Chapter 9 #2
When I peel my eyes from the back of Clint’s head, Glen has already taken a seat on the other side of his desk.
“I’ll lay it out for you. I trust y’all, which is exactly why I asked you both here.
As you both know, a successful tournament needs a committee.
The person who normally takes on marketing and event planning had a family emergency.
” He gazes at the both of us with puppy dog eyes, however, my eyes are glued on the chiseled jaw of Clinton Morrison.
Maybe he’s just as shocked to see me, as I am to see him.
“Oh, I hope you remember one another. Unless you need introductions—”
Clinton stops Glen easily with a subtle shake of his head.
“I could never forget Paloma Reyes.” He could never forget me?
I don’t know if it’s a good or bad thing, but the way his eyes linger on my hair before they drink in the rest of my features, ones that are fuller now, hints to the former.
I let Clinton take his time as his eyes travel over my thick thighs squeezing into the arm chair that’s digging into my ample hips.
His fingers twitch, and I do everything I can to hold back how badly I want to touch him.
He continues his perusal in what I assume is him noticing my soft belly filling out my skirt.
When he suddenly meets my gaze, there’s a soft pink shade to his cheeks.
Is he blushing over me? I swallow and bite the inside of my cheek.
No matter how many years, no matter how badly I hurt him, he isn’t a man I want to rush.
My skin flushes and the desire to be touched by him races over me, right down to my fingertips.
I’ve always felt a pull toward Clint, but somehow the time we’ve been apart has only tightened the string that pulls us together.
Not tight like it will snap, but like it’s tangling us together.
Glen coughs lightly, pulling us both out of our trance. I try to recover my composure and speak up first, “Um, yeah. Clinton taught me a lot about the game when we worked here. Almost a decade ago now.”
“Well, that is wonderful. So listen, I would be indebted to some of my favorite people.” Glen is laying it on thick today.
“The two of you,” he says for emphasis, and I have to wonder how many other favorite people Glen has.
“Given the Albatross Charity Tournament is for your academy, Clint, and with your connections between players and businesses, you would be a fantastic fit to head marketing for the tournament.”
“Absolutely. I can handle that. I was already planning to share my connections with you, so this will speed things up if I handle communications directly,” Clint says as he makes an attempt to peek back over at me.
“And how do I fit into all of this?” I ask, genuinely curious as to why he needs my help.
“Well, I could think of no one better who already knows Mossy Oaks Golf Club, as well as the Cypress Lake community, to ensure the day-of coordination is handled with strategy and care. Since leaving the Mossy Oaks family, you have flourished with your own business.” My eyebrows raise in surprise, realizing that Glen has kept up on me.
He nods his head as he continues, “Yes, I have been keeping a keen eye on Shaken Tropes. It’s flourished and much of that has to do with how you treat people and conduct outreach online.
Together, you both have what we need to make this tournament successful. ”
When my gaze locks on Clinton, I notice his head is leaning slightly back from how ramrod-straight his back is. The moment Glen takes a breath, I rush and ask my own question, “What would this look like exactly?’
“As the new event coordinator and lead for marketing, you both would take on the roles of executing the tournament, getting the word out, and building the sponsorships we’ll need.”
Clinton nods in my direction, and I give him an in to ask his question, “Is there a reason why you’re not taking on the role as the event coordinator?
You are the general manager. Who better than you?
” I force my eyes to remain focused on Glen.
There’s a small voice in my head telling me I’m the reason Clint is hesitating to commit.
Why would he want to be stuck with me after what I have done?
“My role as the treasurer is to focus on the budget and ensure this course is where it needs to be for the tournament. Now, I understand you have other responsibilities which is why I thought asking both of you to support would help divide the workload and, hopefully, make this tournament’s logistical undertaking more manageable.
If you both are unable to do it with such short notice—”
Clinton chuckles into his next words. “I just want to be sure the other committee members are ready to go. Albatross Charity Tournament has to be done right. Besides, you know I’m in, Glen.
I told you earlier I’m all for helping.” Clinton’s voice is deep, and I wonder if it’s me or if it’s hot in here.
My eyes cut to the thermostat behind Glen’s head.
