Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 85838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
“I’m glad that’s the crisis,” I say, smiling with relief.
“I have to go Zoom with her before her rehearsal. I hope you don’t mind if I cut this short.”
Disappointment sinks in my gut. There goes my hope of finalizing this partnership today.
“Of course not. You should go,” I say quickly. He shouldn’t feel bad for taking off, even though I wanted to leave with a gentleman’s offer in hand, not simply a dinner promise.
“Pop-pop to the rescue,” Zane chimes in.
Priyam gestures to the next hole beyond a sand trap. “But this is a great course. Stay. Finish the round. I can walk back to the clubhouse.”
“We can go back with you,” Zane offers. “No problem.”
Priyam scoffs. “I wouldn’t dream of it. It’s a beautiful day. Stay. Please.”
Clearly, it’s important to Priyam that we finish, and clearly this deal will have to wait another day, so I say yes. “But you take the cart. We’ll walk the last few holes.”
“Fair enough. And I hope to see you in New York. Since I’m leaving early, dinner will be on me,” Priyam says to Zane.
“I look forward to it,” Zane says.
We grab our bags, and Priyam hops into the cart and motors off.
Zane looks at me with expectant eyes. “So? That went well, right?”
At times like this, Zane isn’t the commanding man who wants to have his way with me in bed. He’s the young star looking for me to guide him toward good decisions.
“It went great. I think you won him over. And I’m not the least bit surprised.” I wish I could hand him the deal memo right now, but I can only say, “I should be able to wrap this up soon.”
“Good. He’s a cool dude. And did you notice I was on good behavior? I didn’t even flirt with you during lunch,” he says, flashing me his trademark smile.
I laugh. “You get a gold star. Or maybe you should reward yourself with a strawberry daiquiri when we have that dinner in New York.”
“Don’t tease me. I really do like those drinks. But are you actually going to be in New York when I’m there playing the Comets at the end of the month?”
He sounds so hopeful, but I sidestep my wishes and give a businesslike answer. “A lot of brands and marketers are in New York, so I’m there several days a month. Usually stay at the Luxe. I travel a lot for my job.”
That sounds like I’m justifying my travel. Why do I need to explain my schedule to him?
Ah, hell. Because I’m already mentally rearranging my schedule to see him, like I did today. I’m a little surprised my subconscious is working against me. Clearly, my subconscious likes Zane too. “So, yeah, I’ll be there,” I add, trying to sound casual.
But failing.
“I travel a lot for work too,” Zane says drily, calling me on my BS.
But no way am I going to admit the depth of my feelings, so I double down. “Well, I was in London, and now I’m here, and then I’ll be in New York.” My savvy is circling the drain.
“It’s all good,” Zane says, but there’s no sarcasm in his tone this time. Now he sounds awkward too. His eyes dart around the course. I’m not used to seeing Zane’s nerves, and I don’t know what to make of them.
“Do you want to get back to the game?” I ask, reaching for my bag, trying to recalibrate before we both spin out.
“Yes, but I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” he blurts out.
When someone says that, it’s often bad news. It certainly was the last time I was serious with a guy. Wesley had something to tell me when he took me out to a hip new restaurant in Venice I’d been wanting to try, then he sprang the question about opening our relationship.
But you’re not serious with Zane, and you’re not having a romantic relationship with him, and it’d be against the fucking rules if you did. Check the ethics code for your profession—sleeping with a client is forbidden.
“Sure. What’s on your mind?” I ask, bracing myself as I set the golf bag on the grass.
Zane gestures to the cocktail tattoo on his right wrist. “You were right,” he says, running his thumb across the umbrella.
“About the ink?”
“Yes. It’s true that I got it in Miami, not Cabo, but it was a dumb bet with my buddies about riding a wave, like you said. Not about taking some guy back to a hotel room.”
Ah, the plot thickens. “So why did you make that up?” I ask. Then the answer smacks me in the forehead. Oh. Oh, shit. “Is that your go-to line to get a guy?”
“No,” he says quickly, like he needs to slice that notion to shreds. “I’ve actually never used it before.”