his mouth as he blew out an exasperated breath.

I deserved that dig.

I watched him cautiously. I didn't join the pros to do this type of charity bull, but I also didn't join to find myself caught in scandals every six months and wreak havoc on my brand. If this means helping me out of the shit hole I dug myself into, I might consider it.

"What do I have to do? Show up with them?Sweet talk them to the ATP?"

"Yes. Sort of. You're going to act as a fill-in coach. Support them. Be present during the actual tournament. That kind of shit."

"Okay. I'll do it." I nodded my head, determined. The last thing I need is to take my attention away from bettering my game, but if doing this gives me the good publicity I need, I'm in.

Marshall nodded his head in return and picked up his phone on the desk beside him. "I'll make the call after you leave, then." He started dialing and I took that as my cue to go.

"Great. Thanks." I sat up and bent down to grab my tennis bag. As I headed out the door, a sudden weight eased from my shoulders. If I succeed in sponsoring this player, I could fix all this shit. Keep my sponsorships. Keep my status.

As I made my way to the exit of the floor, I walked by Marshall's receptionist, Linda. No, Lindsay. Layla?

"Oh!" Her round cheeks blushed a pretty pink as she spotted me.

"Hi, Mr. Davis!" She squeaked. I turned to look at her as she pushed out her chest, trying to draw my attention to her overly-endowed upper area.

"Hey." I nodded my head up in her direction. One thing I don't do is shit where I eat.

"Have a nice day!" Her wide, blue eyes widened and her smile was a little too exaggerated. She bobbed her head as if agreeing with her statement, her blonde hair moving along with it.

"You too." I jutted my chin out as I exited the office area and pressed the elevator button as soon as I reached it.

I need that goddamn shower ASAP.