“Yes. I’m mighty proud of my brother.”
Her eyes mist over and her eyes flick across my face.
Yes, I mean that, doctor.
I pass her cocktail over, the swirl of orange peel precariously swimming across the surface of the wide-rimmed sugar-coated glass.
“I see you’re still finding that return to form a little elusive, Johnson,” Hector comments.
I frown across at Meredith and she shakes her head quickly as if to confirm she hasn’t spoken to him about anything I’ve said. Or I hope that’s what she means, because otherwise I’m out of here. Right now.
“Yup.”
“You’ll get it back though. No-one can drive a tee shot as direct and as far as you. One Hit Wilder strikes again. That’ll be the headline.” He strokes his hand across the air emphasizing the vision of the news.
“Do you follow golf, Hector?”
“Sure. I play every Sunday without fail; although I might have to put my tee time back a little if I have any more of these.” He holds his glass aloft.
“What do you play off?” I ask, settling into a conversation which allows me to watch the doctor while not losing my train of thought. Which I prove to myself as he spouts about his game and the tricky shots; the key matches he’s watched me in and that period I hit the sweet spot every goddamn time.
“Don’t you mind Hector playing golf every week?” I ask Meredith over a sip from the glass, the overly sweet drink matching my forced mood.
She cocks her head onto one side, her mouth teasing open. “Do you think…?” She flicks her finger between her shoulder and Hector’s. She stutters a laugh.
Hector suddenly cottons on to what’s going on too and takes a step aside.
“No,” they both say in unison, giggling nervously at each other.
“Hector’s my boss,” Meredith explains. “He has a sick wife at home, that’s why I’m here with him.”
“Ah, okay. Sorry.” I view Meredith in a new and more obvious light.
“I’m Hector Miller Jr.” Hector offers his hand out once more. “We’re here on a corporate ticket. One of the many Wilder Foundation sponsors.”
“Ah, okay. Thank you.” Seems like that hand will get a pass off of pee after all; before I remember the name from the parking incident at their offices.
The revelation he’s her boss, also gets me wondering what he would have to say about the knock back she gave me when I asked her to accompany me to LA. I’m positive if he was my psychologist he would have jumped at the chance. It gives me an idea to ask him to persuade her it’s for the best, the only way to get my career back on line.
At the end of the conversation, when the MC calls us all back in, I decide I like this Hector guy, even if he blocked my car in. And when he passes over his business card, I promise to call him and perhaps shoot some balls one Sunday. Possibly, as soon as tomorrow.
Meredith moves to position her empty glass on the bar, her breasts rubbing against my arm as she does. The electricity that jolts up my arm is insane. It’s the first time we’ve touched, and it’s not enough, leaving me wanting much more.
The next comedian could be funny as hell but I haven’t got a clue as I’ve zoned out. Chewing over Dr. Fairchild and the conflicting thoughts I have about her.
Perfect and not my usual type.
It snaps a memory, on one of the last practice rounds I had with Dad. We got to discussing women while we scuttled around in the trees for my wayward ball. It must have been one of the last rounds we had together and my hormones were kicking in big time. He tried to make the point about the differences between having a good time with a woman and a meaningful one.
I didn’t understand the point he was trying to make and haven’t dwelled on it since because to me they were one and the same. Why would you want anything more meaningful than a good time?
But sat here now, the penny has dropped. I don’t want any more good times. I’m ready for something more meaningful.
I turn to Miles.
“Hey, did Dad ever have that conversation with you about dating a woman that’s meaningful?”
“Dad?” He squints at me. “Why the hell are you thinking about that loser?”
“I’m not. I’m trying to remember what he was talking about.”
“No, Johnson. He never had that conversation with me. In fact, I don’t remember any conversation with Dad, I kept out of his way remember? Anyway, what the fuck does he know about meaningful relationships? Look at what he did to Mom.”
“Yeah, good point, Miles.”
✽✽✽
My moment on stage is fantastic, hanging out with kids that go to the golf academy I’ve set up. It’s way passed their bedtime though, so there’s a chorus of yawns. Which feeds a perfect line for even the MC to get in on the comedy act. Joking how golf bores everyone to sleep, even kids.
Chapter Ten
Meredith
So, I’m confused. Or maybe tired. Actually, both.
I’ve had a wonderful night and met some great people at the table, however, I’m bemused about my feelings toward Johnson Wilder. My patient. And it’s not anything he’s done, it’s all me.
My view to date has been he is a womanizer with a sense of entitlement who is as shallow as they come. A golfer making money from a hobby that has less point to it than any other sport. But I’m wrong. On every point.
There were no women dangling from his arms tonight and he didn’t leer at any, or make any inappropriate crass remarks. If anything, it was me that overstepped the mark, drooling over his body in his tailored suit and shamelessly brushing passed him in my confidence boosting dress. Never mind. I’m sure he didn’t notice. He seemed not to anyway.
And shallow. Maybe not? His family all seem lovely. Blane and his twin, Miles, and the beautiful Yasmin. And then the golf academy he has set up, and how he was with all those adorable children. Watching them clamber around his legs and smile up at him, wide-eyed and full of admiration. And then when he picked up the smallest child who fell asleep against his leg. I sigh a breath.
