Page 68 of All Bets Are Off

“We need to talk.” He was grave as he hit a few buttons on his computer. “I saw the email you sent yesterday.”

It took me a moment to grasp what email he was referring to. “Oh, you mean the weird glitch that showed up two months in a row. The line item for Infinity Group being off.”

“Yes.” Dad bobbed his head. “I’m going to hand it over to the executive accounting team. You don’t have to worry about it. They’ll handle it from here on out.”

I opened my mouth, prepared to agree to his suggestion. Then I thought better of it. Since when did my father not want me to chase an accounting irregularity? Normally, he would insist I burn both ends of the candle just to find a nickel. This was thousands of dollars, and he didn’t seem to care. “But?—”

“It’s not important,” Dad insisted. “The executive team will reconcile it. That’s their job.”

“Okay,” was the only response I could come up with. “Whatever you want.” I watched him for a beat, but he was focused on his computer. “Is that all?” I asked finally. I couldn’t believe I’d given up an afternoon in bed with Olivia for this. I was already calculating how long it would take me to get back to the penthouse. There was a chance she wasn’t back in her street clothes yet.

Things were looking up.

“There is one other thing.” Dad tapped his keyboard twice and then gave me his full attention. “As you know, the Stone Group annual couple’s golf outing is next week.”

A shiver ran through me as I straightened. I was familiar with the event. It was my mother’s pride and joy. It was the one thing she took the time to organize herself. She turned it into a big ordeal for anybody she cared to invite.

I knew all of that through word of mouth. I’d never actually been invited before.

“Um…” Where was he going with this?

“Wipe that look off your face, Zachary,” Dad chided. “This isn’t some trap I’m trying to lure you into. There is no witch at the end of the pathway who wants to shove you in the oven and serve you to her guests.”

I blinked. “Well,thatwas a frightening visual,” I complained after a beat. “Did you have to say that?”

Dad laughed as if I’d said the funniest thing in the world. “You looked as if I suggested that you move in with Motley Crüe.”

“You’re dating yourself,” I warned him. “That band is older than I am.”

“If you say so.” Dad tapped his fingers on his desk. “Your mother expects you to go.”

“Where?” I asked blankly.

“To the golf tournament.”

Oh, was he being serious? “I’ve never gone to the golf tournament before,” I reminded him.

“You haven’t been in a couple before. Your mother believes—and I lack the wherewithal to argue with her—that the golf outing is a good event to launch Olivia on the media.”

That was not what I was expecting him to say. “We’re going to do what now?” I asked blankly.

“Your wife is a member of this family,” Dad reminded me. “That means she has to be present for our social events.”

“Yeah, but … this is golf.”

Dad merely blinked.

I tried again. “Olivia doesn’t play golf.” I was almost a hundred percent positive that was true.

Dad blinked some more.

“I’m not sure she’s going to be comfortable playing a game she’s never played before in front of the Las Vegas media,” I persisted when it became apparent that he wasn’t going to give me an out.

“It’s not as if anybody expects her to be a professional,” Dad argued. “In fact, if she flubs two shots and then just rides around with you in the cart for the rest of the day looking loved up and relaxed—tell her no more than two drinks, because there’s relaxed and sloppy, and we don’t do sloppy in this family—then that will be fine.”

I tried to picture Olivia’s face when I told her that a golf outing was expected. Nothing I came up with was good. “I’m just not sure she’s going to be okay with it,” I said finally.

“She’s your wife, Zachary.” Dad was stern now. “As your wife, she’s expected to come through for social events. Your mother understands that. Your wife is expected to understand it too.”

---