by Brisa Starr
“Game on, old man. So what will it be this year?”
“Well, I’m eager to hear about your juice,” he says. “I think it’s great you might’ve found someone. But first things first… our wager. I have a big intellectual property case that I could use your help on. All high-tech patents, right up your alley. Really interesting stuff.”
He walks over to his ball and stands behind it. Facing the green, he aims his club by holding it straight out in front of him, as if pointing it like a giant laser pointer will help him hit his ball onto the green. Then he brings his club back down, and he walks to the side of the ball to address it. At this rate, our 18 holes will take all day.
Just before he’s about to swing, he looks up at me and says, “If I win, then you have to work for me for two months this summer. Full-time, regular work. But you’ll love it, Ryker. A professor down at Ann Arbor has invented some kind of way to use blockchain technology to allocate bandwidth… or something like that. The university is kicking in $20 million to spin it off, and their in-house lawyers are too swamped to handle it. There’s at least a dozen patent applications there, maybe a lot more. You’d work closely with the inventor and our IP team, and get to learn about a whole industry and the technology.”
Without giving me a chance to respond, he looks down at his ball, takes a swing, and he overshoots the green.
I chuckle. “I think I’ll take that bet.” There’s no way he’ll win. Blockchain technology or not, there’s no way I’m spending my summer shuffling papers. He walks back to the cart and slides in. We drive down the cart path, parking next to the green. I take off my golf glove and grab my pitching wedge and putter. Dad does the same.
“What do I get if I win?” I say. I think for a moment. “OK, I know. When I win, you have to clean my house on the lake once, including the toilets. Mow the enormous lawn, front and back, every other week while I’m here, and cook my dinner every Friday night for the next two months.”
Dad chokes as he laughs, but he sees I’m serious. “You’re on, son!”
“And you can’t have Nancy help!” Nancy is my dad’s wife. Technically my stepmom, I guess, though that title seems a little silly if you meet them after you’re an adult, as I did.
“No problem.” He turns back to his ball, and true to his word, he chips the ball onto the green, and it rolls right up next to the cup. He taps it in, giving him a par. “I can’t wait for you to join me in the office. You know it’s always been my dream. Not that it makes sense, long-term, for you to practice law, given your finances. But you do need real-world experience. Experience gives you options that no amount of money can buy.”
My turn is next. “You’d be surprised, Dad,” I say, but as I say it, I realize he’s right—there’s a lot I don’t know yet. I step up to the ball and chip it onto the green, not as close as I’d like, but my putt lands the ball in the hole. I get a birdie. So far, I’m winning.
A few holes later, I’m still in the lead, and we’re getting ready to tee up on a par five. The game has moved along quickly, and we have a group right behind us, so we haven’t had time to talk about Aspen yet.
I swing my driver and crank the ball straight down the center of the fairway, just shy of 250 yards. “Are you sweatin’ yet, Dad? I hope you like yard work.” I laugh and pick up my tee from the ground.
“No worries. You’re going down, boy.” He laughs and tees up his ball and hits a nice one, not as far as mine, but straight down the fairway. As we drive the golf cart to our second shots, he says, “So tell me about this girl you’re after. Your juice.”
Beep. Beep. A small horn toots next to us, announcing the arrival of the club’s beverage cart. Without asking me what I want, Dad calls out to the young gal, “We’ll take two cranberry juices.” I laugh, and he walks over and collects our drinks, and the cart takes off for the next hole while Dad brings me a juice.
“So, juice, you were saying?” He gives me a silly grin and nudges my shoulder. “Let’s hear it!”
“It’s Aspen. Aspen Kingsley. Do you remember her?”
“Gabby’s girl. Yeah, I know her, and I know Gabby, too.” I look at Dad’s face to see if there’s any angst or darkness, but he just smiles. He probably remembers that Gabby said something to Aspen about Mom, back when Aspen was in high school, and that Aspen said something to me. But if he even remembers, he doesn’t seem bothered by it. It was a long time ago.
