“Of course,” she said. “Now get out there and win yourself another trophy.”
So I did. It would be rude to refuse a lady’s request, right?
The celebrations in Miami were wilder too, and I was actually looking forward to the fancy dinner and maybe dancing afterwards. The clubs here had something for everyone, and I could spend a late night out with salsa music quite happily. That had been the plan anyway, until Toni pulled me aside during the post-match handshakes.
“Listen, I didn’t check my flights until this afternoon, I actually have to go.”
“Wait, we can rebook—”
“I can’t, there’s a photo call in the morning with the mayor, it’s a whole big deal. I’ll call you, okay? And congratulations, gorgeous.”
“Toni, wait!”
She leaned across to kiss my cheek, barely lingering. A moment later, she was gone, lost in the crowd. Even if I could spot her I couldn’t have followed; there were still a bunch of people waiting to meet me including a couple of kids who’d won a contest. I kept checking my phone, but no more explanation came.
Just when I thought I could finally sneak off, maybe head to the airport and see if I could still catch up to Toni, I felt an irritating tap on my shoulder.
“Elin.”
“Mira. You know, it actually hurts when you dig at a collarbone that way.” I folded my arms, our alliance fragile in the absence of Toni.
“Yes, I’ll try to remember you’re so breakable. I know Antonia already left, but in a moment you’re going to be asked to step into a room with some representatives from the GTA. They’re not happy you’ve been avoiding them since last week, so take this meeting. Understood?”
“Mira, I’m not going because they click their fingers. They know where I am.”
“Oh, for the love of… They’re angry with you, can’t you see that? Otherwise it would have been dropped. So make nice, just enough for the issue to carry on. Is that so much to ask?”
“We’ll see,” I replied. I didn’t enjoy being told what to do, and even less by Mira. Before I could complain to her, I was being approached by a little posse of men in suits. Something the press in the room noticed almost instantly, despite the fact I’d been shaking hands with all kinds of people for over an hour.
“Miss Larsson, we really do need to talk. You haven’t collected your prize money yet, so why don’t we do both at once?”
It wasn’t like I still had to pick up a cheque. I simply went in to sign and the money went by wire transfer. All one million and something dollars of it.
Mira glared at me from the side, and so I relented. “Okay, but I don’t have long. My sponsors are expecting me for a reception.”
Both true and not. They’d be cracking the champagne because I’d won again with their logos on my sleeve, beamed to screens and printed on pages all over the world.
They ushered me into a faceless office, occupied by one large desk and a couple of chairs. I stood tall despite still being in my match clothes, hands on my hips to stop me from fidgeting.
“I’m not sure what you need to talk to me about, but—”
“Miss Larsson, we need to inform you that recent remarks you made at Indian Wells are considered by the disciplinary committee to be bringing the game into disrepute.”
Okay. That shut me up. At least for a minute. I just stared, waiting for some kind of explanation.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“In recognition of your incredible career and excellent disciplinary record, the committee also decided that it would be acceptable to offer you a warning in private. That would give you the chance to retract and apologise, with no further action being taken.”
“Now hold on one minute. Why would I take back what I said?”
“Elin, please.” The guy talking seemed to think we knew each other. Maybe we did, but he was unremarkable. Was it possible I had that face blindness I read about on a long plane journey once? Or just terminally bad with names? More likely. “This can all go away. You’re not even affected by the accusation you made.”
“And yet you’re already looking to punish me,” I pointed out. “How much more would you crack down on someone whose career wasn’t incredible and whose disciplinary record wasn’t excellent?”
“All you have to do is mention at one of your next press conferences—it doesn’t have to be today—that you wanted to withdraw your remarks. The company who provide our drug testing and other medical services are one of our most important partners. Without them, we’d end up with less money for prize money and other important things.” Another suit explained it like I didn’t know how our corporate world worked.
“And if I don’t?” I had to ask. If I was going to stand up for the people who mattered to me, I was going to know the consequences. “What if someone else raises the same complaint? Because others are angry too, including the women treated unfairly.”
“Further disciplinary action. Including considerable fines and possible suspension from competition.”
“Suspension from what? A week in some minor tournament?” I scoffed.
“For up to three months,” the first man replied. “Including the French Open.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
I didn’t tell anyone what the meeting had been about for days. Maybe it was stupid to sit on the threat, but I hadn’t tried to retract my statement at the press conference either. One thing was sure: I really didn’t want to do that. It would be selling out my friends on an issue I believed was a genuine injustice.
Maybe if I’d been around Toni I would have spilled sooner, but with her in Charleston and me moping around at home in Los Angeles, the opportunity didn’t come up. Our calls were brief, and I could feel the slight chill between us even in texts. I should have been diving in to solve that issue, but the black
