by V. K. Sykes
She stared at herself in the mirror—normal old Torrey again—as she dried her hair. What were the chances that this could go anywhere? Not great, she would have to say. Most likely, Julian had already taken from her what he wanted. At best, she’d only have him for two more days until he went back to California, and then it would be goodbye forever.
She sighed and returned to the bedroom, unable to keep from wondering if his sponsorship proposal had just been a strategy to get her into bed. After all, he’d promised nothing except to try to convince his partners to back her. She’d been so damn excited last night that her brain had ignored any and all warning signals. But now the worries, never far from her thoughts, started to stalk her. Julian had clearly wanted to have sex the first night and—despite his explanations—had seemed ticked off when she’d run away. The next night he’d held out the carrot and she’d grabbed at it. A few minutes later, and they were practically having sex in the elevator.
Surely he wouldn’t pull the carrot away now, would he? Julian had been kind and sweet from the beginning, if sometimes a little intimidating. She was likely doing him a grave injustice by doubting him, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something else was going on, something that had to do with his partners.
But what?
Doing her best to shut down the negative voices in her head, she grabbed the room service menu off the coffee table. Just about everything to do with Julian was out of her control. All she could do was mentally prepare herself to play the best round of golf of her life—to stand up to relentless pressure for eighteen holes as she performed for four tough critics. She’d just have to do her best and hope for good karma.
Feeling more than a bit guilty, but doing it anyway, she ordered ridiculously over-priced and over-rich food—eggs Florentine, crepes with real Canadian maple syrup, fresh fruit and a pot of coffee. She only managed to get half of it down and wished she had a Tupperware container to take the rest home.
After breakfast, Torrey pulled on her rumpled casino suit, retrieved her car from the parking garage, and pulled onto the I-15 freeway south toward Henderson. Though the digital clock in her car told her it wasn’t yet ten o’clock, the pavement already shimmered with scorching heat. Golf today would be another endurance test. She sighed, pressing down hard on the accelerator. The wind blasted in from her open window, massacring her hair. But at least it provided a bit of relief from the oppressive heat. The air conditioning in her ancient Subaru had long since surrendered to overuse, and getting it fixed remained a financial impossibility.
By the time she climbed the stairs to her apartment, the pampered luxury of Julian’s suite seemed a distant memory. She flung her suit jacket straight into the dry cleaning basket and wriggled out of the matching skirt. As she undid the buttons of her perspiration-soaked shirt, Torrey remembered Julian’s hungry gaze. Her trembling fingers had opened those same buttons last night. Just thinking about it made her temperature soar into the danger zone. God, she wished he was here right now—she’d throw him down on her narrow little bed and not let him up for a week.
She gave herself another mental slap. Sex with Julian was just going to be a brutally short escape from reality. Golf, and the sponsorship from OTE, was about the rest of her life. She couldn’t let herself ever forget that—no matter what.
* * *
Torrey pounded the ball, again and again, launching deadly accurate and long drives that landed near the two-hundred-fifty-yard marker on the range. The deeply satisfying ping of her TaylorMade driver as it made contact with the ball was sweet music. By the time she’d run through the bucket of balls, her clothes were drenched in sweat, but she felt blissfully happy. Since she was a little kid, nothing in the world had been able to top the joy of stroking a long, perfect drive, even in practice.
Well, okay—sex with Julian Grant topped it, but she wasn’t getting her hopes up that she would ever find herself in bed with him again.
Driving had never been Torrey’s problem. She’d always been sweet and straight off the tee. Her long irons were solid too, and she’d developed a competent short game that sometimes bordered on the outstanding. As a result, her greens in regulation percentage—that all-important indicator of excellence in shot-making from tee to green—equaled or bettered that of most of the golfers on the women’s tour.
Unfortunately the same couldn’t be said for her putting skills. Always her Achilles heel, Torrey had struggled to master the putting game all her life. As an NCAA player, she’d been only an average putter, but the rest of her skills were so outstanding that she almost always won her matches anyway. But she’d have to do better to make the pros.