I say, “To be honest, I was scared to bring up her name, because of, well, you know.”
“Nah, it was a blessing for me. Your mother and I would’ve split sooner or later. Aspen just sped things up a little… which freed me to find my true love, Nancy. Hell, maybe I should send Aspen a fruit basket or something,” he says, laughing.
I’m relieved to hear it. “You mentioned true love the other day. How did you know?”
“It’s easy, boy. I couldn’t stop thinking about Nancy from the moment I met her. Still can’t. I wake up every day excited to roll over in bed and see her, and I can’t go to sleep unless she’s in my arms every night.” He gets a goofy, love-struck smile on his face and adds, “She’s my partner in life, and we share everything together. The good and the bad. We’re always there for each other. And just knowing that makes you feel invincible. Like, no matter what, someone’s got your back.”
I think about what he’s saying as I take my second shot. It lands ten feet short of the green. Nice. I chuckle. “Dad, this isn’t looking good for you.”
Dad hits his second shot, and it lands close to mine. “Son, my two shots match your two shots, even though you thought your big, bad first shot was so awesome. I guess it’s back down to that short game now, isn’t it?”
We pull up to the green, and we each get out our wedges and putters again. This time, Dad gets a birdie, needing only one putt to sink his ball in the cup. Meanwhile, I’m thinking about Aspen, wondering if I did the right thing with buying her Popster’s house.
My first putt misses the cup by only a hair, but it’s way over-powered, and my ball rolls off the back of the green. Fuck. I take three more strokes to finish, and I’ve got a bogey to his birdie. Shit.
“Well, well, who’s in the lead now, big guy?” He slaps me on the back as we put our clubs away and climb into the golf cart.
The next hole goes to Dad, too. He gets a bogey, I double-bogey, and I start to sweat a little, wondering if I’ll be spending the next two months of this beautiful summer cooped up in a law office filing documents with the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office. In triplicate.
He interrupts my thoughts. “So, Aspen. I haven’t seen her in a while. The last time I did, though, she looked just like her mom when she was her age.” He winks at me and says playfully, “You know what they say… if you want to know what your future wife looks like, check out her mother.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen her mom a few times at the bistro, but I haven’t really met her yet.”
I try to concentrate, but on the next hole, we both get a bogey. We’re close to finishing our round. At the next tee box, his eyebrows high, he asks, “So, what’s the story? Are you and Aspen dating?”
“Well, that’s the problem. I need your advice. I don’t even know her that well, but I feel like I do. She’s all I think about, and fuck, Dad, she’s so beautiful.” I playfully slap my hand over my heart like I’m in pain. “She’s whip-smart. And determined…” and then I mutter to myself, “and stubborn as a mule.”
“OK, and?” he asks.
As we drive the cart to the next hole, I fill him in on her attempts to buy the historic Rose Hotel, and her dream to turn it into a bed-and-breakfast, how her investor fell through, and how she wouldn’t let me invest.
“So, you tried to buy your way into her heart?” He shakes his head.
“Ouch. It sounds terrible when you say it that way. But I didn’t think about it that way. I just have all this money. Why not help? It’s not like I was giving it to her; I would have invested it, just like the guy be
fore had planned to.”
“Son, there are a lot of women out there who see dollar signs when they look at you. And then there are a few who don’t give a shit about your money. It might even be a strike against you, for some of them. After what Gabby’s been through with her marriages…” He gives me a tight smile. “I know a little about her divorces, because an associate in our firm handled one of them…” and then he cuts himself off. “I can’t discuss it, of course. But what I can say is that…” he pauses, “well, let’s just say, Aspen has probably learned from her mom’s experience to be very cautious when it comes to men and money.”
Over the next few holes, I think about some of the things Aspen has said to me, and he’s right. And I’m beginning to rethink whether my strategy has been the best way to win her over.
