He took a look around, but the wide patio was empty around them. It was probably safe to talk. “How are you doing?”
The creases in the skin around Kingston’s eyes looked like a smile, but of course, he couldn’t do that in case Gabriel was watching. “I’ve had a company for a few months, Sidewinder Golf.”
Excitement popped in Jericho’s head. “Like Sidewinder golf clubs?”
“Exactly like Sidewinder golf clubs.”
“You bought Sidewinder Golf?”
Skins winked at him.
“I have a Mojave driver, and it’s so good it feels like cheating. But how are you going to increase that company’s ROI? I would’ve thought Sidewinder would be a mature company without much chance of exponential growth, and that’s what we need.”
Kingston tilted his head away from his phone and winked at Jericho. “If you put in your preorder now, I can ship something really interesting to your pro shop in a month and a half. It’s going to be the talk of the PGA Merchandise show in December. It’s going to frickin’ explode.”
Jericho lifted an eyebrow at him. “Oh, really?”
Kingston waggled both his eyebrows at Jericho and then resumed scanning panoramic pictures of the first hole’s fairway.
Jericho turned around and leaned his butt against the low wall ringing the patio to look back into the clubhouse. People were entering through the front door. “Looks like Match is here, and he has someone with him.”
Mitchell “Match” Saltonstall had indeed walked into the clubhouse’s dining room. He was wearing a black-tie tuxedo, as the invitation had specified black-tie formal, and looked as disgustingly handsome as ever. Match had been voted Most Likely to End Up on a Catwalk in high school, a dubious distinction.
The woman on his arm was tall, voluptuous, and Instagram-perfect. Even from across the room, Jericho wondered if they had somehow figured out how to Photoshop a person in real life. Her huge eyes and puffy lips made her look like an anime character, and her blond hair billowed around her shoulders and down her back. Her silvery dress clung to her curves as she smiled at Darius the caddie, who was the greeter for the night.
Darius stood in front of Match and the woman, gaping. The adolescent high school kid had probably never been confronted by a siren before. After a second, he shook himself and asked Match for their ticket, though Jericho could see Darius still side-eyeing the woman. The paper ticket jittered in his shaking fingers.
Match slid his arm around the blonde’s waist, and she snuggled closer to his shoulder, glancing around to see who was looking at them. She grinned and tilted her head as if she were almost lying on his chest.
There was something ostentatious in their movements. Something contrived.
Kingston looked over his shoulder and then finished turning around to stare at Match and the woman. “Damn.”
“Who is she?” Jericho asked Kingston. “Match didn’t say he was dating anyone.”
“Yeah, well, they’ve been together for four months—”
“Four months? I haven’t heard anything from him about it.”
“—and it’s quite a story. I’ll let him tell you because you’re not going to believe it.”
Jericho wasn’t going to say anything that felt like a betrayal of Tiffany, so he blinked and looked away.
As soon as he did, the warmth of Tiffany’s presence in the clubhouse and all of Newcastle Country Club returned, and he felt her influence everywhere.
Kingston elbowed him. “Trust Match to end up with a woman like that. I’d bet she’s high maintenance.”
No one got out of bed looking like that, so Jericho imagined that must be true. He asked Kingston, “Have you heard anything about what companies Match and Morrissey have bought yet?”
“I’ll let Match tell you about his company because it’s part of the story about how he got a woman like that, but Sand Trap hasn’t bought anything yet.”
Jericho turned to him. “It’s September.”
“Oh, he knows, but you know how cautious Morrissey is. He’s evaluated at least five opportunities that I know about, and he’s turned them all down or backed out of the deal at the last minute. Morrissey will always lay up before he risks getting caught in a sand trap.”
Jericho wanted to smack himself upside the head, but he also didn’t want a palm print of his own making on the side of his face for the night. “If Morrissey doesn’t buy something soon, if he doesn’t at least give himself a chance to win this thing, I swear next time he falls off that damn yacht of his, I am going to let him drown.”
