The Perfect Putt: A Sweet Boss/Assistant Golf RomCom (More Than a Game Book 2)

25. Ellie Hart

It’s been a week since I spent the day on the course with Miles. An incredibly busy week. Every step, every breath seems to be planned from now until the tournament. I’ve worked tirelessly to make sure that Miles’ life is organized to perfection and that he doesn’t miss a single appointment, training session, or tee time.

Because of this, we’ve barely spent any time together as friends. Every second we’ve been together has been under the pretense of work. He’s had short breaks when I’m around, but he always looks so tired or tense that it doesn’t feel right to try and talk to him.

Our circumstances haven’t lessened my feelings though. In fact, they’ve only increased them. Yesterday he placed his hand on my lower back when he was passing me in the kitchen and it sent tingles through my whole body. It probably meant nothing to him, but it was fodder for my daydreams the rest of the afternoon. My mind conjured up a butterfly-inducing scene where instead of just brushing past me, he stopped behind me and bent down to kiss the space where my shoulder meets my neck. The next time Miles asked me for something I stumbled over my words, red-faced and wondering if he could see what I was thinking about. If he could, he didn’t make it known.

I sigh as I look back at the emails I’m supposed to be responding to. It’s hard to focus when I know that right down the hall, Miles is in his gym, training with Gideon. The image of him shirtless while lifting those weights is forever burned into my memory. I’m tempted to make up a reason to interrupt them, just for a chance to see him. But I know he needs to focus even more than I do.

The sound of the sliding glass door opening draws my attention away from my laptop. Fitz walks out onto the balcony where I’ve been working. It makes these long days better if I can feel the sun on my skin and taste the salt in the air. I might end up with a sunburn soon, but it’s worth it. Fitz gives me a friendly smile as I set my laptop aside.

“I didn’t know you were coming by today. Miles has training, but he should have a break after that before his physical therapy appointment if you need to talk.”

He sits down on one of the patio chairs. “I actually came by to talk to you.”

My eyebrows spring up. “Me? Is something wrong?”

“Miles is running himself ragged,” he answers.

“He said it’s normal to be this busy before a major. I don’t think he’d put more on his plate than he can handle.” As soon as I say the words though, I’m brought back once more to that time I walked in on his training session. Gideon was scolding him for pushing himself too hard. If that was a normal day, there’s no telling what he’s doing this close to a tournament.

“Miles cares about winning more than anything,” Fitz explains. I can’t help but wonder if anything includes his friends. Includes me. “That drive is what makes him great, but it also can be detrimental. He needs time in his schedule for rest.”

“He has breaks throughout the day,” I say, trying not to sound too defensive. “Why are you talking to me about this? Talk to him. As his assistant, I make the schedule that Miles wants.”

“And that schedule is going to have him so worn out at the Open that he’ll tank. What do you think he’ll do if he doesn’t win this time?”

Push even harder. I saw it on the course last week, and in everything he does. He’ll push until he has nothing left.

“If you’re so worried, why not talk to Miles?”

Fitz sighs, raking a hand through his perpetually messy hair. “I tried. He won’t listen.”

“And you think he’ll listen to me? You’re his best friend and caddy.”

“I do think he’ll listen to you, but if you don’t believe me, I have an alternate plan.”

“Which is?” I look back to my laptop. There’s plenty I should be doing right now.

“You put something on his schedule and instead of doing that thing, you take him to the beach. He usually goes every day, but he hasn’t been further than his balcony all week. It would do him good to go.”

I toy with the braided bracelets on my wrist, rolling the little shell woven into one in between my fingers. “I don’t know, Fitz. I don’t want to make him angry.”

“You won’t make him angry. He might put up a fight, but he’ll give in. A few hours at the beach will lower his stress and make his game even better.”

I consider his words. Fitz wouldn’t try to hurt Miles’ chances at winning. I learned after hearing him joke about it a few times the past few weeks that Fitz’s paycheck is a portion of Miles’ winnings. So it stands to reason that he’d want him to do the best possible. And beyond that, they’re best friends. He knows him better than I do.

“All right, I’ll do it. But if he fires me, I’m taking you down with me.”

Fitz grins. “Noted.”

Anxiety gnaws at my stomach as I slide into the driver’s seat of the Bronco. After my chat with Fitz, I called and pushed Miles’ appointment with his physical therapist back. Then I told him that instead of coming here to do his therapy, that we’d be going to their office because they have a therapy pool there. I made up some spiel about how they said water therapy would help his muscles recover faster. I’m not sure how I spun together a successful lie in such little time. But I’ve managed to get Miles in a car with his swim trunks on and not raise any suspicion.

My bathing suit starts to itch on my neck. It’s hot with my hair down, especially after rushing to get everything we’d need before Miles got done with training, but if I lift my hair he’ll see the tie of my swimsuit top. There’s no way that I’m revealing the truth until I’ve parked at the public beach entrance. I went to too much effort to sneak out to change, load down a cooler with lunch and snacks, and hatch a plan to get Miles here.