My dad and I both score a par on the next hole. As we drive to the next tee box, we eat the sandwiches we grabbed back at the halfway house. Dad starts telling me more about work and what’s been going on in the office the past couple of months. Another few holes later, he’s still in the lead, and I can’t stop thinking about Aspen.
“Well, I might have made a big mistake,” I say, and I proceed to tell him how I bought her Popster’s house as a backdoor way to help her buy the hotel.
My dad whistles through his teeth, shaking his head, and then for more effect, he smacks his palm to his forehead. “Good lord, what were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that she wanted this hotel, and that it was her Popster’s idea,” I say, as I step up to the tee box.
“Ryker, he’s family. She’ll forgive him. She can blame it on him losing his marbles, for Christ’s sake,” he laughs. “Can’t say the same for you, I’m afraid.”
I could try it. Plead insanity… Insane for her.
We’re finally on the last hole, and Dad is still ahead by two strokes. My game is way off, given my mental state about Aspen.
Shit. If I thought it was an uphill climb to Aspen’s heart before, I might as well add blizzard conditions and black ice to the situation now.
“Ryker, you are in one sticky situation. My best advice? Tell her now. Get it over with. Plead insanity, and hope she doesn’t send you to the chair.”
He sinks his last putt, putting him three strokes ahead. His short game practice has paid off. There’s no way I can catch up.
“At least if she kicks your ass to the curb, it won’t matter. Because I’ll keep you busy in the office. See you tomorrow morning, 9:00 a.m. sharp!”
13
Aspen
My phone rings, and I see it’s Charlie from the real estate office. It’s 1:30 p.m., almost closing time at the bistro, and a smile stretches across my mouth. I’ve been waiting for this call!
I answer. “Hi, Charlie! Got good news?”
“Yes, ma’am. Everything is signed, and once the inspection is done, provided it passes inspection, which I’m sure it will… The Rose Hotel will be yours.”
“YES!” I scream, and Mom drops her wooden spoon on the floor, “Shits and stones, Aspen! You scared the hell out of me.”
I grab two quarters from my apron and throw them into her swear jar. “Thanks, Charlie. I’ll call the inspector and get him there as soon as possible.”
I hang up and run over to Popster and give him a hug. “Looks like you’ll have a new home soon!” I sit in the booth across from him, and Mom joins us.
“I’ll call the inspector today,” I say, and type some notes into my phone. “Mom, can you make sure we equip the new kitchen with the pots and pans we’ll need? I have a wish list on Amazon for bedding and decor, plus some other stuff. Maybe we should drive down to the restaurant supply store in Royal Oak next week?”
I turn my attention to Popster. “I’ll see who currently takes care of their maintenance and get that info to you, so you can decide what they’ll do from now on, and what you want to take on.”
“What else can I do?” he asks.
“You’ve done enough,” I laugh, and then add, “Can you be there when the inspector comes and make a list of everything that needs work?”
The ringing bells above the bistro door interrupt us, and a customer comes in. I turn around. It’s Ryker.
I smile. I must be in a good mood after all.
He smiles back in our direction, and I wave at him as he takes a seat at the counter. I hold my finger up to him to let him know I’ll be there in a minute. Gosh, there is so much to do, now that things look like they’re good to go!
“OK, Aspen,” Popster says. “We have our marching orders. Let us know when the inspector will be there.”
I call the inspector’s number, and it’s ringing while I walk over and stand on the other side of the counter across from where Ryker is sitting. I ask him what he wants to drink.
“Water,” he mouths. Damn his lips look good. I wonder what it’s like to kiss…
“Oh, hello, Jack? My name is Aspen Kingsley,” I say as I get Ryker a glass of water. “I got your number from Charlie. I need to set up an appointment for an inspection of The Rose Hotel as soon as possible.” I set Ryker’s water down in front of him and turn to lean my back against the counter, listening to Jack.
“Hi, Aspen, thanks for calling,” Jack says. “The earliest I can get you in is four weeks from tomorrow.”
