3. Shelby
SHELBY
“What the hell are you doing here?”
When my agent, Ethan West, called me to come see him today, I didn’t think much of it.
Now that I’m living in the city where his offices are located, he likes to take advantage of in-person meetings for everything from endorsement ideas to scheduling conflicts.
Plus, it’s not like I was doing anything productive today after my morning was ruined by a certain someone.
My session with Chad was also shit. They haven’t been going well anyway.
I’m not taking to my new swing technique like I’d hoped, but today was a particularly awful day.
My shots were going everywhere but the right direction.
And distance? Ha! That’s a joke. Chad says I still need more time, and I usually believe him.
But today’s fiasco? Oh, I’m definitely blaming my shitty day on the spawn of Satan. Who happens to be sitting on a chair in Ethan’s lobby.
Beau glances up from his phone, an annoyed look splayed across his stupidly attractive face.
A face that now has a neatly trimmed beard compared to the one I saw a few hours ago.
Part of me wonders if he did it because I gave him shit.
Part of me doesn’t care. None of me is going to think about the percentages of where the two camps fall.
“I’m guessing the same thing you are,” he says as he shuts off the screen of his phone and slips it into his pocket. “Ethan called me in.”
“Well, get comfortable, because I’m seeing him first,” I say, not caring what time his appointment is.
“But I was here first,” Beau says as he stands up.
“My appointment is first.”
“How do you know that?”
I don’t. But a girl can hope. “Look, you’re fine out here playing Candy Crush or whatever it is you do to kill the time. I have shit to do.”
“Candy Crush? Really, Belle?” he says as my eyes narrow, spurred on by the use of my childhood nickname. One that only he’s ever used. The one I detest.
It reminds me of a time when I didn’t hate him. And I really hate that.
“If you must know,” he says, condescension dripping from every word, “I was watching videos. Using my time wisely to do market research.”
“My apologies,” I say in a tone that is in no way apologetic. “I forgot I’m sharing air with a B-minus internet celebrity.”
“Ouch.” He flinches like I actually hurt him. I wish. “I’m at least a B-plus.”
Unfortunately, he’s actually a borderline A-lister, but I won’t admit it to him or anyone else.
Between his net worth in tournament winnings, and the social media channel he started that’s brought him more sponsorships than I think he even realized he could get, the man is now a who’s-who of athletes and celebrities.
He went to the freaking Grammys this year.
Just for shits and giggles. I’m just thankful he hasn’t started a podcast.
Yet. Because I’m sure it’s coming.
Just what we need. Another man with a microphone.
“Plus, you can sit out here and do whatever it is you do to kill time,” Beau says. “What’s the book of the day? I’m sure nothing too deep. Oh! Is it a self-help book for how to learn to smile?”
Beau’s teased me about always having a book in hand every day since he found a Babysitters Club book in my golf bag when I was nine. Like reading is such a horrible habit. I’m going with jealousy on his part. “For your information, it’s a critically acclaimed book about a female doctor who—”
“Beau? Shelby?” Both of us look over at the open door that takes clients back to Ethan’s office. His secretary is standing there, a placid look on her face. “Mr. West will see you both now.”
“Both?”
The one word comes out of both of us simultaneously.
What in the world could Ethan want to see us both about?
We don’t have any of the same corporate sponsors—I made sure of that.
And I don’t remember seeing one of Ethan’s famed charity projects on the calendar.
At least, not one that would require both of us being there, let alone having an in-person meeting about.
“Yes, both,” the blonde woman says. “Please, come on back.”
Confused, we look to each other, before looking back at… Shit. What’s her name? I hate not remembering other women’s names, but in my defense, Ethan goes through secretaries like some people go through underwear.
Beau extends his hand for me to go first. If it were any other man on the planet, I’d think he was being a gentleman. But it’s Beau, so I know better.
“What did you do?” I whisper-hiss as we walk down the long hallway to Ethan’s corner office.
“Me? I didn’t do shit. I should be asking you that,” he hisses back.
“You know I didn’t do anything,” I whisper-yell. “You probably said something on a stupid video and somehow involved me as well.”
“Sure, Belle. That’s exactly what I did.
Because you’re my favorite person to talk about on my channel.