Kingston chuckled. “I’m pretty sure Morrissey has learned to swim since fifth grade. He would never take a risk like not knowing how to swim.”
From behind Match and the glamorous beauty, Tiffany trotted into the dining room and looked around, scanning the few guests who’d already arrived.
Jericho’s breath caught in his throat.
She was wearing a golden evening gown that shaded to dark ochre from her knees to the ground. The metallic fabric complemented the golden undertones of her dark skin, lending a shimmering polish to her high cheekbones and the straight bridge of her nose like she’d been dusted with gold flakes.
The overdone blonde in the silver dress faded from Jericho’s mind, and he hurried inside the clubhouse to greet Tiffany. “You’re early! How was your flight?”
She grinned at him, and a warm glow suffused through Jericho’s chest. “I managed to catch an earlier plane from Portland. It was bumpy going over the Rockies, but I’m fine. Lucky that I didn’t make the cut this week, huh?”
He wrapped her in his arms, stupidly glad to see her. “I can go with you to the tournament in Arkansas next week. There is a statistical correlation between my traveling with you and you making the cut. I mean, there really isn’t enough data in the three weeks since you were called up to join the LPGA tour, but I stand by my numbers.”
“You and your spreadsheets.” Tiffany squeezed him around the waist. “But I’m glad you’re coming with me next week.”
They didn’t bother to do the it’s-okay-if-you-don’t-go, but-I-want-to, I-don’t-want-to-cause-you-trouble, but-I-really-want-to-go-with-you conversation anymore. Jericho could work on the road, and he liked going with her. She knew that.
Tiffany backed up and looked at him. “You’re not dressed yet. People are starting to arrive.”
“I have my tux up in my office.” He grinned a little more widely at her. “Want to come up and help me get dressed?”
She laughed at him. “I haven’t eaten anything since the sponsor’s supper at the tournament last night. I’m famished.”
“They didn’t feed you on the plane?”
“I cannot with those rubber sandwiches. I’ll go ask Tiriaq to spot me some crackers and cheese.”
Jericho felt his jaw drop. “You know her name?”
“Tiriaq? Of course. How do you not know your own chef’s name?”
“Every time I go in there, she threatens me with a big knife.”
Tiffany nodded. “The kitchen is Tiriaq’s domain. You have to respect her sovereignty when you walk in there. If you do that, she’s sweet.”
“You have to show me how to do that sometime.”
Tiffany laughed and went off to the kitchen, and Jericho went upstairs to change into his tuxedo for the evening. He grabbed a quick shower in the men’s locker room before he shaved and dressed.
Jericho needed to look good for the pictures.
By the time he got back down to the dining room, the clubhouse was packed. He was looking over the crowd, trying to find Tiffany, when Gabriel Fish walked up and stared him in the eye.
Yep, The Shark was in the house, probably sniffing for blood in the water before he struck.
Gabriel said, “Nice turnout.”
Jericho looked past him, still looking for Tiffany. “Yeah, we’ve been working hard.”
“You’ve done a good job with this place.”
His tone alerted
Jericho. “How’s your venture going, Shark?”
Gabriel smiled, but Jericho could have sworn his grin appeared a little more worn than two months prior when Gabriel had been giving him advice about NCC. “I’m working on it. I’m sure we’re all working on our ventures.”
That gave Jericho the chills.
Suppose Gabriel Fish had walked into this party spouting about how great his bet-related golf venture was going. In that case, Jericho might have been relieved because he was probably bloviating or trying to psych Jericho and the others out so they would make a mistake.
Gabriel’s understated reply felt like the wind up to an enormous blowout, come New Year’s Eve.
Maybe Jericho shouldn’t ask Tiffany to marry him tonight. He didn’t want to take her down with him financially.
Nevertheless, Jericho found Tiffany in the mob, and the entire crowd dressed in tuxedos and sparkling evening gowns began the short walk over to the arena.
