Page 9 of Unexpected Shot
“Ethan?” Maddox asks, even though we’re both represented by him. His expression changes to one of suspicion, with maybe a tinge of concern. “What did you do?”
“Nothing,” I defend, though I’m racking my brain trying to figure out if I might’ve accidentally posted or put something online that could get me into hot water—again. “At least, I don’t think so.”
For some reason, the fight I had with Shelby earlier comes to mind. But it can’t be that. We spar like that daily. Plus, no one else was on the range, and I know Shelby didn’t tell on me. Sheknows she’s just as much to blame as I am for our constant squabbles.
I try to think back to my last episode, which dropped over the weekend. It was a pretty tame one. Just me, Chad, and another local golfer talking about the upcoming year as we played eighteen. I even made sure to avoid the topic of whether or not I’m playing at the America’s Open. I don’t need to reopen that can of worms after last year.
“Well, let’s be on the safe side,” Gabi says, and before I can even ask her to clarify, she’s packing up an assortment of cookies, brownies, and cupcakes. “Here. Take these. Can’t hurt.”
She’s not wrong. Because Ethan sounds serious, and I hope whatever I did, or am about to do, can be saved by a box of desserts.
CHAPTER 3
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 medoesn’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 tokill 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.”
