Chapter 22: The Wrong Boss: Chapter 22

I don’t know why I was surprised by Carrie at this point, but I was. The flash in her eyes when I challenged her had sent a fork of lightning through my veins, and for the first time since my father had coaxed me into picking up a golf club the second time we’d met, I found myself actually looking forward to getting on the course.

There was no way Carrie was as good as she said she was. She had to be bluffing. It was that same stubborn streak I’d spied when we first met, the impulse that had her wanting to fight the thief who’d stolen her things, the part of her that sharpened her tongue and made her so damn irresistible.

“Looked at last quarter’s numbers,” my father said, drawing my thoughts away from the woman who dominated them. “You’ve done well this year, Cole.”

I loaded my set of clubs into the back of my golf cart and turned toward my father. Even though I was a grown man, the note of pride in my father’s voice still made me want to stand up taller. “The expansion into the entertainment sector has worked out well. If I manage to land Trews in LA, things will look good for next quarter.”

“Proud of you, son,” he said, clapping me on the back. “Didn’t I tell you hiring this kid was the right call, Ted?”

“Proved me wrong,” Ted agreed, grinning. “Never should have doubted you.” The vice chairman of the board nodded at me. “You’re your father’s son. That’s for sure.”

A rush of warmth went through my chest, and I gave both men a nod. “Next year will be even better.”

“Don’t get too cocky, Cole,” my father noted—but he was grinning.

“You’re one to talk, old man,” I ribbed, and the two of them laughed.

Seven years ago, I never could have imagined that my life could end up here. Reaching out to my birth father had changed everything. I’d jumped from the software company to Hearst within two years, and now I was enjoying being part of something bigger than myself. I could see the shadow of my own features on my father’s older face. I recognized the sharp look in his eyes when he reviewed quarterly reports and new business ideas. I watched him interact with partners and clients, and I saw some of the essence that made me the salesman and businessman I was.

I came from somewhere. The rootlessness and confusion I’d grown up with—and the shock of finding out I was adopted—had settled. I had a place, and it was right here.

If I hadn’t had that conversation with Carrie while we sat at that hotel bar in New Jersey all those years ago, would I have found the courage to reach out to my father? Would I have made that call? Gone through with the meeting?

I remember the weeks after I met her, when it felt like I was guided by an invisible hand. I’d felt lighter. Braver. I’d had Carrie’s voice in my ear, challenging me, pushing me.

Now I was heading up a huge investment firm—but that wasn’t what made this job so special to me. I could stand next to a man who was my blood and feel like I had a place here.

I’d never had that before. Not in childhood. Not in adolescence or when I pursued my career. For the first time in my life, I felt like I’d landed somewhere I belonged.

“Barb tells me the wedding preparations are coming along nicely,” Ted noted. “That daughter of mine isn’t running you too ragged, is she? I’ll be happy when she finally ties the knot. Then it’ll be both daughters married, and I’ll be able to rest.”

I grinned at my future father-in-law, even though discomfort churned in my gut. Alba and I hadn’t broached the subject of “dalliances” since that brief conversation the day I brought Carrie to the apartment. I still wasn’t sure where we stood—wasn’t sure if she felt as strongly about loyalty and fidelity as I did.

I still wasn’t sure if marrying her was the right thing to do. But how could I turn back now, when Ted was my father’s best friend, his business partner, his confidant?

If I broke things off with Alba, I’d lose everything that had quickly become so precious to me. I’d lose my place here, next to the family I’d never had.

Maybe it was just cold feet. I’d never been married, after all. It was natural to have doubts, wasn’t it? So I smiled at Ted and said, “Alba’s managing everything,” I admitted. “She’s got me double-checking the shade of gold glitter on invitations and making sure our new florist holds up their end of the bargain. Not sure I’d be able to pull off that kind of event without her.”

“She’s like her mother,” Ted answered, a little sardonically. I wondered if Alba’s view on marriage being transactional came from her own upbringing. My future father-in-law nodded at me and added, “We’re looking forward to welcoming you into the family officially, Cole. I hope you know it.”

“Couldn’t have said it better,” my father said with a nod. “That’s one of the reasons I wanted you to come out early. I know you can handle the business with one hand tied behind your back. But that woman you’re marrying… That’s what’s important.”

A dagger went through my chest, but I hid my reaction to his words as best I could. The two older men watched me, all pride and acceptance, and I felt like a disloyal fraud. Breaking off the engagement would be disastrous. Besides, the only reason these doubts had entered my mind was because a ghost from my past had reappeared after a seven-year absence. I couldn’t throw away everything I’d achieved for her. The acceptance. The belonging. The fatherly pride.

