Page 8 of Wildly Inappropriate

“The Ferguson Golf Tournament,” she says again, but with a little more volume this time, like my confusion is due to a lack of hearing, not a lack of understanding.

“I don’t know what that is.”

She draws in a deep breath, making it clear that my not knowing this is unacceptable. “It’s only the biggest announced purse in professional golf tournaments history, JT. The Ferguson brothers announced it almost an hour ago, and everyone is talking about how startling the award amount is. It is going to be in Las Vegas this year, and according to Carol Hearst—you know, of that Hearst family—they are going to have a dinner the night before that is going to be a who’s who of investors.”

I smile. I can help with this. Even though I’m sure I’ll only be able to bring one guest as a player, one quick text to Bryn, and I’m sure I can get my parents into the dinner as well. “I’m on it, Mom. I can get you and Dad tickets for sure.”

Pulling out my phone, I start to fire off the text that will make my mother happy when the sound of another deep breath stops me. “It’s not about gettingtickets, Justin Theodore.”

I cringe, as much at my mom’s tone as at her use of my full name—which I hate.

“Okay, sure,” I say, trying to keep the peace.

“Youneed to win.”

“Why? I mean, I’m definitely going to try, but we both know I’ve been off my game lately. Why is this specific tournament so important to you?”

“You know your father and I have been working tirelessly to bring in new investors to grow Johnson Investments, well, we—” she cuts herself off abruptly. “Anyway, you winning such a prominent new tournament that will have the focus of the business world all over is the exact publicity we need. And after all the negative press you brought our way with your being friends with Jameson Walker—”

“Mom, I never had bad press—”

“You were besmirched by association, and you know it. I do not have the energy to have this discussion with you again, JT. Your father and I gave up a lot for you to get where you are.” She reaches up and traces the thin white scar under her right eye as if remembering her car crash and the cause of it before continuing. “I don’t think it’s unfair of us to ask you to help us grow the business we put off because of you in return. Unless you’re ready to invest another few hundred grand of your own money to bolster our portfolio?”

“Of course. If winning the tournament will help you and Dad, of course I’ll try. And, as soon as I win my next tournament, I’ll make sure I send you more money to invest for me.”

My mom walks over to me then, her golden hair so much like my own shining in the light from the windows. “Well, your best is all you can do, I suppose. Your father and I did our best with you, and that got you here. So I’m sure your best with this one small request will be enough to help with what we need.”

I stop my shoulders from drooping at her reminder of how much I owe to my parents for sacrificing their happiness and time to make my dreams of being a professional golfer come true. I have never wanted the fame of golf—though it doesn’t bother me most days—but if it’s important to my mom, I’ll do whatever I can to try to make sure I win the Ferguson Tournament.

“Of course.”

“Excellent. And just one other thing, I need you to get to Wild Bluffs. I’ve heard Conrad Ferguson is out there regularly—God only knows why—and it can’t hurt to have some face-to-face time with the man before the event. Having one of the brothers introducing us around at the event would be everything.”

“Mom, I—”

“It’ll be great, JT. Plus, your father and I have decided to get our kitchen remodeled and a sauna added on, so we’re planning to stay here while you’re gone. The contractor promised it wouldn’t take more than six weeks.”

“Mom, you can’t just—”

She talks over me again as she swings her oversized sunglasses on her face, “We’ll be here next week.”

Well, fuck. I guess I’m going to Wild Bluffs.

Chapter five

Lila

“No. Mark Grant isa terrible choice,” my roommate, Elise, says as she sorts through clothes in her closet. It’s two days until we graduate from the master’s in engineering program at Denver College, and Elise—like the killjoy she is—is systematically rejecting every single one of my potential “date” options for the party hosted by one of our classmates tomorrow night.

“Elise! I need to go with someone. Everyone knows the only reason you take a date to a party like this is so they take you home that night. Ineedsomeone to take me home tonight.”

“You know you sound like the horniest girl on the block right now, don’t you?” she asks as she examines a red tank top that I’ve seen her wear exactly one time in the last four years. Unsurprisingly, she adds it to her “maybe” pile. Elise has a distinct inability to make decisions.

“I may be aware of that, yes,” I reply. “And, if we are being honest, my libido may be part of my need for a date for the party tomorrow. However,as you know, the real motivation is the fact that my five-year plan has fallen completely off-track this year between the Andrew snafu and the other thing with the worst man alive.”

“What casual names for a miserable ten months with not one but two guys completely fucking with your head.”

“Eww. JT, that ass, did not fuck with my head. Plus, he and I are back to our usual hatred since Phoenix. No sexual tension whatsoever. Just good old-fashioned disdain. He remains a giant, hairy ball sack.”

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