Chapter Twenty-Five
A few days later, I’m sitting in a golf cart coasting down the paths of the Naupaka Golf Course. It comes to a grinding halt at hole 11, skidding on the gravel. Diane Hart slides out from the seat, elegant in crisp white shorts and sleeveless polo. Her blond hair is tied into a low ponytail, held back with a white visor.
She marches up to the tee box, where the grass is so vibrant and green it looks like it’s been spray painted. I hate golfing, but professional necessity has forced me to become at least somewhat competent.
We’re in the middle of a tournament and I ended up on a team with Diane and two other white men whose names I’ve already forgotten. Ted? Chris?
Lan and Gabrielle are both on other teams, and Rafe was grouped with his father; Paul Stuart, another VP; and Bruce, WMC’s CEO.
When Rafe found out, he swore under his breath, and the cold look in David Gallagher’s eyes suggested he heard his son’s protest. I’m not sure if they’ve spoken since the incident in the restaurant.
To make up for it, Rafe has been sending me a stream of texts all day that alternate between complaining about the tedious conversation and ogling me. His team is playing behind ours, so at least we can share the occasional glance when there’s a backup.
Diane wiggles her butt, adjusting her stance as she peers into the distance, preparing for her shot.
Rafe: Your legs look sexy in that skirt. I can’t wait until they’re wrapped around my head later.
Rafe: Oh FFS… they want my “thoughts” on the merger between WMC and SynEng. KILL. ME.
I search through the trees, but Rafe is still on the tee box of hole 10.
Diane swings and hits her ball with a thwack, sending it straight down the middle of the fairway, where it lands just a few feet from the hole. Of course, she’s an amazing golfer. Is there anything this woman can’t do?
Ted and Chris (or whatever their names are) blow out appreciative twin whistles as Ted (or maybe it’s Chris) steps up to the green. Diane returns to where I wait with my driver gripped in a hand. I stuff my phone back into the pocket of my bright yellow golf skirt.
“Wow, you’re really good,” I comment.
Diane picks up her water bottle and takes a long sip. It’s sweltering under the peak of the midday sun. When I discovered I was grouped with her, it took me about six holes to stop panicking. I’ve finally managed to dial down my nervousness from a stroke-inducing one hundred to a manageable palm-sweating ten.
“I had to get good,” she says. “More deals are done out here than inside the walls of any boardroom.”
I know it’s true, but I hate hearing it. It’s just another barrier standing in my way.
“You’re taking lessons, right?” she asks, assessing me with a critical eye.
“I have in the past,” I venture. “But I’m not really sure golf is my thing.”
“You’re up!” Chris/Ted (Chred?) calls from the tee box. I nod at Diane and make my way up the gentle slope. With my driver angled in front of me, I stretch my arms and drag up the tips from said lessons over the years. It’s been a while since I’ve been out on the links, and I’m definitely rusty.
I pull back and swing, connecting to the ball with a satisfying crack. It goes flying down the middle, veering slightly and landing about ten feet short of the green. It’s not a terrible shot. I’m a little bit impressed with myself.
When I turn around, Rafe and his team are just pulling up. He’s gorgeous in pale grey shorts and a fitted teal polo. The shade is glorious against his tanned skin and dark hair.
After giving him a quick wave, I hop back into the cart with Diane.
A few seconds later, I feel my phone buzz in my pocket.
“You know, I asked to be paired with you today,” Diane says as I’m about to reach for it.
“You did?”
She steps on the gas, and the cart lurches down the path.
“I noticed you on the first day, and the way you stood your ground against David’s boy was inspired. It’s obvious you know how to handle yourself in this world.” I try to hide my shock. That stupid Ferris wheel argument with Rafe impressed her?
“And the way you took on David himself in the restaurant? I doubt anyone’s put him in his place like that in years.” She barks out a gleeful laugh, and I sense that Diane Hart and I are kindred spirits in more ways than one. “You need that kind of fearlessness to succeed.” Again, I try to control my reaction. I was convinced she must’ve thought I was a monster, talking to him like that.
She guns the cart as we bump over the fairway. “I was also very interested in your test scores. Did you know that in a room of a hundred respondents, you are the only one who scored ‘listener’ as a leadership style?”
