Page 11 of Enemy Boss's Baby Surprise

My father isawful at golf.

Which makes our meetings couched as golf outings even more unbearable.

Listen, I love my father. For being a high-powered businessman he’s been a very good father.

That doesn’t mean I can’t judge his golfing abilities.

“Fore!”

I want to pull my head into the collar of my polo like a turtle. “Dad, you don’t have to yell ‘fore’ every time you hit the ball.”Especially not when you’re putting.

Dad stops mid-swing and turns around, a mischievous smile on his face. “I know. I just love how much it annoys you.”

I sigh, leaning on my putter. “Are you going to make the shot or not?”

Dad lifts his head and looks into the sky, eyes squinching shut. It’s a beautiful cloudless day. Perfect anywhere but LA. I was hoping he would come to his senses and we could have a lunch meeting instead of golf, butnooo. When my dad makes a plan, he sticks to it. Almost to a fault.

“What are you doing?”

“Slowing down, son. Taking it all in. Been working so hard these past few decades –”

I start to laugh. “Don’t start with this.”

He clutches his heart melodramatically. “I’ve missed so much in the world. I’ve taken it for granted.”

“If you don’t make the shot, I’ll make it for you!”

Dad holds his hand up to stop me from moving an inch forward. “Don’t rob me of these simple pleasures, son.” He lines his putter up with the ball. “Fore!”

I cringe again.

Dad smacks the white ball with his putter, sending it whizzing it forward. It banks off the side of the hole, rounding the edge, and flies right back out to the other side of the green. We both stand there and stare at the golf ball that should have disappeared into the hole.

“Um –”

Dad’s shoulders go rigid. “Don’t. Say. Anything.”

I put my hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh as he stomps over to the ball and silently sends it back to the hole. It slides right in without an issue.

“Don’t worry, we can leave that first stroke off the scorecard,” I say.

My father shakes his shock of gray hair out of his face and sighs. “No, that wouldn’t be very honorable, would it?”

I roll my eyes. “Sure.”

“Come on. Onto the next.”

I follow Dad to the golf cart. He jumps in behind the wheel and starts off to the next hole.

“When are we going to do the meeting part of this meeting, Dad?” I ask, grabbing onto the roof as we bobble over the waving terrain. He drives like a maniac in these tiny things. He’s wrecked not one, not two, but three of them on this very golf course.

Helps to be on the board when those kinds of things happen.

“I’m sorry, are you not having fun with your old man, Orlie?”

We hit a bump and I yelp.

“Oops, sorry.”

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