” His sarcasm is noted. “Also, how would you know that? From your heavy social media presence? Were you tagged in a relentless amount of videos from when I talked about you? Or better yet, did you watch?” His sneer morphs into a smirk. “Aw. I knew you were a fan.”
“Quit calling me that,” I bite. “And I don’t need fucking social media.”
“Whatever you say. But I bet your bank account would disagree.”
I have strong opinions, and strong dislikes, for many things in life. Interviews. Tournaments that think it’s still the beginning of Title IX and mandate the female golfers wear skirts. Social media in all forms.
But what I hate more than anything ever? Admitting when Beau Devereaux is right.
Blech. I want to puke in my mouth just from the thought of it.
But he is. I know it. So does he. My bank account would benefit from a few more sponsorships and endorsements. And I know that comes from being on whatever video app is trending. Or at least with having a social media account that has more than a couple three-plus-years-ago photos on it.
I just want to play golf. Is that too much to ask?
Maybe that’s what this meeting is about.
Maybe Ethan has finally had it with my lack of social media interest and is bringing in Beau to show me what opportunities I’m leaving on the table by refusing to be online.
It would be a desperate move by my agent.
He knows I’m not Beau’s biggest fan—what he doesn’t know is the lifetime of lore that goes behind my hatred.
He knows we grew up together and played against each other in our youth. He knows his sister is my best friend. He knows I’d rather play an entire round of golf with just my putter than ever join forces in a business venture with him.
But the reasons behind that? No one knows. Not even Gabi. Just me and Beau, even though he denies it.
Beau and I stand just outside the door of Ethan’s office. Our agent is on the phone, but he waves us in and signals us to have a seat.
“Ladies first,” Beau says.
“I don’t need your fake chivalry,” I retort, but I do take the opportunity to walk through the door first. Only because I want a certain chair. “Also, why are you being nice to me?”
“I can be nice,” he whispers as I take a seat. “You just choose not to see it.”
“I choose not to believe lies,” I spit back. “Because that’s what you do. You lie.”
His eyes narrow at me. “Watch it, Shelby. You really want to get into this here?”
Fuck. He’s right. Again. How can this happen so many times in one day?
I want to say something smart back, but I can’t. I don’t want this to turn into a scene while Ethan is taking a call.
“Yes. I have them right here,” Ethan says, looking at both Beau and I. “They’re going to be over the moon about this opportunity. Send over the details so I can have them sign off on it. It’ll be finalized before by E.O.D.”
Bold of him to assume I’m signing anything, especially if it has anything to do with the man sitting next to me whose cologne is annoyingly perfect.
“Thank you both for coming,” Ethan says as he hangs up on the call.
“Not a problem,” Beau answers before I can. “Sounds like you’ve got something brewing for us?”
I start to snap that there’s no “us,” but I remind myself that I need to be professional right now. As painful as it is for me to do so.
“I do,” Ethan says, flashing the smile he reserves for when he knows whatever he’s about to say will be a hard sell. He’s had to do it many times since I’ve signed with him. “Are you two familiar with the Las Vegas Open?”
“I am,” Beau says. “Went and did content for it last year. It looked like a hell of a time. It’s coming up in a few weeks, right?”
I rack my brain trying to figure out which tournament these two are talking about… when it hits me.
And it takes everything in me to not blow up right here because they can not be serious.
“The mixed pairs tournament?” I’m ninety-nine percent sure it is, but I still want confirmation. Because I have a feeling I know where this is going, and I already don’t like it.
Actually, I hate it with my whole self.
“The very one,” Ethan says. “They have a few spots open, and the tournament organizers reached out to me to see if I had any golfers on my roster who’d be interested in playing together.”
No. Hell no. Fuck to the no. He better not say what I think he’s about to say.
“Shelby, before you immediately say no, let me tell you all the details,” Ethan says.
That gets a snicker out of Beau. I don’t know what the hell he’s laughing at, this involves him too.
“The tournament isn’t a sanctioned one for either of your tours, but as you know, since it’s at the beginning of the golf calendar and has such a unique setup, it gets a ton of eyeballs and publicity.
And as they’ve brought on a few bigger sponsors, including Nashville’s own Left for Love, the purse is a really nice one. ”
Really? He’s trying to convince me to play in this tournament because a fucking dating app is a sponsor? I barely want to live in Nashville, let alone be associated with a local business that promotes people finding their one true love.