My heart lurches, wondering if she means this as a good thing or a bad thing. What did my tiny act of rebellion garner when I’d chosen the answers I wanted rather than what I thought they wanted to see?
“I was?”
She nods as we pull up to the green. One-half of Chred has just knocked his ball near the hole, and I’m up next. I choose an iron and give my ball a light tap. It lands on the green with a plonk and rolls about three feet from the hole. While I wait for Diane and the rest of Chred to putt, I check my phone.
Rafe: You’re seriously killing me with that skirt. Do you have any idea how good you look hitting the ball? Promise me you’ll leave it on later when I fuck you on the dining table.
My thighs flex. Rafe and I have had sex on literally every surface of the suite. On the kitchen counters, the sofas, every chair, the floor, and the balcony in every position we could conceive. Physically, I am the happiest girl in the world. (Emotionally, I’m a kindergartner finger painting.)
Diane makes short work of her ball, sinking it in with a light tap, followed by me and then Chred again. We slide back into our carts and rumble to the next hole.
“Anyway,” Diane says, picking up our conversation. “I was very impressed. It’s rare to have someone stand out in a sea of like-minded employees. Everyone thinks the same, or pretends to, and it’s damaging to a company’s culture. We can’t be our best without different points of view. Have you given thought to where you’d like your career to go at WMC?”
I try to contain my excitement at her question. “Absolutely,” I say. “I want to follow in your footsteps. You’ve inspired me so much.”
Though her facade remains cool, I can tell she’s at least a little pleased by my fawning.
“I’m happy to hear that. I’ve nominated you for one of the training program spots.” My stomach leaps. “There’s one more person whose vote you need, but I’m confident he can be swayed.” She offers me a wink.
“Thank you,” I stammer out. “That means so much to me.” I can’t believe this. Do I actually have a chance? I’d all but abandoned WMC in my thoughts, but learning I could win a spot starts to reel me back.
“It’s not an easy road,” she says. “As a woman, you’ll have to put up with a lot of bullshit.” I huff out a breath and sink back into my seat.
“Yeah, I’ve noticed.”
Her smile is tight as we come to a stop behind Chred’s cart. The team before us is still on the tee box, so we sit back and wait.
“As a woman of color, you’ll face even more scrutiny.” I draw my eyebrows together, surprised at her bluntness. “I know people who look like me prefer not to say these things out loud, but it’s true. And I realize that’s unfair, but you can’t overcome obstacles if you don’t acknowledge the doors standing in your way.”
“How do you deal with it?” I ask. “When you’re judged for things they’d never judge a man for?”
Diane sweeps her pale blue eyes over me. “This is the way the world is, Trishara. You have to learn to pick your battles. Be a lion when it comes to business as you did with David and his son, but if you want to get where I am, you learn to smile, bear it, and look the other way when it comes to the other stuff. They’ll never respect you for that.”
Her words thud to the bottom of my heart with an echo.
“But don’t you want to make it better for the next generation? Don’t you want to change things so the women who come after you don’t have to put up with this?”
She sighs as if I’m a child who doesn’t understand. And maybe I am.
“That sounds nice in theory, but things don’t change, Trishara. You need to grow the thickest skin of all to succeed in this business.”
I hate her words and these sentiments. None of this feels right. Is she truly just resigned to all of it? I shouldn’t judge her until I’ve been in her shoes. Still, she’s recommending me for the training program, and maybe she’s wrong. Maybe I can follow in her footsteps and try to change something for the better.
Lost in my thoughts, I don’t say much else. As we near the end of the round, my phone buzzes and I assume it’s Rafe sending me another text. Instead, it’s an email from EnviroTech, the environmental start-up I applied to before I left Chicago. They want me to come in for an interview.
I read the email a few times, numb and conflicted about my next move, and then put my phone away, deciding to respond later.
When we’ve finished the round, Diane, Chred, and I shake hands and thank one another for the game before everyone heads to the clubhouse for a round of drinks. I’ve just ordered a giant glass of lemonade when I feel a hand on the small of my back.
“That was agonizing,” Rafe says before asking for a beer. “Longest day of my life. How about you?”
“It was fine,” I say, but the uncertainty in my voice is obvious.
“You okay?” he asks, and I nod.
