Page 2 of The Perfect Putt

“You hate them too,” I say and she cringes. “All of the trust fund baby golfers that come in here are demanding and inconsiderate, and you want me to work for the king of them?”

“I don’t want anything. You want to open a flower shop and never have to make a cup of coffee again. This is how you do that.”

“I’d be trading one soul-sucking job for another,” I tell her and she rolls her eyes.

“Don’t be dramatic. Jada says Miles is a good guy, and the pay would be significantly better.”

“How significant?” I ask and she smirks, likely knowing she’s piqued my interest.

“Double.”

My eyes widen. Double the pay. I’d be able to put away so much more than the pennies I’m saving now. I might actually be able to open the flower shop before I’m thirty, which is seven years away, but who’s counting?

“I’m…interested,” I say cautiously, making her smile. “Don’t go celebrating yet,” I warn her. “I didn’t say I’d go for it, and even if I did, there’s no way of knowing he’d hire me. I haven’t worked as an assistant in two years.”

Molly waves off my words. “Your resume is amazing, and you’d have a good word from Jada herself. Fitz is Miles’ caddy, and Jada says they’re basically best friends. A word from her would pretty much guarantee you the job.”

A customer comes to the counter, cutting our conversation short. Molly takes their order, and I start making it. I give the customer their chai latte, then turn to face Molly once more.

“Give me their information.” I sigh and she squeals. “Are you that excited to get rid of me? And to think I thought we were friends.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m excited for you to have a chance at achieving your dreams,” she says emphatically. “Though it might be nice to work with someone who doesn’t scowl at all the customers.”

I bite back a smile as she laughs. “I only scowl at those who deserve it,” I say in defense of my expression.

“You catch more flies with honey than vinegar,” she says and I scrunch my nose up in disgust.

“Who would want to catch flies? I’d rather kill them.”

She laughs again. “Poor Miles isn’t going to know what hit him when you come along.”

“Don’t talk like everything is a done deal. I haven’t decided anything yet, and because of that, neither has he.”

“I know it’ll all work out.” She opens up the pastry case and starts rearranging the display.

“Your optimism is grating,” I mumble.

“Aw, I’m going to miss you too, bestie,” she coos.

I smother a smile. While I don’t want Molly to get her hopes up, I can’t help but feel mine rising like a balloon whose string was just let go of. I try to snatch it before it floats too high, but my foolish dreams buoy it up out of reach. As I clean the espresso machine, I can’t help the faint smile that stretches my lips. Maybe, just maybe, my goal isn’t so far away.

Chapter two

Miles Day

I’m on the ninth hole, about to putt for birdie when my phone starts to ring. My hands tighten around the club, a growl escaping me.

“Don’t you normally turn your phone off while on the course?” my caddy, Fitz, asks.

“When I have an assistant to take important calls for me, yes.” I pull out my phone to check it. It’s a call from my mom. I’m not ready to hear the latest about my dad’s new model girlfriend, so I silence it and slide it back into my pocket.

“You still haven’t hired a new one?”

“I’m trying to be more selective since the last one bought me a flight to the wrong state.” I clench my jaw at the memory. I missed Shaw winning the Stanley Cup and proposing to his now-fiancée, Sutton. Those are the kinds of things friends don’t miss. But because of my last assistant Chris, I did.

I’ve been playing professional golf for five years now, and I’ve only had one good assistant. The first year of my career I had Oliver, a great guy who I can attribute a lot of my success to. After he left to start his own golf academy, I’ve been on a downward slope. When my assistants aren’t making constant mistakes, they’re trying to seduce me or blackmail me to get money. One woman camped out in my house in lingerie, only for my mother to be the one to find her while visiting. Another guy took photos of me in my house to sell to gossip sites. Thankfully, all he took before I caught him were some photos of me eating breakfast. A few guys on the course made fun of my golf-themed pajama pants–a gift from my mother–but it wasn’t too bad. I can only imagine what would have happened if I hadn’t caught him as quickly as I did.

After a series of failures, I’m determined to find an assistant who is organized, knows golf, and won’t attempt to seduce or stalk me. This process is taking longer than I thought, though, which means that I’m less focused than I should be during practice rounds like this one.

---