It seems as if I’m the one that is shallow. Not him. This guy is more meaningful than I’ve given him credit for. Meaningful. Yes, his life is meaningful.
The last of the cotton wool pads goes in the wastebasket and I stand back to view my face in perspective, but no, it’s still shocking. These eyebrows seem to have taken on a life of their own. I zoom in again and waggle them furiously. They didn’t appear so awful with the rest of the professionally applied make-up to counter their effect, but without it they look hideous. I consider fishing out the scissors and cutting bangs although that’s not a good idea right now. I’ll sleep on it.
The rest of the weekend is spent getting my shit together in the form of sorting out my apartment and Monday morning I’m waiting, with my travel mug in my hand, for my coffee to brew. I’ve had a productive weekend and I’m buzzing for a fresh working week complete with new bangs.
✽✽✽
Placing my travel mug onto my desk, I check my calendar and my palms tingle at the sight of Johnson Wilder’s name on my morning schedule. How can that be?
Behind the appointment there’s a note from the secretary, explaining that Johnson asked for it to be bumped up from next week and how she thought that would be okay since he’s an existing patient.
Huh? More likely he charmed the ass off her.
In a panic I rush between my desk and the consulting chairs and then back to my desk.
Oh Lordy!
A quick glimpse in the mirror at my hair, flicking the front to make sure it is free-flowing and not snagged on the hideous caterpillar eyebrows. I check my teeth and the blending of my make-up and stuff the mirror back into my purse.
Then before I can fret with anything else, there’s a rap on the door.
“Come in.” My voice falters, having to repeat the command with more confidence.
The door opens, and he stands in the doorway, both hands up on the frame.
My stomach turns over in one big swoop, like I’ve gone passed the dip on a rollercoaster.
“Okay to come in?” He cocks his head on one side and I can see the dimples at each end of his smile.
Initially, he was a good-looking stranger and now I know more about him his category has changed. I’m not sure what label I should give him now, but it’s causing my heart to beat erratically and my legs to turn wobbly.
“Of course, Mr. Johnson, I mean Wilder.” I garble, standing up from behind my desk. “Please come in, sit wherever you like.”
What the hell was that? I’ve not been this nervous since my med school interview. And why have I invited him to sit where he wants, what if he chooses the desk or the window ledge?
Come on Meredith, get your act together. You’re a professional.
My chest puffs out in response and as he strides across the room and sits promptly down in the patient’s chair, I circle the other way and assume my seat.
There’s no notepad in my hand and I feel instantly bare. No preparation and no back up questions.
For a few moments, he pulls at the hem of his trouser against his ankle which is hooked up on to his knee. His handsome red leather-soled shoes, waggle as he waits. For me. To stop staring and start up a conversation
“I very much enjoyed Saturday night. Learning about the Wilder Foundation was very interesting.”
He lifts his head. “Yeah, it’s meaningful.”
I suck in a breath. Meaningful. That’s exactly what I was ruminating last night before bed and even the word I used.
“Is this the missing thread from the conversations we’ve had in our previous sessions?”
He furrows his brow. “I’m sorry Dr. Fairchild, I’m not sure what you mean exactly? But if you’re going to tell me how to get my game back and stop constantly thinking about my father. Then go for it.” He slides his foot down onto the floor and folds his fisted arms in front of his chest.
I leave the thread I was about to pursue in favor of finding out what nerve I’ve touched. “You seem uptight?”
“That’s very perceptive, doctor.”
I let the silence fall for another couple of moments before I carefully move the conversation forward.
“Is that why you felt the need to bring forward this appointment?”
“Well, that and an urgent proposal?”
I cough. “Sorry?”
“About getting my form back. Why else would I want to see you?”
No. Now I didn’t want him to jump to that conclusion. Quickly I backtrack through my words because I don’t want him misjudging my comment.
“Okay.” I smooth down the lines in my skirt and fix my eyes onto his, blinking away the personal image I’m taking in and focusing on the professional one.
“So, shall we start with you telling me about how you got into golf?”
“I started a long time ago, when I was four or five.” He allows himself a slight smile.
“Good memories?”
“Yeah. Dad was patient with me. I’m sure if he pulled me up every time I rolled around in the sand or plucked the ball from its initial landing spot to deposit it somewhere more favorable, then I would have given up.”
“Is that the main place you hung out with your dad?”
“Yeah, he was never at home. Either at work as a salesman or with me at the golf course, or Blane at the athletics track.”
“And not with your other two brothers?”
He huffs. “No, Miles is into winter sports and was away a lot at training camps. And Lincoln, well Lincoln came later. Although I’m not sure Dad would have been around him much. He’s not like us other three, he’s arty.” He sniffs.
“Sounds like you don’t appreciate art?”
“No, it’s not that, I appreciate sport more. Anyway, what do I need to do to make my game work for me. All this talk about family confuses me more and I’m sure you’re about to cut me off again.” He checks the Rolex on his wrist.
I pause and take a deep breath.
