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)
The air flat-out vacated her lungs.
It was real. This was really, actually happening.
“Yes, that’s me.”
The woman nodded, giving her a once-over that was almost . . . proud? “Well. I’ll definitely be tuning in to watch tomorrow, Josephine.” She turned to face a rolling file cabinet behind her, seeming surprised to find a blue folder with Josephine’s and Wells’s names printed on the top. She handed it across the desk with a flourish. “Here is your schedule for the next five days. Your official pass should be in there, to be worn around your neck at all times during competition. You’ll need it to gain access to the caddie locker room, where you’ll find your uniform tomorrow morning. There’s also the almighty scorebook in the folder, course yardage charts, and some drink tickets for the welcome cocktail party tonight.”
“Welcome cocktail party?” Josephine repeated. That explained the dress.
“Why yes, it’s tradition. We have to give the golfers a chance to rile one another up before they tee off. Makes things interesting.” She reached across the desk and gave Josephine a conspiratorial arm squeeze. “Don’t let them rattle you.”
“I won’t.” Easier said than done. She could still feel a dozen sets of eyes piercing into her back. “Do you know if Wells has arrived?”
“Impossible. I would have heard everyone gossiping like middle schoolers.”
“Or alerting the local authorities.” Her new friend laughed, and Josephine gave her a grateful look. “Thanks for your help.”
“There’s more where that came from. I’m Beth Anne and I’ll be here all week.”
Josephine turned from the desk to find the entire room full of caddies staring at her.
Some of their smirks were curious, others were an obvious intimidation tactic, but they were all smirking in one way or another. If they’d overheard she was caddying for Wells, their reaction wasn’t the least bit surprising, since he’d won the unofficial award for Biggest Dick in Golf five years running.
One of the reporters had noticed interest spiking in Josephine’s direction and was furiously flipping through her notes, obviously trying to make sense of the newcomer, and Josephine’s head swam at the very idea of being questioned by the press, so she tucked the folder beneath her arm, yanked up the handle of her carry-on, and beelined for the exit.
Josephine arrived at the buzzing hotel lobby a few minutes later, intending to check in and get the key to the cheapest room in the resort, which she’d booked earlier in the week. Leaving that sort of thing to Wells didn’t seem wise and she wasn’t going to lose this opportunity over a few hundred dollars.
But when she gave the clerk her name, he only looked at her in confusion.
“I have two reservations for you, Miss Doyle.”
“Oh.” A tiny bit of pressure ebbed from her chest. “He did it. He booked me a room.”
“Yes . . .” The young man’s eyes ticked between her and the computer monitor. “I’m going to go ahead and give you the room I think will make your stay most . . . comfortable.”
“Great.”
Five minutes later, Josephine stepped into the most palatial, over-the-top hotel room she’d ever seen in her life. No, it couldn’t even be termed a “room.” It had three seating areas.
“Three?” She let go of her suitcase just inside the door and wandered through the suite in a daze. “But I only have one butt,” she muttered.
Her toes sank into the soft, rich burgundy carpeting. Soothing music played from the television, the air-conditioning taking her nerves away on an unseen breeze. A giant, jetted tub called to her from the bathroom and she made a short, breathy sound, her hands flying to her mouth. She bypassed the rustic four-poster bed sitting in its own separate room and went straight to the tub, twisting the hot water nozzle and stripping off her travel clothes. One did not simply pass up the chance to soak in a tub when one’s apartment shower was the size of a shoebox and had all the water pressure of a limp handshake.
Once the tub was filled to a steaming 60 percent, Josephine shook the black elastic band out of her hair, massaging the ponytail tension headache from her scalp, and stepped into the porcelain haven. She dunked straight under and emerged from the surface with a moan that could easily be interpreted by her neighbors to mean something else entirely. But so be it.
This was paradise. Traipsing all over a golf course and dealing with Wells’s surly attitude would all be worth it if she could return to this room at the end of each day. Josephine stayed in the bathtub so long, the water started to cool. So she added a little more hot, the soothing temperature enticing her loudest, most appreciative moan yet—and the noisy gurgle of running water muffled the sound of a door opening and closing.