The Fortunate Ones
Page 21

Shit.
I can’t believe he’s there, standing at the end of the group, watching me approach like I don’t hate his stinking guts. Worse, I just totally checked out his butt without realizing it. What an unsettling thought considering I’ve spent the last few days telling myself I don’t find him attractive anymore—and I don’t. Like one shapely butt cheek is going to change that. Pfft.
“Hey guys,” I say with a broad smile. “Can I get you anything from the beverage cart?”
“Is this a mirage?” Cute asks Cuter. “Is she an angel or something, because I’ve been wanting a beer for the last 30 minutes.”
He’s laying on the charm pretty thick, but it’s still kind of funny. “Well, it’s your lucky day. We carry every beer that’s on the menu back at the clubhouse, foreign and domestic.”
“I’ll take a Dos Equis,” Cutest says.
Cuter nods. “Same for me.”
“Lime?”
They both nod.
“Can you do any mixed drinks out here?” Cute asks with a hopeful smile.
“Simple ones. Margarita on the rocks, vodka soda, Jack and Coke—that sort of thing.”
He nods. “Great. I’ll take a vodka soda.”
That leaves just one person: Mr. James Suddenly-Silent Ashwood.
“James? Want anything?” Cutest asks, nudging him.
I work up enough courage to stare at the grass at James’ feet. It’s a start.
“I didn’t realize you worked out here, Brooke.”
His voice is a warm hand around my neck.
“Uhh, her dress says her name’s Ellie dude.”
“That’s not her dress,” he points out with a confident tone.
I ignore their conversation. “Would you like something or not?”
My tone is biting, but when I get called into Brian’s office later to address this complaint—as I undoubtedly will—I’ll describe it as gentle and kind.
He still doesn’t reply, so I nod and turn on my heel. “Well I’ll get those drinks started while Mr. Ashwood thinks over what he would like.”
There’s shuffling of feet and the awkward sounds of clearing throats. It’s obvious we know each other, and the second before I step out of earshot, they ask him what’s going on. I wish now that I’d pulled my beverage cart close enough to hear his reply. I’m sure it’d be amusing.
I pop tops off beers, slice limes, and whip up a vodka soda faster than I’ve done anything all day. The drinks are in their hands and a cool tip is in mine before I’ve had time to process my body’s reaction to James.
“Manna from heaven,” Cuter says, clinking his bottle with his friend’s.
I smile and attempt once more to get a drink for James. I don’t want to get accused of denying him service or anything.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
Three words said in a tone that oozes disdain and annoyance. I want to roll my eyes and flip him off a thousand times, but I don’t even think that would cool my jets at this point. I clench my teeth to keep expletives from spilling out and then taking a calming breath.
“Right, well…enjoy your golf game.”
Cutest steps forward with an easy smile. “Can’t you stay? We’re not even halfway through and we’re all sick of each other. I promise I’ll order a new drink every hole.”
Cute nods enthusiastically.
I smile and am about to reply when James beats me to the punch. “She can’t.”
I whip my gaze up, finally, finally giving in to the urge to look at him.
He’s wearing a Nike hat and matching shirt, both black—the color of his soul. I realize, as I focus on just how tan and muscular they are, that I’ve never seen his arms. He’s always dressed in a suit when he’s inside the club. Out here, he almost looks like a regular guy—a very hot, very in shape, regular guy.
“Well this is awkward as shit,” Cute says with a laugh.
The guys chuckle, but James’ face is an impenetrable mask of hatred, and it’s directed right at me.
If I stay another second, there’s going to be a scene, and I refuse to let that happen. I only have an hour left of my shift. I’ll wrap it up, earn as many tips as I can, and then do what any self-respecting woman would do in this situation: wait for James in the parking lot when I’m no longer on the clock and give him a piece of my mind.
CHAPTER TEN
By the time I’ve exchanged my dress for jeans and a tank top, I’ve almost talked myself out of confronting James. Key word: almost. At this point, I’m a missile that’s already been launched. My momentum is too strong to be overridden by silly things like common sense and consequences.
There’s a Tesla SUV parked in James’ spot. It’s his second fancy car, one I don’t see all that often, and I’m trying to decide how satisfying it would be to pull a Carrie Underwood when I hear him call my name.
That didn’t take long. So much for taking a Louisville Slugger to both headlights.
I turn to find him walking out of the club and heading straight for me. I’d assumed he would take longer with his golfing buddies; maybe they didn’t play the full course, or maybe he cut things off early. Either way, I’m happy I didn’t have to wait all night. As it is, the sun is barely setting behind him. I’d probably think it was lovely if I wasn’t a burning ball of fury.
I cross my arms and lean against the side of his car.
He scowls.
I grimace with the intensity of a thousand toddlers being made to eat broccoli.
It takes him an obnoxiously long time to reach me. It’s like he’s walking the wrong way on a moving airport walkway, and I think he likes to watch me squirm. He doesn’t stop walking until he’s right in front of me. I can smell his cologne, the stuff he puts on in the morning to make women swoon. How pathetic. I inhale deeply.
“Where’s your dress?” he asks, tipping his head to the side.
“Stuffed in Ellie’s locker.”
He nods and I think…dear god, is he actually smiling right now?!
“I can see you’re furious.” He says it like he’s happy at the prospect.
I nod. “I am. Did your stupid watch detect that?”
“What exactly are you upset about?”
“Let’s recount.” I hold up my fingers and start ticking things off. “Your friend drugged me, you blamed me, you didn’t stay to see if I was okay, and you still haven’t apologized.”
“She’s not my friend.”
I throw my hands up in anger. “Who cares?! You assumed I did that to myself, and you were wrong.”
He arches a brow. “Can you blame me? It didn’t look good. You disappeared and then returned out of your mind.”
“So? You were wrong and you should have apologized.”
He nods.
I wait.
Silence.
“So…apologize!”
He smiles and steps around me. He’s going to leave, but I’m not done.
“Why were you acting like that back there?” I ask. “On the course?”
He unlocks his car, sets down his golf clubs, and then starts to fold down the back row of seats. “I was curious.”
“Curious?”
He stashes his clubs, closes the door, and turns back to me. “Yeah. Where’s your bike?”
“Locked to the rack behind the clubhouse.”
He starts to walk away, and I’m forced to follow if I want to continue the conversation.
“Curious about what?”
“What your plan was—besides refusing to look at me. It was actually pretty funny.”
I seethe.
“I wouldn’t look at you because I didn’t want to make a scene in front of your friends.”
“They’re business associates,” he clarifies as we round the side of the clubhouse.
“What does that matter?!”
“Because it’s an important distinction. Is Brian your friend?”
“Stop changing the subject!”
He points to my bike lock.
“What’s the combo?”
I cross my arms, looking every bit of four years old. “Like I’m telling you.”