21. Carrie
TWENTY-ONE
CARRIE
By the time we landed, it felt like I’d run a marathon. Cole motioned for me to precede him as we disembarked, and I felt his gaze rake over me as I slipped into the aisle and walked out into the sunshine. We stepped down onto the tarmac, and yet another car waited for us.
The air was warm, the sky was a clear, pale blue, and palm trees waved in the distance. I took a moment to inhale deeply, smelling salt on the air along with engine oil and asphalt. A knot between my shoulders relaxed just in time for me to feel a bead of sweat run down my spine. I should’ve worn something more lightweight.
I hadn’t been on vacation in years. This wasn’t a vacation—not really—but it still felt like a break from real life. I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture of the palm trees to send to Evie. She’d get it on her tablet when she got home from school.
Turning at the sound of Cole’s approach, I gave him a wide smile. Even behind his dark sunglasses, I thought I could sense him staring at my lips.
But that was just my runaway mind making up stories again.
“Ready?” he asked.
“As I’ll ever be.” I got into the car after making sure my bag was loaded in the trunk. My big purse took up the space between my feet, and I ignored the quickening of my pulse as Cole entered the car on the other side and closed the door.
Being in an enclosed space with him always made my senses extra sensitive. I smelled his cologne and the leather of the seats. I heard that same leather creaking as he shifted, the click of the seatbelt as he buckled himself in. From the corner of my eye, I watched the way his pants revealed a little sliver of charcoal gray sock and the shiny surface of his shoes.
The big countdown clock in my head flashed. After this trip, I’d tell him about Evie. I might lose my job—I’d definitely lose this ease and comfort with him.
We drove through flat, scrubby landscape, and I caught glimpses of the ocean between the gentle swells of beach dunes. Buildings dotted the area, knots of residential houses, cute beachside towns, and a strip of large resorts. The lush, manicured green of a golf course passed by, and then finally, we slowed and pulled into a long drive, entering through an ornate, open gate flanked by stone walls. The drive was circular with a fountain in the center, spraying crystal-clear water into a large basin. Large palms framed the entryway, which was tiled with a mosaic and covered with a wide awning.
The Hearst resort swept toward the ocean in a gentle C-shape, with the communal areas in the center of the building. I’d learned that when the Hearst family wasn’t using the resort themselves, they rented out the thirty-bedroom space as a boutique hotel for part of the year and sometimes made the whole place available for larger parties.
As the car pulled up on the far side of the fountain and came to a stop in front of the awning, Cole swore under his breath. I followed his gaze to the man ambling through the entrance toward us, recognizing Chuck Hearst from the company onboarding materials I’d studied when I started the job.
The older man had thick gray hair and a weathered face. His eyes were the same dark brown as Cole’s—and my daughter’s. My throat went dry at the reminder of what I was hiding.
Not waiting for the driver, Chuck pulled open my door. “Oh!” he said. “You’re not my son.”
I stuck out my hand. “I’m Carrie Woods,” I said. “Executive assistant.”
“Any relation to Tiger?” He laughed, proud of his joke.
Never heard that one before . I hid my eye roll and gave him a wide smile. “Not that I’m aware, but I haven’t done my family tree since the second grade, so there’s always hope.”
He grinned, pleased that I’d played along. If I had a nickel for every time a golf-obsessed retiree made that joke, I’d have a pocket full of shrapnel. But Chuck Hearst surprised me by slapping his hand in mine and saying, “You’re the one who revamped the company travel procedures and increased our productivity on travel days by eleven percent.”
Pride was a warm glow in my gut. He knew about that? About me? “That’s right. Nice to meet you. ”
“Good to have you on board. Do you golf?”
I blinked. “I—um...yes?” Rachael had not been kidding about this guy.
During our exchange, Cole had exited his side of the car and come around the back. “Stop crowding her, Chuck,” he said, and I noted that he didn’t call the older man “Dad.” Cole took my hand and pulled me out of the car. “Don’t mind him. I’ll get someone to show you to your room.”
“Hold on a minute,” Chuck said. “Ted! This is Carrie. Carrie Woods. No relation to Tiger”—both men chortled and looked at me, so I smiled too—"She’s the one who does the travel planning now. She golfs!”
How was that for an endorsement? I turned to face the incoming man, knowing one of the board members was Ted Enders. His wife was celiac. His daughter was engaged to Cole.
Ted was walking out of the resort, dressed in tan slacks and a pale blue golf shirt. He had a wide-brimmed hat on, and the glint of a gold chain sparked from beneath his collar. His eyes slid to me. “You golf?”
“I’m not exactly on the PGA tour,” I said, “but I used to play with my old boss nearly every Wednesday.”
Chuck’s gaze landed on me, incisive and dark. I stood up a little straighter, and I understood in a flash how he’d managed to build his company to such great heights. He was sharp and observant. “Who’s your old boss?”