But the ghost in question chose that moment to step out of the clubhouse and make her way toward our group. The three of us turned to watch her approach, and I bristled at the attention that the older men were paying her. In that fluttering red skirt that hit her at mid-thigh, her legs looked as delicious as they’d been when they’d been wrapped around my head. Her hair bounced as she made her way down the steps, one of the clubhouse employees carrying her borrowed golf bag down the steps beside her.

Her hips swayed as she walked, and the sun kissed every plane of her curvy body.

A body I’d tasted. A body I’d claimed.

A body I’d missed.

I cleared my throat and busied myself checking the clubs in my bag.

“Gentlemen,” she greeted as she approached, a teasing note in her voice. “Shall we?”

“Let’s go,” my father said with a jolly laugh, and he climbed into his golf cart next to Ted, the two of them taking off down the paved path toward the first set of tees.

Carrie thanked the worker who loaded her bag in the back of our cart, then swung herself into place on the seat. I took my place behind the wheel and caught myself staring at the expanse of thigh so close to mine. My palm tingled, as if it could remember how it felt to stroke that skin all those years ago.

Gritting my teeth, I turned forward and followed the older men toward the first hole. Ted was already teeing up by the time we parked our cart and grabbed our drivers, his swing fast and aggressive. The ball hooked badly to the left, and Ted swore as my father laughed.

My father took his shot and hit the fairway. Carrie gestured for me to go, her eyes glimmering under the rim of her red visor, hair fluttering in the soft, warm breeze. She looked delectable. I shouldn’t have noticed.

I took my shot, the ball landing well short of where my father’s had. It rolled onto the first cut of rough.

“Not bad,” Carrie said, and took her spot between the white tees.

“You sure you don’t want to go down to the blue tees?” my father asked, pointing to the tee box several yards in front of us.

“I can’t,” she explained. “Mr. Big Boss Man was being all arrogant and condescending, so now my pride is on the line. I have to prove myself.”

A delighted grin flashed across my father’s face. “Your funeral,” he said, nudging me with his elbow. In a low voice he added, “Where’d you find this one?”

I shot him a sideways look and said nothing.

Ted, my father, and I went silent as Carrie leaned down to pierce the grass with her tee. She balanced a ball on top of it, then gripped her driver with practiced ease. The first inkling that I might have underestimated my newest assistant began to trickle through my mind.

She screwed her foot into the grass as she took her stance, checking her line once more before tucking her chin as she looked at the ball. A breath of wind washed over us, kissing the edge of her skirt and throwing her dark hair over her shoulder. The sun gleamed over her skin, as if to highlight all the curves and hollows I’d never again have the right to touch.

And then Carrie swung. The club whistled through the air, and the noise of the contact with the ball was clean and dry.

Ted swore. I stared. My father said nothing.

Carrie stayed there, club across her back, body twisted, staring at the flight of her ball as it flew straight and true. It bounced in the middle of the fairway and rolled a good ten yards past where my father’s ball had landed. Only then did Carrie straighten and turn to beam at us.

At me.

“I’d say mine is the best ball, wouldn’t you?” Her smile widened, wicked and teasing and irresistible. “Sir?”

“Get in the cart, Woods,” I grumbled as my father and Ted laughed.

“I like her,” my father called out as he got behind the wheel and took off.

Carrie slid her driver into her bag and sat down next to me in our own cart, all prim and proper and gloating.

“It’s one shot, Woods. Long round ahead.”

“I’m sorry, what was that? Is it one-nothing to me already? I can almost smell victory from here.”

“All that gloating is just going to make it that much sweeter when I win.”

“Whatever you have to tell yourself to get through the round,” she told me, eyes sharp as an angelic smile curled her lips.

Despite my best efforts to keep it in, a laugh bubbled up my chest. We made our way down the winding path toward our balls, and I tried to ignore the bright, fizzy feeling of being in Carrie’s presence.

I didn’t even like golf. I only did it because my father enjoyed it and it happened to be the place where a lot of business deals were negotiated.

But I liked this. I liked the warmth of the sun on my skin and the scent of Carrie’s hair on the wind. I liked the sight of her legs in that skirt, her teasing grin, and the way she made me want to bend her over my knee for being so damn arrogant about a single shot in a game she wasn’t even supposed to know how to play.

“You’re going down, Woods,” I grumbled as I stopped the cart so I could grab my ball before driving over to where hers had landed.

“We’ll see,” she teased, leaning back to rest her elbows on the top of the seat. The pose pushed her chest out, and I kept my gaze dutifully forward to stop myself from staring. “A real Broadway musical will be so much fun,” she said, lifting her face toward the sun.

I huffed a laugh and decided that I could enjoy one round of golf without it meaning anything more. Sure, we had a history. There had always been something undefinable between us, a loose thread that made me want to tug and tug and tug.

But this was just an afternoon in the sunshine. It was a friendly wager. It meant nothing more than that, even though a secret voice in my head whispered that I was lying to myself.