Page 7 of The Perfect Putt

“Well, it seems like you’re qualified for the job. And you come with a recommendation I value–even if it’s just because you’re a friend of a friend.” I smile. She doesn’t. This makes my last question all the more difficult, but I have to ask. As much as she seems to be unaffected by me, it could be a facade and this kind of question is what would break it. I scratch the back of my neck, hoping what I’m about to say doesn’t come out as terrible as I think it will.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” I ask her and her brown eyes widen, looking like large cups of coffee.

“I beg your pardon?” Her voice is ice cold. I scramble to explain.

“It would be good if you did,” I say then cringe when her brows scrunch together. That wasn’t much better. “This is coming out wrong. What I’m trying to say is that I’ve had…” I tilt my head to one side, then the other. “Issues with female assistants in the past. They’ve tried to, well, seduce me.”

A surprised laugh bursts out of her. She puts a hand over her mouth, but it doesn’t quell the sound. I feel the eyes of the other patrons on us, but I can’t even care because she laughed. At my expense, but still.

“You can’t be so egotistical as to assume every woman is going to fall in love with you,” she says incredulously.

I groan and tip my head back. “That’s not what I meant. If you knew what I’ve been through, you’d understand why I’m asking.”

“Yes, the poor millionaire golfer has women throwing themselves at him.” She fake pouts and I swipe a hand over my mouth to hide my involuntary smile. It’s clear she has some attitude, which I should mind, but I don’t. In fact, it’s heating my blood in a way that is concerning. I like this a lot more than the ice queen I first met.

“I don’t have a boyfriend, but you can be certain that I’ll be able to control myself. I’m a professional, and you’re not my type anyway,” she says, looking at me like she’s unimpressed with what she sees.

“Tall, handsome, athletic men aren’t your type?” I ask.

She leans back in her chair and crosses her arms with a smirk. “They are.”

I bite back a smile. I walked into that one. It’s clear she isn’t attracted to me–a fact I’d be disappointed in if it wasn’t exactly what I needed in an assistant. And she has the kind of wit I’d like to have around. Messing with her would be fun and low risk. She’s likely to fit in well with Fitz and my agent Brock too. We all tease each other constantly.

“When can you start?”

Chapter five

Ellie Hart

“ He didn’t,” Molly says, her mouth open wide in shock.

After Molly got off work, we met up at Sand Dollar Diner for dinner and celebratory key lime pie. Except, we decided to have the pie first tonight since Miles gave me the job. For every big occasion in our lives–sometimes small ones too–we celebrate with dessert before dinner.

“He did,” I say with a laugh before taking a bite of pie. “I almost got up from the table when he asked, but then he explained and I realized he wasn’t a creep, just a little arrogant.”

“Sounds like a much more interesting interview than the ones I’ve had.”

Interesting is right. Miles Day wasn’t what I thought he’d be. He was cute, for one. His green eyes were bright and his sandy brown hair was the kind of messy I’d always been drawn to on guys. The kind that makes you wonder what it would feel like to run your fingers through it. He was also funnier than I thought a trust fund baby could be. It was hard to remain professional at times, but I managed. Right up until he told me his little sob story about his assistants falling in love with him. I’m convinced even the most composed person would have broken at that though.

“It was something, that’s for sure,” I say and go for another bite of pie. The tang of the lime mixed with the sweetness of the whipped cream makes me hum. “I swear I could eat this every day and it would never get old.”

My fork gets snatched out of my hand and I follow the movement to find Naomi stealing a bite. “I agree,” she says around a mouthful. Molly laughs as I take the fork back.

“Get your own, woman,” I say then smile at little Archie propped up on her hip. “Hey sweet boy,” I coo and lightly pinch his little dimpled chin.

“I swear the only thing that makes you smile is pie and Archie,” Naomi says, handing Archie off to me so she can slump onto a bar stool next to me. They don’t serve alcohol here, instead using the bartop as extra seating for people who don’t need a whole table. Or in our case, we’re sitting here because Diane likes to talk between serving other customers.

The rest of the dining area is a mismatch of worn wooden tables and chairs with chipped paint. It’s fairly full tonight, the air filled with the smell of grease and the talk of the other diners.

“Those are two very good reasons to smile,” I reply and melt as Archie snuggles into my shoulder.

Diane bustles over to our group and sets down a pie in front of Naomi before ruffling Archie’s strawberry-blonde hair. “What are we celebrating tonight, ladies?” she asks with a knowing smile.

“I got a new job,” I reply, grinning wide. “See, I smile at other things,” I tell Naomi, who merely rolls her eyes in response.

“That’s great! Though I will miss those caramel drinks you bring me.” She winks. “What’s the new job?”

“I’ll be a personal assistant.”

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