My heart stops. “Four weeks! Shit. That’s the earliest?”
“Yeah, sorry, we have a backlog. It’s been a crazy summer.”
“Crap. I’m in the wrong line of work. OK, well, put me down, please, but if you get a cancellation, please call me. I really want this done as soon as possible.”
“Yep, you and every other buyer out there,” he chuckles. He gives me the date and time, and I text it to Popster with a crying emoji.
I put my phone in the back pocket of my jeans and turn around to face Ryker. He’s smiling at me, like he knows something’s up, and his handsome face almost makes me forget what I was doing.
“Um, hi,” I say and blush, though I don’t know why.
“Hi,” he says. “You look busy.” He leans forward. He’s wearing a navy suit, which looks very expensive, and I’m reminded again of how attracted I am to him—there I admit it—and how much money he has. It’s not every day you meet a billionaire.
Eager to share the news with someone who isn’t family, I exclaim, “I found an investor! Popster!”
“I’m glad to hear that. So, what’s next?”
Huh. I thought he’d show more enthusiasm. Well, I guess my little hotel is small potatoes compared to the things he does with his money.
“I was just on the phone with the inspector,” I reply, but then my smile flattens. “I was on cloud nine, until I learned he can’t do the inspection for four goddamn weeks! Can you believe it? I’m so bummed.” My flat smile bends into an exaggerated frown.
“Did you say his name is Jack?” Ryker says and pulls out his phone.
“Yeah, why?” I tilt my head, curious. Was he eavesdropping? Although, I did make the call in front of everyone.
“I know Jack. Let me see what I can do,” he says, and my mom walks by and swats my butt playfully as she tosses a quarter into my swear jar, presumably for my ‘goddamn’ a moment ago. We’ve been paying for each other’s swearing lately, which kind of defeats the purpose, but it’s sweet.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Why would Jack do that? Does he owe you a favor or something?”
“No, but I’m sure we can figure something out,” he says and swipes his finger on his phone, searching for Jack’s contact information.
I’m tempted. But, no.
“Forget it. Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t need your help, Ryker.” I don’t want to owe him any favors. “So, what do you want to eat?”
He sits up straight and takes a sip of his water. “I can at least call and see what I can find out. It’s no trouble, Aspen,” he offers, his green eyes glowing, and the way he’s looking at me is making me too warm. Tingles shoot through me from head to toe.
“Um, no. Again, no thanks,” I stutter and re-tie my apron tighter to give me something to do. Refocused, I repeat, “What do you want to eat?”
“I’ll have a piece of your mom’s bacon quiche.” He leans forward and says with a raised eyebrow, “I wouldn’t mind some of your pie, too.”
My mouth drops open. Holy shit—what pie is he referring to? The way he said it made me think he’s not referring to the kind made with cherries and flour.
Maybe I’m wrong, and I’m just flustered and horny. God, it’s been so long for me. I huff air out of my nose like a dragon. I was doing fine all by myself, with a one-track mind on my business, until… until Ryker reentered my life.
I go into the kitchen, and I’m plating his slice of quiche, when Mom says, “Who is that handsome guy out there… who has eyes for you? I’ve seen him come in a few times, but I haven’t had a chance to introduce myself.”
I snort. “You’re funny, Mom.” I push the quiche into the center of the plate and add a scoop of coleslaw on the side. I sprinkle some dill on top. “I could give you all the guesses in the world, and you’d never guess who that is.”
I realize I’m surprised I hadn’t even told my mom about Ryker yet. With everything going on, it slipped my mind, and our paths haven’t crossed enough times to talk about it. Or maybe it’s the fact that I do everything I can not to think about him. One thing’s for sure, I didn’t mention his offer to invest to my mom. Probably for fear that she’d make me reconsider accepting his money.
When I don’t offer an answer, she claps her hands impatiently. “Well? Aspen? Who is it?”