Chapter Three
Juliette hurried down the hallway as another voice joined the fray, calmer and more confident.
“Get ahold of yourself, Chip, for god’s sake,” said the voice she recognized as Warren Ellingham’s. “Save the infamous temper tantrums for the course. It’s already done.”
“You’ve got no proof!” the other voice thundered as Juliette reached the door.
She tried the handle, but it didn’t budge.
She could kick it in, Olivia Benson–style, but she didn’t want to be on the hook for the repairs.
So instead she lingered, waiting for her opening.
After all, it would be rude to interrupt such a contentious conversation.
Especially one that might have more blind items she could leak to the press to pump up their marketing efforts.
“If you even think about going public with this, I’ll sue your ass back into the Dark Ages! ”
“I told you, Warren, I had nothing to do with that!” said the other man, clearly pacing back and forth from the way his voice wove in and out.
Warren scoffed. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my fifty years in the business, Chipper, it’s to trust my gut when it tells me there’s a snake in the grass.
Everything about you has stunk since you stepped off Stanford’s greens onto the main stage.
Too obsessed with the cameras and the microphones.
You’re exactly the kind of attention-seeking narcissist who can tank morale at a club.
By the time I’m done with you, I’ll see you out of my club, off the Tour, and done with golf.
You’ll be lucky to get a job working concessions at a minigolf course. ”
“You can’t do that,” said Chipper. “You’ll ruin everything I’ve worked for.”
“Worked,” Warren said derisively. “You wouldn’t know an honest day’s living if it punched you in the gut. No wonder my son got tangled up with the likes of you. Face it, Chipper, you’re outclassed and outfoxed. I’ve got a speech to give, and you need to leave.”
“Dammit, Warren, I’m not leaving until—”
Warren pulled the door open so suddenly that he caught Juliette by surprise. She barely had time to put on an “I just got here, what’s going on?” face when the other man came into view behind him.
“Juliette, my girl, a welcome reprieve,” Warren said as he stepped back, letting her into the room.
He wore a finely tailored linen suit, a fifty-thousand-dollar Rolex winking on his wrist. He turned to the other man, making a show of it.
“Juliette, this is Chipper Floyd. Onetime professional golfer, now mostly a spokesman for local car insurance companies and off-brand sports towels. Isn’t that right, Chipper? ”
The man’s expression was preternaturally smooth—the result of an overenthusiastic Botox injection, if Juliette had to speculate. His face was handsome enough, probably charming when his breath didn’t reek of alcohol like it did just then.
“I won the Masters,” Chipper said, his teeth clenched tight. They were so white and uniform in shape Juliette figured they had to be veneers. “And the US Open twice. It’ll be three times next year, if everything goes according to plan.”
“I find that plans rarely go according to,” Warren said, giving him a knowing smile. “But, Juliette and I have business to finish up, don’t we, my girl? Chip was just leaving.”
“We weren’t done talking,” Chipper growled.
“Warren, everyone’s wondering where the man of the hour is,” Juliette said, giving Chipper a less than apologetic smile. “June Piedmont is on the verge of sending out a search party if you don’t make your appearance soon.”
Chipper got the message, wrenching the door open viciously. “We’ll talk later.”
“Get yourself another drink and relax, Chipper,” Warren said, waving him off. “You’re liable to get in trouble and do something stupid if you don’t.”
“He forgot to wish you happy birthday,” Juliette said dryly as Chipper slammed the suite door shut.
Warren shook his head, moving across the room toward a mahogany desk. “Some horses don’t know when they’re beat. They’re so spooked by the starter pistol they just keep running and running, figuring they’ll get a head start on the next race.”
This was a favorite habit of Warren’s, colloquial phrases to evoke a mythical ranching childhood.
It was only after she researched his background for the memoir that she learned he grew up in Minneapolis, the son of a dentist and a makeup counter saleswoman.
No ranches in sight. But that didn’t seem to affect the slight country twang he used when handing out his corn-fed business lessons.
“Drink?” Warren asked, indicating a stocked bar on the sideboard with an impressive collection of expensive whiskey bottles, elaborate gift tags hanging off each one.