“The long and the short of it is, you need to focus more when you are playing the game, escape into it, so all of these issues in your life don’t manifest themselves at the crucial points. But… you can’t ignore these other issues. Another time we need to work through them because they are causing you distress and ultimately there’s only so much blanking out you can do.”
He sighs. “Okay, I get that and that’s why I asked you to come with me to LA and why I asked to see you this morning.” He uncrosses his leg and rests his elbows onto his knees, leaning toward me.
“So, Dr. Fairchild, I need to ask you again, will you come with me on a golf tour? I need your support on the course, not here in an office where I can’t link what you’re saying to the state of my mind during a game. My comp last week in LA was an utter disaster and I can’t fail at this one. It will be the end of my career.”
I open and shut my mouth several times before pulling myself together. I’m flustered that he is more or less blaming me for losing a tournament.
“No. It’s not usual, or appropriate, Johnson. I thought I’d made myself clear last time you asked.”
“Hmm. Please don’t get mad with me, but I spoke to your boss yesterday on the golf course and he sees it differently. There are psychologists out there that are focusing on the golf market and they will fly to wherever a comp is being held. Your boss suggested I speak to you again. In fact, he promised me he would e-mail you about it.”
“Did he now?” I murmur, seething inside that the two men have colluded against me, but at the same time doubting Johnson’s claim because I’m sure Hector wouldn’t set me up like this.
I raise from my chair and go around to my desk, open my laptop and flick through my emails quickly locating the unread one I’ve got from Hector. Yep. Johnson isn’t lying. Hector considers it a brilliant idea. Just the thing to cement the firm’s standing in the golfing fraternity.
I click off the e-mail.
“I don’t know.” I check my watch. “I’ve got another patient to see now. I’ll consider it and we can discuss it some other time.”
“I don’t have any other time, I’ve got stuff on tomorrow and flying out the day after. That’s why I asked for this appointment to be squeezed in.”
“Well, I can’t discuss it all now, I’ve got another appointment now and I’m back-to-back until this evening.”
“That’s fine with me. We can meet over dinner.”
“I don’t deem that appropriate; I don’t date patients.”
“I didn’t actually say it was a date.” He smiles, as if recognizes I’ve made a Freudian slip.
“Hmm. You didn’t, did you?” I turn from the distractions out of the window and lean my backside against the ledge. “Now I’m embarrassed for jumping to that conclusion.” I admit.
Quickly he jumps in. “And to make up for that I reckon you should say yes.”
I worry my lip in between my teeth.
“I don’t know.” I say more to myself than him, buying time by gazing out of the window again and watching my next patient scurry across the parking lot toward our building.
“Does it have to be dinner, can’t it be meeting here? I might be able to rearrange an appointment to make space for you.”
He shakes his head. “I can’t I’ve got arrangements to make and can’t get back to the city until later this evening.”
I curl my finger in my hair, then snap it away and down by my side.
“Okay Johnson. No harm done with dinner is there?”
“Text me your address and I’ll pick you up at seven.” His winning smile, secured at each end with a dimple.
He walks out of the door, letting my next patient slide in.
Chapter Eleven
Johnson
Meredith lives a few blocks down from Blane and Yasmin’s place, so I will crash with them tonight after dinner with Meredith
This evening is about the trip to Augusta, there�
�s no way I’m jumping to any conclusions about hitting her up and spending the night at hers. Anyway, with my recent performance I wouldn’t dare. It makes me shudder when I recall the embarrassment I suffered at Charlena’s hands and mouth and every other tactic she employed to get me hard the other week.
Usually when I’m in the city, I would book a hotel, but with Blane’s place being close to Meredith’s apartment, and the added reason of having an early morning meet at the golf academy with him, I’ll crash in one his spare bedrooms.
I park my car in a nearby secure lot and use Blane’s driver to take us to the restaurant. I’m not a fan of public transport or yellow cabs.
Meredith is waiting inside the foyer of her apartment building when we pull up, and my heart leaps into my mouth. There’s no missing her, no mistaking her for anyone else. There’s something about her that is a magnet.
The driver climbs out and goes to open the door, allowing me to fixate on her as she slides in next to me.
She is fresh faced and although she clearly has make-up on, it’s not trashy. Far from it. Simply highlighting her natural perfections - the brightness of her eyes and the rosebud shape of her delicate mouth. Her hair hangs loose around her shoulders tonight. And as her hand reaches up to push it back behind her ears, a single pearl drop ear ring reflects on her flawless skin.
She unfastens the leather-clad buttons on her cashmere coat and loosens her scarf, releasing a fresh floral scent across to me.
“So, Johnson Wilder, where are you taking me?” She gives over a coy smile.
Suppressing a smirk, I deadpan, “Pizza Hut.”
“Oh, okay.” She furrows her brows slightly.
“I am joking, of course.”
“I like Pizza Hut.”
“Will you be disappointed now?”
“Perhaps.” She gives me a derisive look.
I rise to the challenge. “Where could I take you tonight that would be a disappointment?”
She drums her fingers onto her lap. “Kiki’s?”
“Why? What’s wrong with Kiki’s. They make the best sushi.”
“Is that where we’re going?”
Tee It Up: A Wilder Brothers Romance Page 7
