Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
“No, that’s quite enough to prove you’re financially reckless.”
“See? Taking the money is the responsible thing to do. I can’t be trusted.”
Her phone signaled an incoming text and she picked it up off the bed, swiping to find a text from Jim. There were no words, just a picture of her father in front of the construction taking place at the Golden Tee, giving a thumbs-up—and Josephine’s stomach dropped to her knees when she saw how much progress they’d made in just five days.
Drywall had been installed, shelves were in place. There was a crate in the background and she could see it contained the freestanding fireplace—decorative only, because hello, this was Florida. The windows were new, stickers still on the glass. Boxes containing the new display stands and furniture she’d ordered stood waiting to be opened. By her.
The shop was going to be done sooner than expected.
If Josephine was in Palm Beach right now, she would be putting together furniture, directing traffic, ordering stock from their supplier. Getting ready to open the doors. But she wasn’t there—she was in California. And she’d agreed to fly into Miami and spend the week leading up to the Masters with Wells.
While the sweat cooled on their bodies in the dark last night, he’d kissed her neck and talked about all the places he wanted to show her in Miami. Restaurants, golf courses, the beach. His bathtub. When she’d hedged, preparing to tell him no, that she needed to get back to Palm Beach to check on the progress of the Golden Tee, he’d hit her with the knockout blow.
They could watch golf highlights in his home theater.
Her boyfriend had a home theater. With leather recliners and soundproof walls.
Josephine’s life was no longer familiar and she couldn’t discount the sense that reality, the one she’d built, was slipping through her fingers.
Another picture text buzzed its arrival on her phone.
The outdoor putting green was almost completed, too. Fencing had been installed.
Even the water feature was up and running.
At this rate, she could probably have the Golden Tee open for business in a week. Maybe even less, if she declined to let Wells whisk her to Miami.
Once she went back to Palm Beach, however, and got sucked into the reopening of the Golden Tee, she wasn’t going to leave again. Josephine knew that fact like she knew the layout of Rolling Greens. Her heart was being torn in two directions, because as much as it beat for her family’s business, it was beating for Wells Whitaker now, too.
And he needed her.
How many times today had she been called a good luck charm by the press? Not to mention all the idioms they’d assigned to her during television broadcasts. The one who turned it all around for Whitaker! The secret ingredient! Nate pretended to bow down to her every time they’d crossed paths during the tournament and at first, she’d laughed. Now she wondered if she had the strength to abandon this team.
Or if Wells would—or could—continue at this trajectory to the top without her.
Her thumb swiped slowly across the screen of her phone, a lump rising in her throat over the pride in her father’s expression as he gestured to the new Golden Tee sign. Her roots were in Palm Beach. Were the ones she’d put down with Wells too new to be tested?
“Our ride to the airport should be here soon,” Wells said, entering her room through the adjoining door—and Josephine quickly closed her texts and darkened the screen of her phone, the pit opening in her stomach. “What was that?”
“Nothing, just looking at pictures from Tallulah’s visit,” she lied, hating the acidic taste that sharpened on her tongue. “Trying to decide which one to frame.”
Wells hummed knowingly and kissed her shoulder. “Not too long until she’s settled in Boston. You’ll see her again soon.”
Lying to Wells was bad enough. Using her best friend to escape an uncomfortable conversation was even worse, and the guilt propelled Josephine into motion. She slipped free of Wells’s potential embrace, desperately searching for any remaining item to stuff into her suitcase. “I’ll, um . . . be ready in a sec.”
After a couple beats of silence, she glanced up to find Wells watching her with his brows drawn, as if trying to read her thoughts. “Everything okay, Josephine?”
“Yeah, why?”
He regarded her closely, before shaking his head. “No reason.”
Her phone buzzed audibly in her pocket and she had no choice but to ignore it, leading to a pregnant pause. “Ready when you are,” she said, hurrying to zip her suitcase.
Wells took both pieces of their luggage and wheeled them out through her door. His clubs had already been shipped back to Miami and weirdly, she kind of missed the weight of them on her shoulder. Especially when they reached the valet—and were showered with applause waiting for their driver to pull around. At that point, she actually wished she was holding Wells’s sticks as a prop. Just for something to do with her hands, because now she was alternating between awkward waving and tucking stray hair into her ponytail.