A fleet of golf carts waited outside the clubhouse for those who preferred them to the short stroll, and Jericho escorted Tiffany to a cart for the short drive over. Each cart had temporary headlights strapped onto its front, a non-standard piece of equipment on golf carts because golf is generally not played in the dark.
Because they had a few moments alone while the swarm of golf carts darted toward the new arena like fireflies in the twilight, Jericho reminded Tiffany as they bumped along, “You realize that if I lose this bet with Gabriel Fish, I won’t just be broke; I’ll be in debt. I will be in a lot of debt.”
She shrugged her graceful shoulders, and the matching wrap she’d donned for the ride over rippled in the wind as they rode. “I don’t care. I’m making money hand over fist on the LPGA tour. After I won my very first tournament two weeks ago, they’re offering me appearance fees just to show up.”
“We’ve talked about the future, and we talked about perhaps a May wedding. That’s after New Year’s Eve. We’ll know by then. If this bet goes badly, you shouldn’t link your finances to mine. We’ll figure out something else.”
She scoffed, “You rich folks are always putting the cart before the horse. We aren’t even engaged yet. I don’t know why we’re talking about weddings when you have to give a speech about Pop Golf tonight. You need the publicity more than you need a fiancée.”
Jericho tried not to show his flinch, but it was too late to back out now.
At the arena, Jericho handed Tiffany out of the golf cart, even though her legs were probably steadier than his.
The doors to the arena stood open, and inside, ushers were there to escort people to their places. The lobby and the living-room-style bays on the lower two balcony tiers were completed.
The Fall Formal guests exclaimed over the elegant stone flooring underfoot and the lush velvet curtains around the windows.
Jericho and Tiffany split off from the rest of the crowd and made their way down to the wide floor of the arena, keeping to the walkways between the vortexes and golf flags. He held her hand as they strolled, more for comfort than possessiveness.
Though there was that, too.
The guests were exclaiming their delight, and their voices echoed from the steel beams overhead and the hard surface under their feet. Faces appeared and then retracted over the edges of the balconies as they peered over and swiftly stepped back from the edge.
Tiffany waved to her mom and dad, Master Sergeant Sherman Jones and Mrs. Robin Jones, who had front and center seats for the spectacle. Tiffany’s father had grudgingly renewed his membership at the lower rate upon Tiffany’s insistence.
Jericho’s parents, Boyd and Lillian Parr, sat with Tiffany’s parents in the center box of the second-floor balcony, ushered there specifically for the occasion. They’d greeted each other warmly because they’d been out to supper at NCC on numerous occasions. Jericho’s parents had joined his country club soon after that tense luncheon, and so the two parental couples saw each other regularly.
Jericho and Tiffany walked toward a small table in the center of the arena that had a bottle of champagne standing on it. A long red ribbon tied the champagne bottle to the rafters. The ribbon was looped around a hook on the table to keep it from flying away before its time.
It was a fake champagne bottle, of course. The bottle wasn’t made of glass but sugar, like movie props for barroom fight scenes. It was designed to be broken safely.
When they got to the middle of the vast space, Jericho dropped Tiffany’s hand and raised both of his for quiet. He began, “Friends, members of the club, and honored guests.”
The crowd quieted. Many of them had retreated quite far from the edge, and Jericho could see them sitting on the couches and chairs of the booths. Video cameras had been set up to stream his speech to the monitors and film the magic moment.
He really hoped it was going to be a magic moment. This could go really wrong.
Jericho drew a deep breath and announced, “Welcome to Pop Golf!”
The crowd cheered, and Jericho gave his prepared speech that he’d been practicing in front of the mirror and with Tiffany over video chat for the last two weeks. His delivery was smooth, and his hand gestures seemed polished. He described the benefits of Pop Golf and his vision for the future of Newcastle Country Club.
At the end of it, he caught Tiffany’s hand. “And to officially open Pop Golf, we have the LPGA’s newest star, Newcastle Country Club’s own Tiffany Jones!”
The members of NCC went wild.