“How are you feeling about this?” Glen turns his attention to me, and though I’m facing him, I can feel Clint’s eyes on me.
I tuck my hair behind my ear, trying not to get too flustered being this close to my ex.
Fucking hell. I could tell Glen no, but then what?
What does that solve? Without allowing myself much more thought, not wanting to be an ass, even though this was sprung on me, I answer, “Count me in, Glen.” I turn, now giving my attention to Clinton as I continue, “It can’t be too hard.
We can exchange emails and make sure to get this done. ”
“Oh, no no no. Marketing and events go hand in hand.” Glen smiles, smiles, like this is good news.
“It’s why in the past we’ve had one coordinator handling it all.
And I know what you’re thinking, but an event of this size, with someone as popular as Clinton involved, we need all hands on deck. You both will need to work closely.”
The room is silent aside from the old coffee pot in the corner, which seems to be on an auto-timer. “Coffee?” Glen says, uncertainty in his voice as he rolls his chair to the small table in the corner and pours himself a cup. He offers again with a head nod, one we both decline.
“I’m glad we got it all sorted out. As you said, Clinton, you and Paloma are well-acquainted.
With you being the owner of Albatross, and Paloma, co-owner of Shaken Tropes, as your right-hand woman, this is going to be a wonderful event.
” He pulls out two folders packed with information.
Leaning over his desk, he holds one out for each of us. “Here.”
Flipping through the paper packet, I note the multiple touchpoints that will need to happen during the next several months. I don’t know how I’m going to pull this off; I may need to drop a few shifts at Shaken Tropes to do it.
“This seems like quite a bit of work, Glen. I may be a bit out of my depth,” I admit to them both.
“It’s quite a lift, and with the both of you, I think it can be separated into what really needs to be done together and what each of you can handle and delegate to staff. I’ll let you decide what’s best for you. Tell you what, why don’t you sleep on it?”
“No, it’s okay,” I reply, not wanting to back out of something I agreed to moments ago. “We can figure it out together.”
I shift toward Clinton, whose jaw is tightening. Whether he can feel my eyes on him or not, he relaxes his features. “No worries over here. We’ve got it covered.”
“Thank you both so very much,” Glen replies, completely oblivious to my inner turmoil.
“Would you look at the time? We three better be off to the welcome meeting so I can introduce our two new committee members for the Albatross Charity Tournament. It’s going to be lit, as the kids would say.
” He cheerily rises from his chair. I don’t have the heart to tell him the kids, in fact, do not say that anymore.
I laugh under my breath and stand from my chair, gathering my bag on my shoulder.
The three of us walk out into the hallway and I watch as Glen speed walks like a granny on her way to midday mimosas.
I keep my eyes on him for as long as I possibly can before it becomes weird and obvious that I’m choosing to pretend Clinton’s sandalwood and lavender scent isn’t the only thing I can focus on.
“Paloma.” Clint clears his throat as he says my name, and the gravely sound of his deep voice begs me to close my eyes and enjoy this moment, taking me back to one of the many nights I fell asleep curled into his side, how his hands felt as they dug into my fleshy hips.
My lashes flutter rapidly as I blink away the memory.
Clinton’s arm is angled toward me when I turn to face him. “Paloma, can we meet for lunch this week? So we can discuss everything.”
He nods his head in the direction of the entrance, inviting me to walk with him. I can’t help but notice he matches my shorter strides, and I do my best to hold back the grin pulling at my lips.
I peek over in his direction and swallow before I answer, “Yeah, we can meet at Shaken Tropes. If that’s okay with you?”
“You gonna run from me again?” Clint’s voice has a hint of playfulness to it, but I know it’s an honest question.
I cross my fingers, holding them in the air. “No running.”
His chuckle feels like the icebreaker we need. “I’ll hold you to it, Heartbreaker.”
I open my mouth to say something, anything to rectify myself from the nickname he’s graced me with, but before I can, he continues, “Let me give you my number. So we can connect about the tournament.”
I don’t know if he realizes that he already has my number from my mother’s meddling. Maybe he tossed it the moment she handed it to him. “What’s yours? I’ll text you right now.”