She shoved the driver back into her bag and lugged it over to the massive practice green the Desert Rocks course had built as part of their practice center. Dropping two handfuls of balls on the putting surface, she pulled out her brand-new putter. Just two weeks ago, frustration with her mediocre play had driven her to switch from her old blade putter to a new Taylor Made mallet design. It seemed to help her fight the yips—the nerves and jiggles that too often accompanied short putts.
She spent a full hour in the fiery late morning sun rolling in putts from all distances and angles. The sun felt as if it was burning right through her pink cotton golf shirt, but she kept at it, taking shade and water breaks every fifteen minutes. By the end of the hour, she practically skipped from the practice green to her car. Julian had made it clear that he wouldn’t ask her to play until tomorrow or the next day, which meant she could squeeze in at least another few rounds of practice. And if she shot as well as she had this morning, the sponsorship, God willing, was in the bag.
Chapter 9
Julian ran his gaze over the half-empty dining room of the Charleswood Golf and Country Club. Not up to Bellagio standards, but it would do for a quick lunch meeting. He’d gathered the guys together shortly after noon and herded them into the limousine. That way, he figured they could have lunch while he brought them up to date on the merger front, and still be at the course when Torrey arrived. He wanted to speak to her right away about his unexpected change in plans.
Once they were all seated, Julian didn’t waste any time getting down to business. “I know you’re wondering why I dragged you out here. It’s because I want to debrief you on my calls this morning, and I needed to be out here early so I could talk to Torrey before the round.”
“What’s up with Torrey?” Brendan quickly asked.
“It’s a bit of a story, so let’s order first.” Julian scanned the lunch menu, selecting a plain hamburger and an iced tea. This wasn’t a day to be drinking at lunch.
Once everyone had ordered, he went directly to the point. “All right, here’s what’s going on. Michael, you already heard some of this last night. You know Torrey’s goal is to make the women’s pro tour, right?” The others nodded. “During our round yesterday, she dropped a string of hints about how badly she needed to find a company to sponsor her for this year so she could get ready for the tour’s Qualifying School in the fall.”
“Jesus.” Josh whistled.
“Yeah. It put me in a tough position. I didn’t want to say no. And I couldn’t say anything positive without breaking the rules of the bet.”
“You sure you didn’t drop a hint or two?” Josh said, a disbelieving look crossing his face.
“You know me better than that,” Julian said dryly. “Fortunately—or unfortunately, I suppose—that problem resolved itself when Josh’s email arrived last night. With the bet over, I had no good reason to stall any more.”
“You agreed that we’d sponsor her?” Brendan jumped in, his look incredulous.
“Hell, no. Not yet, anyway. We don’t even know how well she can play. I did check her out on the Internet, though. She had a really promising NCAA career, and people thought she was a cinch to make the pro tour. But then she ran into some personal problems, and it’s taken her a while to get things right again.”
Julian reached for the
iced tea, glancing at each of the other guys. As he read the expressions he knew so well, he could see Brendan and Michael looking doubtful. Josh simply appeared disinterested.
“Look,” he continued, “I figure it wouldn’t kill us to back her for the next few months. The money is peanuts, and she doesn’t have to wear our logo or anything, not unless we want her to.”
Josh didn’t hesitate. “I’m okay with that,” he said. “I like Torrey. She seems like a fighter.”
Brendan shook his head. “Wait a minute, guys. I like her too, but how much do we really know about this girl? She’s a caddy, for God’s sake. And now you tell us she’s had ‘problems.’ Even if she doesn’t wear the logo, she’s still going to be linked to the company. Besides, we agreed a long time ago to focus our sponsorships on events, not individuals. Why would we change that for one girl?”
“Bren, you’ve got a valid point,” Julian said. “But I don’t have a problem sponsoring a golfer or anyone else if it makes sense. Regardless of the policy, we should look at each case individually. What if Torrey winds up being a superstar, like Annika Sorenstam or Cristie Kerr? Think what it would do for the company to be associated from day one with a rising young star—who just happens to look gorgeous, too.”