“Just tired and hot and sweaty.” I hold the front of my white sleeveless shirt away from my body and flap the fabric, trying to stir up a little air movement. I don’t want to talk about what Diane said right now. “And some guy kept distracting me all day with his texts.”
Rafe’s grin is unapologetic as he accepts his beer, and we find a shady table on the balcony to sit.
“I could use a shower,” I say, running a finger up his forearm with an innocent look.
“Not before I have my way with you in that skirt,” he says, his voice low so no one can hear. “You promised.”
“I did no such thing,” I say as his hand finds my knee.
His phone buzzes on the table, and I already know who it is. Mostly, Rafe doesn’t answer anymore, or so I think. If she’s calling when I’m around, she must also be calling when I’m not. Is he talking to her then? What is he saying? This uncertainty is eating me alive.
He flips the phone over, frowns at the screen, and dismisses the call.
“Hannah again?” I ask, trying to keep my tone casual.
As far as I’m aware, he never calls her, and I guess that’s something, but I’m grasping at a house made of paper straws.
“Doesn’t matter,” he says, shoving the phone in his pocket and leaning towards me. His leg presses against mine, his hand still on my knee. I’m not sure what doesn’t matter means, but I formulate a thousand possible variations, and I hate them all. “Where were we?” He drags his hand a bit higher, my skin tingling as his fingertips tease the edge of my skirt.
It also doesn’t matter what he is or isn’t saying to Hannah. I refuse to let it mean something. We’re having a physical relationship in a tropical paradise, and soon this will be over.
I ignore the painful twist in my stomach at that thought.
Rafe’s cheeks are flushed from the heat, and a trickle of sweat runs down the side of his neck. I track it with my eyes, wanting to lick it off his skin as it disappears under his collar. I should stop this right now, but I’m not ready to let go just yet.
“Are you done with that?” I ask, turning a pointed look at his beer, of which he’s drunk less than half. “We should probably get ourselves ready for the reception later.”
“It’s still hours away,” he replies with feigned innocence, but two can play this game.
“Okay, well, I’m going to go get started. If I’m finished before you return to the room, I guess that will be a shame for you.” I down the rest of my lemonade and stand up, heading for the path leading back to the hotel. It’s bordered by tall shrubs and trees forming a shaded canopy overhead.
A moment later, the thud of footsteps sounds behind me. A hand snakes up the back of my skirt and squeezes my ass while an arm snakes around my waist, tugging me against a big, warm body. A mouth presses to the curve of my throat with a growl.
“That better be you, Rafe,” I say.
He snorts as we check behind us to ensure no one else is following before we clasp hands and run for the coolness of the air-conditioned hotel.
A few minutes later, we burst into our room. Rafe slams the door and cups my face in my hands, kissing me deeply.
We back up one step at a time until I feel the cold edge of the dining table hit my thighs. Rafe lifts me up and sets me on the surface.
“We could do this in the shower,” I say as he sucks on the curve of my neck, his hand sliding under my shirt.
“After this,” he says as he leans me back, lying me flat. “This little yellow skirt has been teasing me all day.”
He tugs on my panties, sliding them down my legs and tossing them away. Then he leans over me, flattening his body to mine, his hips grinding between my thighs. I feel him maneuvering his zipper, and then a moment later, the press of his wide cock at my entrance.
He wraps his hands around my wrists and pins them over my head, staring me in the eyes.
“You’re amazing, Tris,” he says hoarsely as he slides into me slowly. “I’ve always known it, but these past few weeks have shown me just how amazing you are.”
I can barely speak over the knot in my throat and the intense look in his eyes. “You really thought that?” I ask.
“Absolutely.”
“You’re pretty amazing, too,” I breathe as he thrusts into me, and my back arches off the table. Maybe a part of me always knew it as well. His gaze meets mine, and it’s the first time I feel a discernible change in myself. A slow shedding of the past, revealing another version of the person I’ve been wanting to be for five years.
We’re still moving together, heat swirling in my stomach. He leans down to kiss me, his tongue driving into my mouth as his hips pump and he keeps my hands pinned in place. Our breaths tangle and my core clenches around him as he drives into me.
This is pure, raw heat, and when I look into his eyes, I feel… safe.
I’m not sure if I’m there yet. If I’m completely ready to let go, but Rafe is the first person who makes me feel like it’s possible.