Mitchell Saltonstall strode to the elevator as quickly as he could without running and rode it up to his penthouse suite.
Kissing Arielle in her hotel room had been stupid. He berated himself the whole ride up and then through his hallway, even as he smiled easily at a teen kid slouching in the hallway and texting, outside presumably his parents’ door.
Not only had Mitchell opened himself up for a sexual harassment lawsuit from Arielle, but he’d strayed beyond the bounds of their contract by admitting those things about his private life to her.
Mitchell did not mix business with his private life. They were separate, and each stayed within their boundaries.
His Last Chance friend Jericho Parr often fished off the proverbial company pier, selecting a girlfriend of the month from whatever company he was turning around for their business. So far, Jericho’s dalliances hadn’t bitten him on the ass, but it was only a matter of time.
Mitchell stomped into his penthouse and shut the door carefully because he didn’t need the whole world to know about his stupidity. He flipped open his laptop and checked his schedule. His flight back to Connecticut was at two o’clock. Before that, three business meetings were scheduled to meet at his penthouse suite the following day, and he had a lunch planned with his California attorney after those. He’d need to have his luggage packed and in the car before the meeting. They would need to proceed directly to the airport afterward to catch his chartered plane for Connecticut and Last Chance, Inc., where running the three other companies in his portfolio awaited him.
Maybe Mitchell should travel with a personal assistant like most of his friends did. His schedule was so jam-packed with back-to-back meetings that he wasn’t sure when he was going to have time to take a piss between showering after his gym time at five in the morning and when he got on the plane at two.
At least he would be too busy tomorrow to ruminate on what an ass he’d made of himself with Arielle.
Business.
He had to keep everything strictly business between himself and Arielle.
Next weekend, Mitchell wouldn’t so much as glance at her unless reporters were around to take their picture.
He could not screw up their working relationship. He needed Arielle to pose as his girlfriend for the next nine months, or else those reporters would take Match Play down just to watch it burn.
Sordid stories like fake relationships or broken ones got clicks on the internet and eyeballs on the advertising, which was how websites made their money.
Mitchell wouldn’t let Match Play become just another clickbait article for Golf Today for Women or Golfers Digest.