“That’s a big ‘if,’ Julian,” Brendan retorted.
“Okay, but there’s not a lot of risk in it either. Anyway, here’s the bottom line. I told Torrey we would need to see her play before we’d even consider it. That’s why I had to get out here early today. She’s expecting to play a round with us tomorrow, but that’s become impossible because of what I’m about to tell you. So, it’s going to have to be this afternoon.”
Brendan waved his hand as if to dismiss the subject. “Tell us about your calls.”
“Right. This morning I had two interesting conversations—one with the head of one of the pension funds Colton talked about, a guy named Don Smith. The other was with the top dog at the Center Street hedge fund group, Taylor Monk. Neither wanted to talk on the phone, but after I pressed them, both agreed to meet if I came to New York.”
Their food orders arrived, so Julian paused until the server had finished. While the others immediately dug in, he ignored his burger.
“Turns out Monk is leaving on a ten-day trip to Europe on Friday. Well, I’m not about to let this sit until he gets back, so I said, ‘How about tomorrow afternoon?’ He agreed, so I called Smith back and arranged lunch with him on Friday. I’m booked on a seven a.m. commercial flight tomorrow.”
“Ah, that’s why Torrey has to play this afternoon,” Michael said.
“Exactly.”
“I’m sorry you have to miss out on our last day here, Julian, but you’re doing the right thing,” Brendan added. “We need to smoke Monk and the other guy out.”
Josh grinned. “Kick their asses.”
Julian nodded and then turned the conversation back to golf. There was nothing more to be said about the merger. It was up to him now to find a way to outmaneuver their old adversary. Picking at his food, he kept an eye on his watch. He’d head over to the practice green early—hopefully Torrey would be there in good time.
* * *
Well before the two o’clock tee off time, Torrey arrived at the west end course. She showered and changed into a fresh golf outfit—a lemon yellow golf shirt with her usual white skirt—then grabbed a sandwich in the clubhouse. She knew that after last night’s exertions with Julian and her two-hour, full-out practice this morning, she should be hard-pressed to walk back to the locker room, much less around an eighteen-hole golf course. Instead she felt as if she could caddy all afternoon and party all night. Maybe all that amazing sex had done something to her hormones. Whatever it was, she was ready for more.
She greeted Krista and Julieta, who were both in the process of squeezing into tight, skimpy golf skirts. “Hi, guys. Have you seen Annie yet?”
Krista rolled her eyes. “Yeah, she went back to her car to pick up something she said she’d bought this morning for Brendan. God, you should have heard her. She talks about the guy like he’s Prince Charming or something.”
“Well, maybe he is,” Torrey said. “For her, anyway. He’s cute and smart and considerate. But I hope she doesn’t let herself get too involved. We all know these guys are out of here Friday morning. What are the chances we’ll see any of them again?”
“Not great—at least for me,” Krista said, shaking her head. “Josh got what he wanted last night, but the way he took off right after he came made me wonder if I’ll even see him again tonight.”
Julieta gave her a smile of commiseration. “I’m sorry, Krista. I’m seeing Michael tonight—he’s taking me to see Bette Midler. He’s adorable and so funny. We’ve been having a fantastic time.”
“But he’s gay, Julieta!” Krista’s disbelief made her sound like she thought Julieta should be devastated by that obvious fact.
“So? He’s the most interesting guy I’ve met in ages. Who cares if he’s gay?”
Krista looked befuddled but turned to Torrey. “How about you? Anything happening between you and the big boss man?” she asked, bending to lace up her shoes. “He sure looks like he’s got the hots for you.”
Torrey had no intention of sharing any secrets with Krista. “Well, we talked about my golf situation yesterday, and he’s asked me to play a round with the guys tomorrow so I can show them what I can do. I’m keeping my fingers crossed.”
Krista jerked upright, shock registering on her face. “You mean he might be that sponsor you’ve been looking for?”
