Page 23 of Fore-Ever Yours

Chapter 9

Beth

It’sbeensevenweeksof being on the road with Matthew. One thing I’ve realized is how busy being a pro golfer actually is. Whenever I used to think of golf, I pictured old men in plaid trousers, whacking at balls while they discussed their stock portfolios.

But the world of a professional golfer looks a little more like this: travel, train, tournament, and repeat. Matthew is constantly training, either on the green or in the gym. Joining him in the hotel gym for the first time was brutal. I like to run—but weight training? Not my style.

As brand manager and honorary pretend girlfriend, I’m practically always by his side. I’ve been his little shadow as I figure out the sport and Matthew Wilkes. You learn a lot by spending sixteen hours daily with someone.

I sit in the golf cart with my feet on the dash and phone in my hands, editing a video. It’s a perfect sunny day, and I didn’t want to waste it in the business office at the hotel.

I watch him now, practicing his swing on the lush, manicured turf of this fancy resort. And I meanfancy. The kind of place where they serve champagne with breakfast and the bathrobes feel like you’re wrapped in a cloud.

Golfers can make a good amount of money from winning purses at tournaments—I looked it up—but all of this travel, especially for three people (Matthew, Nick, and me), it’s got to be a large bill.

I know from renegotiating his contract with Hearth Brews, an organic coffee and tea brand, that they are not footing that large of a bill. Maybe that’s another reason he needs the sponsorships. Not only for exposure or exemptions, but for paying for all of this.

Plus, two hundred and fifty thousand dollars just for me? He’s got to have someone helping him out.

I did manage to speak with Precision Pro, one of Matthew’s top choices, about partnering with him. He already wears the brand, so they’ll not only get organic exposure from our daily content, but we’ll also make brand-specific videos. I’m waiting for them to send the contract for us to review, but I have a really good feeling.

Matthew’s social media accounts are growing quickly. Between the behind-the-scenes posts andBetthewcontent, the fans are loving it. We even have other golfers, amateur and pro, who engage with his account. The perfect, ideal audience for Precision Pro. I most definitely made sure they knew we have the right people hanging out with us on the internet.

First of all, Elevate Marketing win!

Secondly, who came up with that nickname? Ew. It sounds like someone’s saying “bless you” after you sneeze.

Thirdly, I can’t wait to tell him when we’ve managed to secure it, and only in short amount of time. This will be the first of many; at least, I hope so.

I’ve been nervous but confident in handling all of this on my own. With my internship, we would run it by our teams before making any moves. I’m having to trust my instincts to make the right move for Matthew and myself. There are times when I’ve doubted myself, and I still do, but each time I make a move, I feel a little more confident. Once we get Precision Pro, I’ll be celebrating.

Matthew steadies himself, then hits the ball again. I watch his muscles move beneath the fabric of his shirt and the way his shoulders tense before he takes a swing. I might be in danger of becoming a golf fan, or at least a Matthew Wilkes fan.

“Still watching me?” Matthew asks without turning around, a hint of amusement in his voice.

I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me. “No. I’m working.”

“Working?” He turns to me now, his mouth quirking into a half-smile. “On what?”

I wave my phone at him. “Your brand, duh.” There’s no heat in my words. Instead, there’s a strange fondness that I’m trying very hard to ignore.

Matthew walks toward me, places his club in his bag, and grabs his water bottle. “No rest for the wicked,” he mutters under his breath then takes a drink.

“I’m not wicked!”

He smiles a slow, teasing grin. “The wicked never think they are.”

I stick my tongue out at him in response, causing him to laugh and choke on his water. “What are you? Five?”

“I prefer young at heart, thank you very much!” I retort, my face breaking into a grin.

He chuckles, wiping away a droplet of water that had trickled down his chin.

I look back at my phone screen as I pull up the latest post. “You have to hear some of these comments on your last putt at the Savannah Marsh Classic.”

Matthew slumps his shoulders. “Do I have to?”

“Who’s acting like a child now? C’mon.” I tap the space on the seat next to me and start reading them off. “‘That eagle was insane! Wilkes is killing it this season.’ And ‘Wilkes on fire! That shot was outta this world.’”

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