“I don’t think you’d know him,” I said. “Arthur Wentworth. He’s an accountant?—”
“You played with Art!” Chuck barked a laugh and slapped me on the back. I rocked onto my toes and caught myself on the car to save myself from falling flat on my face from the impact. Cole stepped forward like he was going to catch me, which was nice of him, all things considered. But I’d rather he didn’t touch me. His hands on my body made me want things I had no business wanting.
Chuck seemed oblivious to the face-plant I’d narrowly avoided after his whacking my back. He grinned at me. “We used to play together years ago. Good man. Great accountant. Could’ve been massive if he had a head for business, but the man likes a quiet life. He still hook it to the left every time he gets frustrated?”
Despite myself, I laughed. “Yep. But his short game makes up for it.”
“The man can putt,” Ted agreed. “Playing against him is hell.”
I snorted. “You think you’re winning and he’ll pot one from forty feet.”
The two older men guffawed. I glanced up and managed to catch Cole looking at me like I’d just sprouted another head. I shrugged. Old dudes and golf—they were nothing if not predictable. Wentworth used to love this kind of shop talk. I had to learn how to shoot the shit with him, golf-wise, if I wanted him to respond to any of the various messages he ignored on a regular basis.
“It’s settled,” Chuck said. “You’ll play with us.”
His words took a second to sink in. And when they did, I nearly choked on my own spit.
Play with them? Golf? Play golf with my boss’s dad? The chairman of the board of the company I worked for ?
My daughter’s grandfather?
“I, um…” I scrambled to come up with an excuse. My panicked gaze crashed into Cole’s bewildered one.
“We’ll play best ball,” Ted suggested. “Old geezers against you two young ones.”
“Whaddya say, kid?” Chuck asked, clamping a big meaty hand on his son’s shoulder, who glowered at him. “Want to compete against your old man to get the week started?”
Cole’s eyes darted to mine. He must have read the panic in my face and decided to play the hero again, because he said, “I’m sure Carrie has work to do…”
I definitely did. And I definitely should have been doing it. Golf was great and all, but being able to talk like I was a sixty-five-year-old man with a golf bag full of premium clubs didn’t mean anything when I messed up the catering for the most important company event of the year.
And if I messed up at the retreat right before broaching the topic of Evie with Cole, I could guarantee that that particular conversation would go disastrously. Waiting for the perfect time—after my daughter’s spelling bee, when I’d had time to get my ducks in a row and prepare myself for a tough conversation—would have been a complete waste of several weeks.
“Work can wait,” Chuck said. “Don’t tell the boss I said that,” he added, winking at me.
I gave him the most genuine laugh I could, which sounded pretty hollow to my ears. He was the real boss. And wasn’t that a nice way of reminding us all of where we stood?
I glanced at Cole. His lips were stretched into a grim line. We weren’t getting out of this .
I’d worked for men like Ted and Chuck for the entirety of my career as an executive assistant. Mr. Wentworth had been a great boss, but he’d been just like them. There was no use talking back or trying to change their minds. They’d decided that the best course of action was for the four of us to play golf together. Their word was gospel. They were used to being at the top of the food chain—used to being listened to.
And this was golf. Mr. Wentworth had been just as fanatic as they were about the sport. I knew, down to my marrow, that turning down the “opportunity” to make a fool of myself on the golf course would forever mar my reputation in their minds.
The panic inside me settled into a hard kind of determination. This was happening. Refusing would be worse.
In the years since my breakup with Derek, I’d honed my ability to Do The Hard Thing. Part of it was motherhood, which made it necessary to Do The Hard Thing on a daily basis. But part of it was my sheer stubbornness, and my desire to never again be at the mercy of someone else.
Apparently I struggled to Do The Really Hard Thing, because I still hadn’t told Cole about Evie, but still. I never claimed to be perfect, only that I’d gotten better.
I painted a wide, confident smile on my face. “I don’t mind,” I said. “I have a meeting with the caterers in a few hours, but I was just going to familiarize myself with the resort and catch up on emails until then.”
“We’ll give you a tour,” Ted announced. “You’ll see the whole place when we drive over to the course.”
“Okay,” I said, then gestured down at myself. “But I have to admit, I didn’t bring any golf clothes on this retreat. I’d planned on being on the clock the whole time.”
“We’ll make a pit stop at the clubhouse,” Chuck said, already heading for one of the golf carts parked on the gravel at the edge of the drive. “Get you some clubs, shoes—everything you need.”
The two older men climbed into a cart, then looked at us, already impatient.
Cole’s gaze slid over to mine. “You don’t have to do this.”
I arched a brow. “Don’t I?”
He snorted, glancing at his father for a moment. “It would make them happy if we played a round. And they won’t judge you if you’re bad. I promise.”
I doubted that but said nothing. Instead, I marched across the gravel toward the other golf cart. “You want to drive, or should I?”
“I’ll drive. I know where I’m going,” Cole said, and slid behind the wheel. I took a seat next to him and settled in, listening to the gentle whirr of the electric motor as he pressed his foot down on one of the two simple pedals. We took off behind the two older men, and I was immediately distracted by the beauty of our surroundings.
