8 

On Sunday morning, Juliet woke to chimes ringing from the San Fernando Cathedral, located only a half mile from Greer’s downtown condominium. It took her a few disoriented minutes to remember where she was and why. She lifted from his sofa and opened her drowsy lids to bright sunlight streaming through the plate-glass windows no longer shaded by drapes, indicating Greer must already be up. That thought barely crossed her mind when he appeared at the doorway, a mug of hot steaming coffee in hand.

“Want some?” he asked.

She nodded, and he moved to the edge of the sofa and handed her the cup. He grinned. “I’d like to think I’m exciting enough not to put a woman to sleep by ten o’clock.”

Juliet sat up. She smoothed her wrinkled shirt. “Sorry, I haven’t been sleeping through the night lately. Guess I was exhausted.”

He sat on the edge of the sofa next to her. “Forgiven. This time,” he teased.

She wrapped her fingers around the mug, leaned against the pillows, and took a sip of the steaming liquid. “Normally, I take advantage of my insomnia and catch up on some reading I need to plow through.”

He smiled, showing off a perfect set of white teeth. “You stay up and read in the middle of the night?”

Juliet nodded. “Better than television programming at that hour.” She glanced at the clock on the side table. “How long did I—” She bolted up. “Is it really nine o’clock?”

Greer slid a finger down her arm. “Why so tense?”

Juliet stared across the sterile-looking room, decorated in monochromatic shades of gray with dark wood furniture and metal accents, trying to come up with an appropriate answer. “I’m not tense. I just—”

Her phone buzzed.

Greer leaned to pick it up. She quickly grabbed his arm. “No! Don’t.”

He gave her a puzzled look. “Okay.” He slowly withdrew his hand, clearly confused.

“It’s likely my mother,” she explained. “She always calls on her way home from church.” She checked the screen and confirmed it was indeed her mother calling and clicked off the phone. “I’ll call her back later.”

No doubt her mom had called her own house first, and when Juliet didn’t pick up, she tried her cell. If Greer had answered, her mom could have easily put two and two together. She wasn’t exactly pure as snow, but she didn’t like the idea of pointing out that fact to her mother.

Greer scowled. “How old are you exactly?”

“I know, I know.” Using her free hand, she pulled the afghan up and tucked it around her. Juliet barely understood her need to closet her relationship from everyone, especially her mother. How could she make him understand?

From the look on Greer’s stubble-shadowed face, he knew what she was thinking. “I don’t get it, Juliet. What is it with you and your parents?”

Her eyes followed his manicured nails as they made their way up her arm. She swallowed, not entirely comfortable with his question. “It’s hard to explain.” She pulled the mug to her lips and took a sip of coffee.

Greer tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Your father is a highly respected voice in your profession. From a purely business perspective, I would think you’d benefit from mending whatever is broken between the two of you.”

She could tell by the way he looked at her he thought she was acting like a petulant teenager swept by her moods. “Think about it,” he urged.

Irritation sparked in her gut. Why was everyone pushing her to play Chelsea Clinton?

It was time she took control.

With a sly grin, she slid her mug onto the table. “So . . . you want to spend our Sunday morning talking about my parents?” She locked her gaze with his.

He reached and clicked a remote, sending a light sax tune sifting through the speakers mounted in the ceiling. “I know what you’re doing,” he said.

Juliet raised her eyebrows. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

Greer moved closer. “You’re avoiding this conversation you never want to have.”

She buried her face against his neck, taking in the slight scent of Acqua di Gio cologne still clinging from the day before. Guilty as charged, she thought.

Juliet felt his fingers run through her hair. “Don’t worry,” she assured him. “I’ve got everything handled.”

She lifted her face and waited for his lips to find her own, while outside, the church chimes rang yet again in the distance.

“Where are you going?”

Juliet slipped into her jacket and zipped up. She glanced over at Greer, propped up against the back of the sofa, his sandy-colored hair still perfectly in place. “I told you. I have to go back to the office.”

He reached out. “C’mon, babe. What project is so important it can’t wait until tomorrow?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Do I have to remind you about the workload my department is under, given the demands of the Water Circus deal?”