“I mentioned whiskey in one speech twenty years ago and now every damn hanger-on sends me a bottle of private reserve for my birthday. June and Robert had a bottle of Glenlivet sent up and insisted on toasting with me personally. Some small-batch, limited-edition nonsense. I don’t even care for whiskey, not really.
Help yourself, I’m sure it cost them a fortune. ”
The bottle of Glenlivet sat on the edge of the desk, five cut crystal tumblers collected around it with various levels of the amber liquid sloshing within.
The bottle was half-empty, the liquid sludging out into the tumbler Juliette reluctantly retrieved from the sideboard.
She winced her way through a sip of the ultraexclusive whiskey, giving Warren a watery smile.
She was usually a vodka girl, mainly because whiskey tasted the way old men’s breath and sweaty leather saddles smelled.
“Everyone downstairs is buzzing about our announcement,” Juliette said, placing the glass discreetly among the other half-empty tumblers as soon as he turned his back.
Vile stuff, whiskey. Already her head felt light and cottony, her tongue thick in her mouth.
She needed to keep her wits about her. This evening was too damn important for inebriation.
“Speaking of, I suppose you’ve seen this,” Warren said, picking up a paper on the desk and waving it at her in disgust. The Pub Daily blind item. For some reason Warren had printed it out, because of course he had. Old people didn’t believe the news unless they could hold it in their hands.
“I know you insisted on an embargo on the deal until you could make your announcement, but honestly, this is good publicity,” Juliette said in her most soothing tone. “Believe me, everyone downstairs is practically foaming at the mouth. Terrified. We have them right where we want them.”
“Terrified is where we want them?” Warren said dryly, wandering to the sliding glass doors and watching the distant city lights twinkle. Juliette preferred to keep her sights fixed strictly indoors.
“Fifty years I’ve been doing this, Juliette,” Warren said, his accent turning expansive as he gestured toward the lights.
He spoke like he was giving a motivational TED Talk, pausing for dramatic effect.
“I started the Ellingham Group from the ground up, built Pacific Pines practically with my own two hands, brought in the kind of members other clubs can only dream of. I’ve reconstructed empires on a suggestion, and toppled men far greater than Chipper Floyd.
And now everybody’s talking about me like I’m already dead and buried.
Throwing this birthday party like it’s a lifetime achievement award.
They’re all expecting me to retire, and for what?
So I can hand the reins over to my son, watch him decimate my legacy like he has his own personal finances?
They’re gonna find out I’ve still got plenty of living left in me. ”
He crossed to the desk and rapped his knuckles on top of a stack of papers, giving her a meaningful look.
Juliette’s heart started pumping double time with excitement.
Here it was, at long last. The book she’d wheeled and dealed and bargained her soul for.
The book that was not only going to save Simon Says, but secure her future as its COO.
And she had single-handedly helmed the deal.
“So, that’s it?” she asked, her tone admirably casual. “I can take it now, get it off your hands and let you focus on your victory lap.”
“All in good time, my girl, all in good time.” Warren scooped up the papers, turning toward a cabinet set against the wall with a safe built into it.
Juliette subconsciously lunged for them as he turned his back, pretending like she’d tripped over nonexistent carpet when he glanced at her.
“I’ve still got a bit of tinkering to do on them.
Don’t worry, you’ll get these as soon as I make it official. ”
“I can get started reading it right now, actually. I don’t need to be there for the big speech. I’d rather get a jump start on the work here.”
Warren gave a big, open laugh, clapping her on the shoulder.
“That’s what I like about you. You’ve got a fire in your belly!
I knew it from the moment you cornered me at that benefit and pitched me on writing this memoir.
Wouldn’t take no for an answer. Reminded me of when I first started Ellingham Group, cold-calling potential investors, trying to convince them to put their money in the hands of a stranger.
You’re going places, and I can help you get there faster. ”
“It would be even faster if I started now,” Juliette said, her heart pounding harder.
Everything had a faint yellowish-green halo to it, and she leaned hard against the edge of the desk to stop the world spinning.
Okay, maybe her doctor had a point about not mixing scopolamine, Dramamine, and whiskey.
Warren laughed again, popping the papers into the safe on top of several stacks of hundred-dollar bills.
Easily her rent for the year, just sitting there like pocket change.
He swung the door shut, the electronic lock whirring into place.
“Soon, my girl, soon. For now, let’s go rattle some cages, shall we? ”