It’s ridiculous that I’m driving across town to go to the beach when the very same beach is Miles’ backyard, but I guess this is what happens when you care for a stubborn man. You make up stories to get him to take care of his mental health.

Miles doesn’t look up from his phone the entire drive, which further aids my cause. I do my best to look casual as I turn onto Wave Way, then down the side road that leads to the public beach access point. He’s so distracted that he gets out of the car before noticing anything.

“Where are we?” he asks when I get out too.

“The beach.”

I walk to the trunk and pull out my beach bag and set it on the ground, then start to lug the cooler out.

“I can see that,” Miles says, frustration bleeding into his tone.

“Then why did you ask?” I must have a death wish, that’s got to be the reason my filter disappears at the most inopportune times.

“Ellie,” Miles says in a warning tone. Not using my nickname is a bad sign.

“Hm?” I feign nonchalance as I close the trunk.

“Why are we here and not at the physical therapy center?”

“Because the physical therapy center doesn’t exist. Well, at least not that I know of. They have a small office on the edge of town, but they only make house calls.” I point to the cooler. “Can you help me carry that?”

He stares at me, not moving.

“I’m going to have to make two trips then, because there’s no way I can carry both of–”

He cuts me off. “What are we doing here?”

I sigh. “You need a break. I rescheduled your physical therapy appointment for later, and gave you a beach therapy appointment instead.”

He doesn’t say anything. The only sounds puncturing the silence are the waves and the gulls overhead.

“This will be good for you. You’ve been working too hard. If you keep pushing, you’re going to burn out,” I plead with him.

“I have so much to do to prepare for the competition. I can’t afford a break right now.”

“Miles, I’m worried about you.” I place a hand on his arm. “Please.”

His expression softens, and he lets out a sigh. “Okay.”

“Okay as in you’re not going to fire me?” I ask and a smile pulls at the edges of his mouth.

“I could never fire you for caring about me. You’re probably right. It would be good to take a break.”

“It was Fitz’s idea actually,” I confess, not wanting to take all the credit.

“That checks out.” He shakes his head. “He’s been telling me all week to rest.”

It feels good that Miles is listening to me, and I wonder if Fitz was right when he said that if I talked to him, Miles would have taken a break without any tricks.

Miles picks up the cooler and I heave my beach bag onto my shoulder. We make our way down the boardwalk to the beach, making small talk along the way. Once we’re on the sand, Miles rents two chairs and an umbrella for us. I’d forgotten those important things while rushing to get everything together.

The umbrella almost gets snatched from us by the wind, but we manage to get set up without too much trouble. Miles doesn’t sit down though. Instead, he pulls his shirt over the back of his head, revealing tan muscles. My mouth goes dry.

“It’s too hot to just sit out here. I’m heading to the water. You coming?” There’s a smirk on his lips, one that tells me he knows I was staring.

“Uh–sure,” I manage to get out.

My fingers grasp the hem of my shirt, but I pause before lifting it. It’s not like I’m ashamed of Miles seeing me in a swimsuit. I’m confident in my appearance. But undressing in front of him makes heat rise up my neck and over my cheekbones. I take in a shaky breath and decide to just go for it. Like ripping off a bandaid.

I tug my shirt off my head first, then wiggle out of the gym shorts I was wearing. The sun warms my skin and I give in to the urge to tip my face back toward it. When I open my eyes again, my gaze catches on Miles. He’s staring at me with heat hotter than a Florida summer burning in his irises. The look he’s wearing makes me bold enough to ask him a favor.

“Can you help me put sunscreen on my back?” I ask him. “I put some on earlier, but I’m worried I didn’t get all of it.”

His hands clench at his sides, then flex again. “Of course.”

I’m foolish, I think as I sit on the edge of one of the lounge chairs we rented. Miles sits behind me. I hand him the sunscreen out of the bag, then squeeze my eyes shut. After an agonizing moment of waiting, his hands are on my skin. So, so foolish. His touch is soft and warm as he spreads the sunscreen across my back. The warmth travels up to my shoulders and his thumbs press into the tender muscles there. I’ve been hunched over my laptop all week, so it takes all my willpower to hold in a groan.

I’ll never be able to go back to the time before he touched me like this. If this all washes away with the tide, I’ll be tortured by the memories of his emerald eyes and soft touch for days to come.

“There,” he says, his raspy voice barely heard over the crash of the waves. “I think you’re covered.” His hands move away as a breeze blows, making me shiver.

“Thank you.”

The tension is thick between us. Even though I’m not looking at him, I can feel the weight of his stare. The ghost of his touch. The chair shifts as he abruptly stands.

“Last one to the water buys the other a slice of pie?” he suggests out of the blue.

I stand up and meet his gaze.

“You’re on.”