Chapter Sixteen
Warren’s taste was everywhere as they moved deeper into the clubhouse, judging by the leather furniture and finely curated art decorating the walls.
But there were other, less subtle flairs she could no doubt accredit to the Piedmonts—tall cracked-glass vases filled with violently yellow flowers, mini scale models of some of their more well-known properties throughout Seattle, and dramatic floor-to-ceiling curtains in a royal purple on the massive windows facing out onto the green.
“What exactly is your plan here?” Charlie asked, following after Juliette.
“Don’t worry about it,” Juliette said, dodging around a server with a tray of fresh champagne flutes. “I’m just going to poke around. Feel free to grab a drink and mingle. I do my best work alone.”
“I am worried about it,” Charlie said, still hovering, “because you’re my plus-one and this room is filled with my colleagues.” As if to prove his point, he gave a half-hearted wave to an older gentleman in a truly obscene plaid coat.
“I’m not going to make a scene, if that’s the point you’re very unsubtly hinting at.”
“Too late for that,” Charlie muttered. “Juliette, honestly, we should talk about whatever it is you’re going to do. Please wait.”
It wasn’t Charlie’s pleas for discretion that finally drew her up short, but rather a man in a green jacket she was already far too familiar with. He stepped in front of Juliette as she made to enter a room with a plaque that read MAIN OFFICES, holding out a hand.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, this section of the club is off-limits,” he said. “The event will take place out on the greens and the back lawn, just through those doors over there.”
Juliette glanced around, realizing that there was a stand of velvet ropes blocking off other sections of the club as well, and most of the staff with iPads were enthusiastically directing people out those same doors the security guard indicated.
“What kind of membership event doesn’t let potential new members see the actual club?” Juliette asked, not ready to be outdone by a stiff in a knockoff PGA jacket.
“The club is making extensive renovations at the moment, and Mrs. Piedmont is thrilled to share them with new and existing members alike when it’s done,” said the guard, his speech flat and stilted like he was reading from a cue card.
In fact, Juliette could swear she saw him slip an index card discreetly out of his jacket pocket as he continued.
“Pacific Pines will be restored to the grandeur it was once known for, with exciting new opportunities for amateur and serious players alike. We can’t wait to share these updates soon.
For today, please enjoy a series of clinics, demos, and refreshments on the back lawn.
And thank you for your interest in Pacific Pines. ”
“Did you say there are clinics out there?” Juliette asked. “Like golf clinics? Maybe featuring some of your more notable members?”
“Yes, of course,” said the security guard, clearly relieved to be done with her. “Pacific Pines boasts six former Masters, as well as a dozen US Open winners and four tennis pros who have played at Wimbledon. If you’d like to see trophies—”
“Yep, that’s great, thanks!” Juliette said brightly, spinning on her espadrille and making a beeline for the doors leading outside.
“Honestly, I’m shocked you gave up that easily,” Charlie said, his long strides keeping pace with her.
“I’m not giving up,” Juliette said, offended. “I’m pivoting. If they’re teaching golf clinics, I bet I know who’s leading the pack.”
Chipper Floyd had amassed quite the crowd by the time Juliette and Charlie made their way down to the first hole where he was showing off his short-game skills. He held a tall glass of iced tea in one hand and a young brunette in the other, ostensibly helping her with her putt.
“Now, what you want to do, honey—and folks, listen up, this is gold you’re getting at paper prices.
Now what you want to do is work the ball from here, from your waist. Not your arms.” He squeezed one hand on the girl’s tiny hips in emphasis, grinning at the crowd.
They ate it up, several of the older women swooning at the washed-up former pro.
“Go on, honey, give it a little love tap.”
The girl giggled hesitantly, swinging her hip into his waiting hand before popping it back in the other direction, her putter connecting with the ball too hard and knocking it several feet past the hole. “Oops!” she laughed, looking around nervously.
“Now that’s okay, honey, that’s okay, there’s a reason it’s my picture in the front lobby. Let me see that stick, I’ll show ’em how it’s done. Hold my drink, there, would you?”
Chipper took the putter and crossed the green to where her ball had finally landed, setting up his shot with the kind of casual negligence that belied the skill it took to make it.
He squinted at the hole, looking up to the sun and adjusting his stance slightly before he gave the ball a solid, confident hit.
It bounded toward the hole, everyone in the crowd holding their breaths as it crested the edge and dropped down with a satisfying plonk.