“At your level, you oversee the effort. Let Malcolm Stanford carry the ball when it comes to the lab operations. He’s the supervisor. He’s qualified.” Greer turned and straightened a cushion. “In case I have to remind you, supervisors make a nice salary. Let him earn it.”

Juliet pulled her loafers from the floor. “Can’t.” She bent and slipped them on.

Greer pulled her backward and moved to kiss her.

Juliet blocked him with her arm. “Now I know what you’re doing.”

He laughed. “Busted.” He diverted and gave her a peck on the forehead. “Seriously though, Juliet. Take some advice. If you’re going to score in the executive leagues, you’re going to have to coach and let your quarterback run the ball into the end zone.”

She gave him a look. “Are you really going to use a football analogy on me? You—a guy who doesn’t even know a quarterback from a fullback?”

“True,” he responded, “but if I played for the PGA, I’d be on the top of the leader board every time.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Which is why . . .” He paused, trying to attract her full attention. When she failed to look at him, he gently took her chin and turned her to face him. “Which is why you are going to skip going to the office this afternoon so you can join me and Alexa on the back nine at Dominion.”

He got her attention. “You’re playing golf with Alexa?” She tried to sound nonchalant, but the fact he had a tee time set up with their boss and just now was mentioning that fact put her on edge.

“I was going to invite you earlier, but . . . well, I got a little distracted.” He folded his arms behind that perfect head of hair.

“What time?” she asked, mentally calculating how she might juggle her work to fit in a round of golf. With everything she had on her plate, she’d have to work through the night to make up for it, but she wasn’t about to pass up a whole afternoon of face time with Alexa Carmichael. She especially wasn’t going to forfeit and let Greer continue to position himself with the CEO of Larimar Springs.

Call it jealousy if you want, but Juliet was already thinking Greer had grown a little too arrogant when it came to work, and somebody needed to mow him down a little. Professionally speaking, of course.

Besides, who was he to suggest she needed to coach her lab supervisor? A good leader never failed to get their hands dirty in the everyday. She’d stay in the trenches with the troops. That way, when the grenades hit, she’d know exactly how to take cover.

Sure, Malcolm Stanford could be a real pain. She wouldn’t argue that. But she didn’t need Greer Latham, or any man for that matter, telling her how to do her job—or how to relate to her father.

“What time are you teeing off?” she repeated, a little more harshly than she’d intended.

A slight grin broke on Greer’s face. “One o’clock.”

After racing home for a quick shower, Juliet grabbed her Calloways and tossed her bag in the hatch of her Jeep Grand Cherokee.

Greer Latham might be a scratch golfer, but her own handicap wasn’t shabby. She could hold her own—behind a desk and on the greens, a fact she’d bragged about the first time she met Greer.

She’d been home for Fiesta last spring, and some girlfriends from high school prodded her to join in an afternoon of fun. Feeling more than festive, the four of them took a cab out to Brackenridge Park—known by the locals as Old Brack—and rented clubs. After a less-than-stellar nine-hole round, she followed the girls into the clubhouse for a refresher. Patty Jo spotted him first, sitting at the bar pouring a can of cola into his glass, followed by a healthy squeeze of lime. “Oh my heavens, look at him,” her friend said in a low voice filled with admiration. “He couldn’t have even broken a sweat out there—not and look like that.”

True, the man in the light blue polo and pressed chinos ranked pretty high on the gorgeous meter. Even before he turned around, she could tell he was model perfect, like he’d stepped out of a magazine—hence the nickname Mr. GQ.

He turned and their eyes met.

Like most women, she was attracted to his chiseled jawline and the way his cheeks dimpled slightly when he smiled. But his eyes—his eyes were a magical blend of blue, as deep and stirring as the ocean water that had captivated her attention on a road trip along the Oregon coast, near a place called Devil’s Cauldron.

Despite the admiration heaped on him by her friends, Greer’s attention that afternoon focused solely on her. Nothing about Greer Latham was subtle. He unashamedly targeted his frequent glances in her direction, and later his conversation.

Juliet ditched her friends and let him drive her home. Despite what had originally appeared a chilly exterior, she found him warm and engaging. In no time, she discovered herself opening up, telling him about her family and her job, and eventually, when he asked about her father, she let her guard drop a bit. Without disclosing details, she revealed the tension between them.