Warm wind blew over my skin and ruffled my hair. Palm trees waved in that same wind like arms beckoning us forward. Green spread out all around us, with the well-manicured hills and valleys of an expansive golf course opening up before us. In the distance, the glittering sapphire of the ocean lined the horizon. The air smelled fresh and salty, and I found myself relaxing .
“Do you play often?” Cole asked as we took a turn on the paved path to follow the two other men. As the resort disappeared behind us, I caught a glimpse of what I assumed was the clubhouse approaching ahead.
I shook my head. “No, but my old boss was a golf fanatic. I ended up having to chase him all over his favorite course and sit around at the driving range while he hit balls to get his input on anything. Picked up the lingo, I guess,” I added.
“We’re playing best ball, so it’ll be the two of them against the two of us. Whoever shoots the better shot out of you and me, that’s the ball we’ll play for the next shot. And so on.”
I nodded. “Got it.”
“They’ll probably let you play off the ladies’ tees, too, which will help.”
I turned to glance at him. My eyes narrowed. “Help what, exactly?”
“Just—if you’re nervous.”
“I’m sensing that you think I’m terrible at golf, Christianson.”
He shrugged, spreading his palms open above the steering wheel. “No. I’m just saying.”
“You’re just saying,” I repeated, a little competitive flame sparking to life inside of me. “You’re saying you think you’re better than me?”
“Look, I’m no Tiger Woods either, all right? I had to learn how to play when I met my dad. I’m just trying to make you feel more comfortable.”
“I’m comfortable,” I said. “I’m great. And I’d bet anything I’m better at golf than you are. ”
He scoffed. Actually scoffed .
“You don’t believe me?” I asked, voice calm.
“Carrie.”
“Cole,” I bit off.
The corner of his lip twitched. “You’re telling me that you’re secretly an amazing golfer?”
“I’m saying it’s a little rude that you’d assume I’m not.”
“I think you should put your money where your mouth is.”
“Fine!” I exclaimed, that competitive streak making itself known. “What do you want to bet we play more of my balls than we do yours? And I can tee off from the white tees if you’re worried about an unfair advantage.”
The white tees would be the furthest from the hole. It was almost certain that I wouldn’t be able to hit the ball as far as men several inches taller and many pounds heavier than me, but I was in too deep to turn back.
We took a turn a little quickly, and my body slid across the seat to crash into his. Shuffling away, I grabbed one of the support posts holding the golf cart’s roof on and turned slightly to look at my boss. “So?” I asked.
He shook his head, exhaling sharply through his nose. “You keep surprising me, Woods.”
“I just don’t appreciate it when people underestimate me.”
“Fair enough. How about we make this more interesting? You down for a bit of a wager?”
A spark of interest went off in my gut. This felt dangerous, especially when I saw the curl at the corner of Cole’s lips. Being in his presence was bad enough, but having fun with him? Disastrous .
My mouth obviously had other ideas, because I heard myself say, “What have you got in mind?”
“Whoever ends up with more playable shots by the end of the round wins.”
My heart thumped. “Seems fair enough to me. What are we playing for?”
“You win, I’ll get you tickets to the Broadway show of your choice. Best seats in the house.”
My heart thumped. “I’m interested,” I hedged, which was the understatement of the century. Bee Good, a musical coming-of-age story about a beekeeper, was about to start a run on Broadway. Taking Evie would be a dream. I glanced over. “And if you win? Not that it’s going to happen.”
His smile was wicked. It reminded me of?—
Nothing. It reminded me of nothing that mattered anymore.
“If I win, you give up your contact who organized the charter flights.”
A thrill went through me at the playfulness in his tone, and I affected a careless shrug. “Didn’t know you had a thing for losing.”
“I’m not losing anything, sweetheart.” As soon as the pet name slipped through his lips, Cole cleared his throat. I liked it more than I should’ve. “Here’s the clubhouse,” he added. “Pick out whatever you need in the pro shop and tell them that I’ll handle it.”
“Thank you.”
“Hey, you’re doing me a favor,” he noted, parking the cart next to the one Chuck and Ted had used to drive over.
“And don’t you forget it,” I told him. I slung my purse over my shoulder, flashed a smile at the two older men, then entered the air-conditioned, pristine space in the clubhouse.
Ten minutes later, I was wearing a coordinated golf outfit that consisted of a cherry-red skort and a sleeveless, collared shirt. My feet had been stuffed into a brand-new pair of golf shoes. My hair was up in a high ponytail with a matching red visor shading my eyes. I had a set of rental clubs that would do just fine for our purposes today and a will to win my wager with Cole that probably shouldn’t have been as strong as it was.
I walked out of the pro shop and into the sunshine to meet the waiting men. I should’ve been protecting myself from him. Planning my next steps.
Instead, I was doing the worst possible thing: I was having fun.