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CHAPTER ONE

‘EIGHT-THREE MY SERVE’

Cruz Rodriguez Sanchez, self-made billionaire and one of the race the polo field, let his squash racquet drop to his side and stared at his opponent incredulously ‘Rubbish! That was a let And it’s eight-three my way’

‘No way, compadre! That was my point’

Cruz eyeballed his brother as Ricardo prepared to serve They ame of squash but ‘friendly’ was a relative teret their just desserts, you know,’ Cruz drawled,to the opposite square

Ricardo grinned ‘You can’t win every tio’

Maybe not, Cruz thought, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d lost Oh, yeah, actually he could—because his laas in the process of righting that particular wrong while he blew off steaular catch-up session

Feeling pumped, he correctly anticipated Ricardo’s attempted ‘kill shot’ and slashed back a return that his brother had no chance of reaching Not that he didn’t try His running shoes squeaked across the resin-coated floor as he lunged for the ball and missed

‘Chingada madre!’

‘No,’ Cruz mocked ‘That would be nine-three My serve’

‘That’s just showing off,’ Ricardo gru at the sweat on his broith his sweatband

Cruz shook his head ‘You knohat they say? If you can’t stand the heat’

‘Too ura’

‘Good to see you know your place’ He flashed his brother a lazy smile as he prepared to serve ‘El pequeño’

Ricardo rolled his eyes, flipped him the bird and bunkered down, determination etched all over his face But Cruz was in his zone, and when Ricardo flicked his wrist and sent the ball barrelling on a collision course with Cruz’s right cheekbone he adjusted his body with graceful agility and sent the ball ricocheting around the court

Not bothering to pick himself up off the floor this ti the trajectory of the ball, and shook his head ‘That’s just unfair Squash isn’t even your game’