12. The Real Story
12
THE REAL STORY
Maddox
During lunch at the golf club in San Francisco a few days later, Zane courts Priyam like a Regency era suitor. Over chicken salad, Zane asks about the London man’s family, then listens attentively to tales of Priyam’s grandchildren back in England.
I sit there and observe, enjoying the ease of their conversation.
I never know whether a celebrity will be a likable human, let alone come across as one. Thankfully, my client is genuine and warm, sharing stories of his brother and his niece.
“Eliza has a game coming up soon, so I’ll be there,” Zane says. “And get this—Gage convinced her Little League coach to let me be a guest first-base coach.” He’s full of unbridled enthusiasm, like the coach might have turned him down.
“Make sure to wear something dapper,” Priyam says cheerily.
“Always,” Zane says.
“And what about your mom?” Priyam asks. “You said she runs a coffee shop in Sacramento. Does she go to the games too?”
“She’ll be there. She goes to every one of Eliza’s games. But pray for me—she’s been bugging me to give her more grandkids,” Zane says. I note that he doesn’t mention his father, and I file that info, perhaps to pursue later.
“Maybe someday you will, if you want to,” Priyam says, giving a simple reply to a complicated question.
“Maybe someday, indeed. For now, got any pics of your grandkids?”
Priyam whips out his phone and takes us through a camera roll of his family. Zane and I lean in close on either side of our lunch guest.
“Check it out,” Zane says, pointing to a pic of a grade-schooler in a lamplighter costume. “Mary Poppins?”
“Yes. That’s Chandra. They did a gender-bending Mary Poppins , and she played the lamplighter.”
“Sweet. Bet that was an awesome show,” Zane says.
“I’m not impartial, but I gave it a standing ovation,” Priyam says, with obvious pride.
As they chat, a sense of calm flows through me. Zane is so great with this guy, and it doesn’t feel like he’s acting the part to win the deal. Of course , he wants the partnership. I know that . But his way with people is all natural and hard to fake.
When lunch ends, we head to the golf course, setting our bags in the back of a cart.
“I have one rule,” Priyam says as he stares up at the first baseman, who’s half a foot taller and easily has seventy pounds on him.
“Hit me up,” Zane says affably.
“Don’t go easy on me. If I sense that you’re going easy on me, I will be very upset,” Priyam says in a friendly warning.
Zane laughs. “It’s not in my nature to go easy in a sport,” he reassures the Londoner.
Priyam nods, pleased, then he pats the back of the golf cart. “Great. Then we should wager. How about the winner gets treated to dinner if you’re in New York before I head back to London?”
I fight off a grin. If Priyam is hinting at dinner in the future, that’s a damn good sign. I steal a glimpse at Zane, and he’s reining in a smile too.
The British man adopts a devilish grin. “Now would be a good time to let you know I competed in golf at uni.”
“Ah, so you’re planning on taking us for all we’re worth,” I put in.
Priyam’s brown eyes dance with mischief. “But of course.”
“I bet Maddox schools us all. I have a feeling he’s one of those secret golf pros,” Zane says, then winks at me. Not a revealing wink—a client wink—and I love that he knows which one to give in public. “You’re on, Priyam. I’ll even bring my purple bow tie to New York.”
“Let’s make bow ties a thing,” Priyam says, sounding so delighted with Zane that I mentally pump a fist. If all goes well, perhaps I can close this deal today.
I get behind the cart’s wheel, and they hop in too. Priyam tosses a glance back at Zane. “Did I mention it was mini golf I played?”
Zane laughs, then pats Priyam’s shoulder. “I’m still expecting you to win big time, even if there aren’t clowns or windmills on the course.”
I’m in the lead, Priyam’s right behind me, and Zane is caboosing his way through the course. But on the sixth hole, Priyam’s phone rings. After he checks the screen, he turns to us. “I’m so sorry. That’s my daughter,” he says, then excuses himself to walk away several feet, out of earshot.
Zane shoots me an expectant look, five-iron in hand. “It’s going well, right?”
I want to clap him on the shoulder and reassure him, but I resist touching him. “You’re doing great,” I say.
“He’s a fun guy. Sharp sense of humor. Like you,” Zane says.
I narrow my eyes. “Don’t develop a crush on him,” I tease, feeling safe enough with company nearby but out of earshot.
Zane’s quiet, looking like he’s working something out in his head. Eventually, he squares his shoulders and breathes out hard, as if girding himself for something dangerous. “I won’t. Besides,” he says, “I’m pretty single-minded with my crushes these days.”
Oh, hell.
Electricity crackles in my chest. I don’t give in and say, Me too , but I’m sure all my feelings are written on my face.
I manage to rasp out a strangled, “Is that so?”
“Yup,” he says, his eyes not leaving me as he deals me one of his stomach-flipping bedroom stares. “Just this one sexy, smart, savvy guy.”
My temperature shoots to the sky, frying my restraint. I want to step closer to Zane, whisper same here .
But I hear Priyam say goodbye —a clear reminder I can’t play this dangerous game with others around. I shouldn’t play it at all.
The third in our trio strides back to us over the grassy knoll, folding his hands together in apology. “I’m so sorry. My granddaughter is having a crisis.”
“What’s wrong?” Zane asks, concerned.
“Apparently, Chandra’s no longer playing a goblin in her school play. She’s playing the wizard. It’s the lead, and she wants to run lines with me. I was a theater kid,” he says with an apologetic smile. “She says Pop-pop is the only one who can help . She’s already dramatic,” he says with so much delight.
“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.”
I arch a brow, a little dubious. “Never?”
“Never,” he says with emphasis. “I made that up on the spot for you. I was really trying to get you to go home with me that first night.”
This intel thrills me too much for my own good. His undivided attention sends tingles down my chest. The man was relentless when we met. The strength of his desire is the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced, and the riskiest. “Why did you do it?” I ask, my voice rough from the heat rising in me.
Zane scratches his jaw like he’s trying to make sense of it himself. “You know how you said that night was the first time you’d ever hit on a client?”
“Yes.”
“My reason’s the same.” Zane steps closer, glances around once more. Here, surrounded by green hills and canopies of trees, the coast is clear. “I know we can’t be together, but you’re so fucking irresistible.” He shrugs helplessly, as if resigned to this fate of wanting but not having. “Honestly, you get more irresistible every day, Maddox.”
I nearly break from his confession. I’m this close to saying fuck it . To asking him to push me up against a tree right now. To asking him to spend the night with me, then the next one, then the next.
“Same here,” I admit heavily.
“I wanted you to know that. Even though…” He doesn’t have to finish the thought.
Even though nothing can happen.
We both know the score. But I know we both felt the same wild connection that first night. We feel it even more now. Knowing that makes it even harder to do the right thing— resist him .
Somehow, I manage that feat as we finish the course and then make our way to our separate cars, going in separate directions across the city.