“Well, he raised you. He’s got that going for him,” he’d responded, cementing her budding affection.

She spent several evenings out with Greer before returning to New York, and many more evenings last spring with her eyes glued to her phone app as they exchanged tweets. When she saw his hashtag #MoveHome4JobIFound4U, she let herself take a ride on the wild side. She bought a ticket, met with Alexa Carmichael, and soon became quality assurance director for Larimar Springs.

Greer was vice president of marketing and sales, which she admitted caused her great pause. “It’s never a good idea to consort with co-workers,” she told herself, while in the back of her mind she knew the position was perfect and that she’d not likely duplicate another in the San Antonio market anytime soon.

In the end, and after much encouragement from Greer, she’d thrown caution aside and accepted the job, with the proviso that their relationship remain their private business and not be disclosed to anyone at Larimar Springs.

Without really deciding, she’d also never introduced Greer to her mom—unsure why exactly, other than dating relationships seemed to have a shelf life of no more than two years, it seemed. When relationships hit that mark, a couple often faced a crossroads—you’d either head for marriage or drift apart like ships without any navigation tools on board.

She had no reason to believe her connection with Greer would turn out any different. She wasn’t interested in marriage, so why invite pressure from her mother to reconsider?

And why risk any discrimination in the minds of their co-workers, who might believe Greer had pulled strings to get his girlfriend hired on at an executive level? Never mind she’d completed her doctorate, making her far more qualified than other candidates.

No doubt, working together under these circumstances would require a calculated mind-set, but both she and Greer were professionals. They would handle it.

Juliet pulled through the country club gates and into the parking lot twenty minutes before the scheduled tee time. Across the sculpted drive, near a clump of towering banana palms, she spotted Greer’s silver Jaguar parked next to Alexa Carmichael’s black Aston Martin.

She needled into a spot near the gate that led to the tennis courts and swimming area. After collecting her gear, she made her way to the entrance, where terra-cotta pots filled with glossy green sego palms secured each side of massive oak doors framed in intricate wrought iron.

Inside the clubhouse, Greer and Alexa stood at the counter, dressed in golf attire. “Juliet, I’m so glad you could join us.” Alexa gave her arm an affectionate squeeze.

The man behind the counter handed Greer two sets of keys. “Your carts will be waiting on the portico, sir.”

Only then did she notice another man standing on the other side of Greer, several feet away. He seemed vaguely familiar.

Suddenly, recognition dawned and her gut filled with trepidation. Once again, it seemed Greer had played her and she’d been caught off guard.

Alexa’s bright coral lips parted into a wide smile. “Juliet, you’ve not had a chance to meet Cyril Montavan.” She motioned with her open hand. “Of Montavan International—our new business partner.”

Juliet nearly toppled her golf bag while extending to shake. “Yes, hello. So nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” The charming man took her hand and gently squeezed, holding his palm against her own for several seconds before he released. Their new partner could have doubled for George Clooney, her mother’s favorite Hollywood actor. Especially the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

Golf didn’t seem to be the only kind of game Greer Latham was playing this afternoon. He should have given her a heads-up. She intended to punish him with an appropriate glare, but her gaze landed on the back of his polo as he rushed forward to open the door for Alexa.

Outside, the warm air smelled of freshly mown grass with a hint of cedar. Alexa pulled on her sunglasses and adjusted her visor. “I’ll share a cart with Cyril. Juliet, you don’t mind riding with Greer, do you?”

“No, of course not.” She took a deep breath and handed over her bag to the attendant, watching as the fresh-faced young man fastened their clubs to the back of the cart. “So long as he doesn’t drive us into any water hazards.” She gave a brittle laugh and climbed into the passenger side of the cart.

“No guarantees,” Greer joked as he took his place in the driver’s seat next to her. He pressed his foot against the accelerator and followed Cyril and Alexa’s cart to the first tee box.

In a casual manner, Greer rested his hand on the steering wheel as they drove in silence past a water feature surrounded by lush, manicured landscaping. As soon as he cut the engine, he leaned over. “You’re acting like something’s wrong.”

Juliet stared out over the contoured green. “Why didn’t you let me in on the fact we’d be playing with Cyril Montavan?”