“If I can convince all of them that I deserve it. And I intend to do just that.”
The tall blonde smirked. “I suspect you’ve already made a convincing case to Julian.”
Krista had a reputation as an airhead, but she usually wasn’t into bitchy remarks like that—remarks that mirrored the little demon thoughts Torrey had been fighting all morning. She felt like telling Krista off, but instead managed a wry smile. The girl was probably just hurt by the way Josh had treated her. “Listen. Do you actually think Julian Grant is the kind of man who would make a business decision based on whether or not we had sex? Really, get a grip.”
Krista waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever. I just don’t think you can depend on those guys for anything.”
Torrey turned on her heel and strode from the room. She wouldn’t let Krista’s silly remark throw her off her game. This was one of the happiest days of her life, and nobody was going to ruin it. Soon, thank God and thank Julian, she’d be able to kiss CaddyGirls.com goodbye.
* * *
As Torrey rounded the corner of the clubhouse, she broke her stride, surprised to see Julian standing beside the green only a short distance away. His handsome profile was turned her way as he gazed toward the first tee. For a moment she stood still, mesmerized. It didn’t seem possible that this powerful, sophisticated man had chosen to spend a long night of very enthusiastic passion with her. Her heart gave a painful thump as another frisson of doubt shot through her. Would he follow through with his promise? And would he still want her in his bed?
Julian turned and spotted her. As a smile lightened his absent look, she quickened her pace. When she neared him, he took a couple of steps forward and drew her into his arms. She hoped he’d kiss her on the lips. Instead, she felt the whiff of an air kiss past her cheek.
Ever discreet, my Julian. She paused. Did I just say “my Julian”?
She gave him her best smile. “You’re here early today. Where are the other guys?”
“They’re finishing up lunch in the clubhouse. Torrey, I wanted to get here early so we could talk before the round.”
Alarm bells rang in her head. “Is something wrong?”
“Everything’s going to be fine. But we do have a small problem we need to talk about.”
“What problem?”
“I have to leave Vegas first thing tomorrow morning. I’m sorry, but I have to fly to New York for urgent meetings, so you
won’t be able to play for us tomorrow.”
Her brain struggled to take in the implications as her heart caught in her throat. She felt her dream already twisting out of her grasp, but she struggled not to show it. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she managed in a tight voice.
“It’s okay. We can do it this afternoon instead if you’re ready. I’ve checked with the pro shop, and we can push our tee time back an hour to give you time to go home and get your clubs.”
Snapping out of her shock, she remembered that her clubs were in fact less than a hundred yards away, locked in the trunk of her car. Unable to help herself, she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips.
“Thank you, Julian. But you don’t have to postpone the tee time because I’ve got my clubs with me. I was out practicing this morning then came straight here.”
Looking startled by her impulsive kiss, he checked his watch. “Great. You’d better get your sticks now.”
“Who won’t be playing, then?”
“I’m obviously the logical choice. I’ll caddy for you.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “That’s crazy, Julian. You don’t have to do that.”
“I know. But I want to. It’ll be fun. Now you better get going.”
Torrey jogged back past the locker room toward the Charleswood’s massive parking lot, her mind racing much faster than her feet.
* * *
“Damn, I thought you said this course was one of the best?” Josh groused as their foursome waited for the group ahead to get out of the way. The marshal had told them there would be a delay of ten minutes or so as earlier foursomes had dawdled on the course, backing everyone up.
“It’s got that reputation,” Julian said. “But these things happen.”
“Yeah, well, lunch stunk too. This place is B-list at best.”
Still breathing hard from the rush to retrieve her clubs, Torrey jumped in. “The Charleswood is still one of the best layouts in the state, Josh. But new ownership took it over last fall, and I’ve heard there have been a lot of complaints about various things ever since. Still, it’s the kind of course that will challenge you, so it’ll be a good test. You really have to keep it in the fairway here, or the high-cut rough will murder you.”