“That’s how you do it!” Chipper roared, tossing the putter off into the rough as the crowd cheered. He sauntered over to the young woman, snagging his drink and smacking her cheek with a kiss as everyone clapped and someone let loose a two-fingered whistle.
“What a putz,” Juliette muttered, making to step through the crowd to get closer to Chipper. But one of those older women blocked her, wielding her purse strap like a weapon.
“There’s a line,” she said, nodding at the gathered crowd. “Wait your turn.”
“A line for what?” Juliette asked, bewildered. “Getting felt up?”
“We’ve been here over an hour, and you’re not getting ahead of us,” she said as three other women came to stand beside her, all of them sporting visors embroidered with the Masters logo. Great, just what she needed. Chipper Floyd groupies.
“Ladies, I’m not here to steal your man or your time slot,” Juliette said. “I just need to talk to Chipper for a few minutes.”
“That’s what all the girls like you say,” said one of the women, crossing her arms. “We’ve waited ten years to see Chipper back in action on the greens. We’re part of the Floyd Flock, and we’re not getting bumped for some ball bunny.”
“Ball bunny?” Juliette murmured in confusion. “Look, I think there’s a bit of a misunderstanding here—”
“Chipper!” Charlie called from his vantage point of being nearly a foot taller than all the women in the Floyd Flock. He gave a wave in the golf pro’s direction, drawing his attention.
“What are you doing?” Juliette whispered harshly.
“You want to talk to Chipper, right?” Charlie said, giving her a shrug. “I’m getting you in to talk to Chipper.”
Juliette looked at the Floyd Flock, all of them ready to peck her eyes out. But as soon as Chipper’s gaze landed on them, he broke out in a shit-eating grin. “Doc Hawk, you son of a bitch! Get down here!”
Charlie grinned at the man as he politely excused his way through the crowd, Juliette following in his wake in stunned silence.
“You know Chipper Floyd?” Juliette whispered. She gasped. “Wait, is that your famous sports client you would never tell me about because of doctor-patient confidentiality?”
She’d tried to guess his more famous clients that first time they’d met at Kate’s book launch, when Charlie had (not so) mistakenly assumed she was flirting with him. He’d held fast to protecting his patients’ privacy, but she’d sworn she would get him to crack.
“A confidentiality which still exists,” Charlie said, giving her a look over his shoulder. His mouth quirked in a smile. “But no, not him.”
“I’ll get it out of you yet,” Juliette murmured determinedly.
Still, it was awfully handy that he knew Chipper.
Charlie was already proving more useful than she had expected, considering she’d been contemplating ditching him only a few minutes before.
What other secrets was he hiding, and what would she have to do to get them out of him?
She found herself liking the prospect of digging for those secrets very much.
“Nobody told me you were coming or I would have put extra muscle on the door to keep you out,” Chipper said as they approached, taking Charlie’s hand and pumping it vigorously.
“If I’d known I would have to come all the way down to the golf course just to get you in for your follow-up, I would have made it out here a lot sooner,” Charlie quipped back.
Chipper slapped Charlie on the back a few times for good measure.
Juliette assumed this was some kind of coping mechanism, to show dominance.
Or Chipper just really enjoyed slapping people.
“I do hope you’re sticking with the postsurgical recommendations? ”
“Just iced tea, Doc, I swear it,” Chipper said, holding up his glass. “Not the Long Island variety, either. I know a second chance when I see one, and I don’t aim to waste it. And who’s this pretty little lady with you?”
“Oh, this is Juliette,” Charlie said, turning slightly pink in the cheeks. “Juliette, this is Chipper Floyd.”
“Juliette,” said Chipper, his gaze narrowing for a split second. Juliette held her breath, wondering how she was going to spin her presence there after witnessing that fight between Chipper and Warren. Of course he would recognize her—she was unforgettable.
But then his expression cleared, his teeth wide and bright. “Doc Hawk, you lucky son of a bitch.”
He didn’t even recognize her? Unbelievable. Unconscionable. It worked to her advantage in the moment, obviously, but still. A woman had her pride, and Chipper Floyd had just taken a nine iron to hers. Well, he’d certainly remember her by the time she was done with him.
“He is a lucky son of a bitch, isn’t he?” Juliette said, burying her fury in a vicious smile. “So, Chipper, are you going to show me how to swing one of these things or what?”