“Because I didn’t know either, until Alexa phoned me on the way over to tell me.” He stepped from the cart. Not bothering to hide his irritation, Greer moved to the back of the cart and pulled his driver from the bag. With a light laugh, he slipped off the cover. “What are you accusing me of?”

Juliet kept her voice low. “I’m not accusing you of anything. I just—” She shook her head. “I don’t like surprises, that’s all.”

Greer tucked his club under his arm and opened a box of balls with his free hand. “Wasn’t intentional,” he assured her. “I was as taken off guard as you.”

Juliet retrieved her own driver, grabbed the ball Greer handed her, and followed him up the mound. She didn’t believe him, not entirely, but for now no good purpose would be served in coming across as insecure.

Cyril stepped up to the tee box and prepared for his shot. Before lining up, he looked back in their direction. “Any pointers?”

Greer pulled his glove from his back pocket. “This par four has a slight dogleg to the left. Watch that bunker. I normally try to favor the right center of the fairway.”

At her turn, Juliet set her tee and ball and lined up. Despite her impressive twenty-eight handicap, her mouth went dry. She knew more than her golf game was on show today. Pushing aside her sudden nerves, she tucked her chin and pulled her arms back. Using measured force, she swung, making sure to follow through. Thankfully, she made a clean shot down the fairway. Satisfied, she let out the breath she’d been holding, tucked the shaft of her driver under her arm, and pulled off her glove.

“I can see we’re playing with pros.” Cyril gave Juliet a warm smile as Alexa stepped up to the mound.

“Juliet is a pro all the way around.” Greer’s eyes met hers as if to say, “I’m on your side here.”

She decided to believe him. Until the seventh hole.

The drink cart pulled up as Juliet was enjoying the fact she’d birdied the sixth to Greer’s double bogey, thanks to a rare pulled shot that landed him in the hidden bunker.

Greer stepped from the cart and motioned to Cyril. “Do you want a beer?”

Cyril shook his head. “No. Not for me. A soda would be fine. Thank you.”

Alexa pulled a small jeweled case from her golf bag, opened the lid, and retrieved a wet wipe from inside. She swiped the back of her neck. “I’m dying for an iced coffee.”

Greer looked to Juliet.

“That’s good for me as well,” she said, then drained the last of the bottle of water she’d been nursing.

While Alexa and Greer placed an order, Cyril joined Juliet at the rear of Alexa’s cart, several yards away. “You have an impressive curriculum vitae,” he said. “Yesterday, when Greer offered to host us as guests at his club, I was glad to hear you would be joining us so I could meet you personally.”

Despite the compliment, Juliet’s internal alarm rang. “Yesterday?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “When Alexa and Greer picked me up at the airport.”

“Here you are.” Greer approached with a can of soda in his hand. “Cyril, I hope you like Dr Pepper—also known as Texas nectar.”

Her so-called boyfriend watched her, proprietary and cool. But there was something else in his eyes too. Something calculating.

So her suspicions were well-founded. Greer had lied to her. What Juliet didn’t understand was why.

Rolling the dimpled golf ball between her fingers, she smiled, realizing he must feel threatened by her to go to such an extreme to keep his professional edge. Not exactly a bad thing.

Some might wonder how she could compartmentalize competing at work while maintaining a romantic friendship. The answer was easy, really—she’d duplicate what many men did every day.

Her father proved you could live two separate lives with a smile pasted on your face.

Alexa pulled on her glove and stepped to the ladies’ tee box. Like everything Alexa Carmichael did, her swing was perfectly smooth. She smacked the sweet spot, sending the ball into the air in a straight line two hundred yards down the fairway. “There you go. That’s how it’s done,” she boasted.

Juliet made a decision. She’d keep what she’d discovered to herself. Tuck the tidbit away and use the revelation to her advantage. Clearly, Greer hadn’t recognized the level of competence she’d bring to the mix, or that he’d be forced to share a little of that spotlight he often basked in.

She sauntered back to the cart and slid into the leather bench seat next to Mr. GQ, with his perfect hair and manicured nails.

Without Greer knowing, she’d turn the tables and continue to shine at work, no matter how nervous it made him feel. She wasn’t the type to stand down in order to eliminate the risk of losing a man.

Juliet would score.

And not just on this golf course.