Of course, they did. Everyone likes to be able to brag they’d been coached by an LPGA Tour professional golfer.
Tiffany’s smile was a million watts of beautiful, and Jericho was blinded by her.
She strolled over to where the champagne bottle stood, her long legs swishing the liquid gold material of her skirt. After she waved to the crowd, Tiffany picked up the champagne bottle and held it over her head.
The red ribbon suspending the bottle from the ceiling fluttered in the breeze from the air conditioner.
Tiffany called out, her sultry voice echoing over the PA system, “I declare Pop Golf open for business!”
She let the champagne bottle go, and the green bottle swung forward, impacting a clear plexiglass shield erected for the occasion. The green, glassy sugar-material shattered with a crisp crackle, but no champagne splashed over the clear shield.
Instead, something small fell out of it and landed on the floor with a thunk.
Tiffany glanced up at Jericho, a quizzical frown on her face.
The crowd cheered.
She pointed at the dry shield. “Was that supposed to happen?”
Jericho shrugged. “There was supposed to be champagne in it. Let’s go look.”
They strolled toward the plexiglass shield, and the crowd’s chatter died down around them.
Jericho caught a glimpse of his mother, sitting on the couch and grinning like a barracuda. He probably shouldn’t have told her.
His father and Tiffany’s dad were watching them walk and shrugging to each other.
Tiffany’s mom, though, was watching him and Tiffany closely, and then she turned and glanced at his mom.
And she caught on. Robin Jones slapped her hand over her mouth, turned back, and leaned over to watch.
Jericho took Tiffany’s arm and hurried her toward the broken champagne bottle before she noticed her mother’s reaction.
She hesitated. “There’s glass. I’m wearing open-toed shoes.”
“It’s sugar glass, but I’ll carry you.” He swung her up in his arms as she gave a little eek.
It was only a few more steps to reach the shield, and he set her gently in a clear spot.
Tiffany pointed to a small, black cube amongst the glittering sugar below the dangling red ribbon. “What’s that?”
Jericho strolled the last few feet to the black velvet box. The sugar glass crunched under the soles of his feet.
At least, he hoped it had been the bottle made out of sugar. He was about to find out.
Jericho picked up the box and turned around, holding it in his hand. His back was to the audience as he lowered himself to one knee and held the box out, flipping it open.
The sugar crunched under his knee like a crust of snow and didn’t slice him open in the slightest. That was a good sign.
Inside, nestled in the black velvet, a spectacular solitaire diamond ring caught the theatrical lights and threw reflections over the ceiling and walls of the arena.
Jericho said, “Tiffany, when we met in the bag room at Newcastle Golf Club, I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, and you thought you were my boss.” He paused for the laughter. “I was right, and so were you.”
Gasps interspersed with more laughs fluttered from the crowd.
He continued, “The first time we golfed together, you thought you were a better golfer than I was, and you were right again. But you taught me that the seventh green is an optical illusion and the importance of NGC in the community.”
Tiffany’s hands were covering her mouth, and bright stars lit her dark eyes with happiness.
Jericho cleared his throat and said, “Tiffany Faith Jones, would you do me the honor of marrying me and being right for the rest of our lives?”
The NCC members were already laughing.
When Tiffany started nodding and held out her hand for him to put the ring on, they started cheering.
Jericho slipped the ring onto her quivering hand with his shaking fingers and caught her up into his arms for a kiss.
Just before their lips touched, Jericho murmured, “Gotcha.”
Match Play
Mitchell Saltonstall
Mitchell “Match” Saltonstall Stood beside his fake girlfriend, Arielle Carter. The feel of her body against his when she’d been snuggling up against him in the dining room earlier was driving him insane. He could still feel her pawing at him while her voluptuous curves pressed against his stomach and hips.
Arielle was clapping and smiling prettily as Jericho Parr and Tiffany Jones, newly engaged, waved to the crowd. Without moving her lips or opening her teeth she snarled at him, “How much longer do I have to stay?”
Under Parr Page 24