I sped past my father’s cart, eliciting a yell from the occupants and another whoop of joy from Hazel, then parked the golf cart on the fairway.
“What the hell are you doing?” Mortimer yelled from his cart. Of course Seth was the one driving it. My brother parked next to us, his lips twitching and settling. “Are you insane? You’re going to kill someone like that.”
“Good morning, Mortimer,” I replied. “You insisted we join you for a round. I’m merely acquiescing to your request.”
“Hi.” Hazel flapped a hand at him. “How are you this morning, Mr. Woods?”
My father gave her the steely-eyed Woods look that usually melted the faces off Wall Street investment bankers. Hazel didn’t flinch.
Jesus, she’s fucking kick-ass.
“Have a good breakfast?” she asked.
“It was… fine. Thank you.” Surprisingly civil. Had Seth talked some sense into the old man? Impossible. “The clubs.”
A caddy had arrived in a separate cart—my father wouldn’t dream of riding in the same one with a “plebe”—and fell over himself grabbing Mortimer’s bag from the back of the golf cart. Seth’s bag was fetched by a second caddy.
“We’re hoofing it,” I said. “No caddies for us.”
“Suits me just fine.”
“We should blow this off. Come on, let’s go fuck in the clubhouse restrooms.”
Hazel pinched my arm gently, and the intimacy of that gesture hit so hard, it was like a gong had gone off in my chest. It was playful and sweet, rather than sexual.
“Get your head in the game, Woods,” she hissed. “We’ve got an inheritance to save.”
“Right. Yeah. Of course.” I got out of the cart, and by the time I’d gotten around to her side, she was already out and stretching in ways that made my cock twitch.
“Damien,” Mortimer called. “Bring your fiancée over here. Let’s see how well you two fare in a real man’s sport.”
“A real man’s sport,” Hazel muttered. “Suddenly wondering if your father can do backflips like a female Olympic gymnast.”
“Thanks for that image.” I took our set of clubs—we’d opted to share one—and shouldered it. Hazel grabbed my free hand while Mortimer bossed around his caddy.
It was going to be a long damn day.
But at least you’ll be spending it with her.
22
Hazel
I hovered at the end of the bar, separated from Damien, his brother, and his evil-eyed father, my phone pressed to my ear.
Making a call had been an excuse to get away from them, but also, I was worried about Dad. He’d been quiet today—usually, he’d text me at least once in the morning and another time in the afternoon. The phone rang on the other end of the call, but he didn’t pick up.
“Come on,” I murmured and hit dial again. “Come on.” My stomach tied itself into knots. If anything had happened to him while I was out here having a sex-filled weekend with a guy I’d sworn I’d never speak to again…
“Hello?” My sister’s voice came down the line.
“Kara?” Confusion thrummed through me. Kara was supposed to be staying at the apartment Damien had picked out for her. “What are you doing there?”
“What do you mean, what am I doing here?” Kara grew petulant. “I could ask you the same question. What are you doing out at some resort and spa with Damien Woods of all people?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“You abandoned Dad.”
I nearly snorted, and a fresh load of steaming rage dumped on my head. “I abandoned Dad? Me?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Kara, you haven’t even spoken to Dad in months. Not properly. You haven’t asked me once how he’s—you know, what, forget that. Just tell me why you’re at the house. Don’t you have a job to get to? You got that toothpaste commercial, remember?”
Kara went quiet.
“Ka?” I took deep breaths to calm myself. If anything went wrong over there while I was gone, I’d flip. I needed it to be OK. “Ka? Is Dad all right?”
“He’s fine. He’s downstairs with the nurse lady.”
“OK.” That was a good start. “And you’re…”
“I lost the commercial, OK?” Kara snapped it out. “They fired me. And if you must know, I got kicked out of that apartment that your fuck buddy set me up in.”
There was so much wrong with those sentences, I didn’t know where to start. “He’s not my fuck buddy,” I said, stupidly, and ran my thumb over the gold band on my ring finger. I took a breath, allowing the true crappiness of what Kara had just told me to sink in. “What do you mean you got kicked out?” My voice rose, and a few of the preppy golf-shirt wearing old guys turned their head.
The inside of the clubhouse’s bar smelled of cigar smoke and wealth, with leather armchairs, a gleaming wooden bar, and crystal glasses hanging from it. This wasn’t the place to yell.
“How did you manage to lose your job and get kicked out in the span of a few days?” I hissed.
Another silence. “Don’t be mad,” Kara said.
It was a bit late for that. “Kara, what’s going on?”
“It was just a big misunderstanding, that’s all. I’m sure we could work it out, or Damien could. You could have him call the landlord and maybe even the people at the studio, I mean…”
“Kara.”
“I’m telling you, it’s no big deal. Just… don’t get mad OK?”
“Tell me. Now.”
“So, I have this friend who does amateur videos, and he was talking about how you can make a lot of money, like a lot, if you just know the right people. And if you have a nice place to film.”
“Amateur… video. Am I—are you—?”
“Don’t worry, it was super classy. Nothing too intense, but I guess we were making too much noise, because the guy who owned the building came over and found us filming. Apparently, we were supposed to get a permit to film or something, so they kicked me out.” Kara spoked in a rush, practically falling over her words.
“Kara, are
