CaddyGirls (16 page)

“Where’s Josh?” Julian sipped the double espresso he’d grabbed from the executive floor coffee machine on his way in. He’d asked to meet the guys at the office at noon, in deference to the effect of the time change from his flight home from New York last night.

“Sorry,” Brendan answered, shaking his head. “I told him you wanted him here, but he’d already left for Monterey with that cocktail waitress he met in Palo Alto. He said I could brief him later.”

“You’d think he’d need a break from women after Vegas.” Michael chuckled. “Apparently one day off is enough for him.”

Julian swallowed a curse. “I’ll call him after I brief you guys.”

Michael and Brendan, seated on either end of the long leather sofa opposite Julian’s chair, exchanged knowing glances and waited patiently for him to continue.

“So, here’s the deal with Taylor Monk.” Julian recapped his brief meeting on Thursday with the arrogant, infamous head of the Center Street Hedge Fund group. Monk had confirmed Colton’s warning—unless Kerr headed up the merged company, Center Street would do everything possible to stop the merger. Julian knew Monk controlled enough shares to make good on his threat. The man’s intransigence led Julian to believe he had an agenda much bigger than the fate of his friend Colton.

“Then you met with the pension fund guy on Friday, right?” Brendan asked.

“Yeah. Don Smith. He’s a straight shooter. He’s not going to do anything to block the merger, despite what Colton alleged.”

“I told you he was full of shit,” Michael groused.

“We all know that,” Julian countered, “but we’ve still got a big problem with Monk and Center Street. We’re going to have to negotiate with Colton. See what we can offer him to sweeten the pot. He wants the merger, and I think Monk is playing him—maybe to get a bidding war going for Apollo.”

“But he’s sure as hell not getting your job!” Michael’s voice reverberated off the floor-to-ceiling glass that covered the west and south walls of Julian’s spacious office.

“Not damn likely,” Julian snorted. “But I’ll deal with that. Anyway, we’ll have to put off any further discussion until Monday. I’ve got some stuff to do before I pick Torrey up at the airport at four.”

Michael tilted his head. “Say again?”

Julian fought back the impulse to bristle at his partner. “You heard right. Torrey’s coming here for the rest of the weekend.”

“Yowzer.” Michael appeared mightily pleased.

“Good for you, Julian,” Brendan said. “In fact, I’ve been thinking about doing something similar with Annie.”

“God in Heaven,” Michael said with a grin, “good thing Josh isn’t here. You’d be giving the poor boy a coronary.”

“It’s just a weekend,” Julian said in a terse voice. Clearly, he’d been an idiot to even mention his plans in the first place. Michael especially would start leaping to all kinds of idiotic conclusions. Julian and Torrey enjoyed each other’s company and had great sexual chemistry. That’s all it was, and that’s all it was ever going to be. “It’s not serious,” he finished, just to make the situation perfectly clear.

“Wait till she sees your place. She’s not going to want to leave.”

“Speaking of Torrey,” Julian said in a dampening tone, “were you able to talk to her about the details, Bren?”

“Some,” Brendan replied, turning serious. “We got started anyway. We met for a drink after the round on Thursday, and she gave me an outline of her needs for the rest of the year. She’d done a lot of thinking about it and had a schedule all laid out for tournaments leading up to Qualifying School in the fall. I’ll say this for her, she’s organized and motivated.”

“You’re going to get some money to her right away?”

“I’ll get accounting to do a direct funds transfer to her on Monday, then we’ll start giving her a monthly stipend—as well as paying for any new equipment she needs. And a new clothing package, of course—with our logo.”

Julian smiled. “Everybody okay now with her wearing the logo?”

“Brendan’s coming around, even though you can’t tell from the look on his face,” Michael answered. “We talked about it Thursday on the flight home. Torrey shot another great round. The girl’s got a future. I think we’re all fine with her representing us and wearing the logo, right Bren?”

Brendan muttered something under his breath, but gave a reluctant nod. Clearly, he still had issues with Julian ramming the sponsorship down his throat. Julian hated that Brendan thought it was a bad call, and that it made him question his own decision to back Torrey in the first place. Not much, but enough to bother him, especially since he was getting more involved with her.

“Great,” Julian said, trying to shrug off his doubts. “I think she’s going to work her ass off, and if she doesn’t make it, it sure won’t be for lack of trying.”

“Speaking of her ass, you got any special plans for her this weekend?” Michael quipped. “I mean, if you actually get out of bed.”

Julian smiled. Michael always knew exactly when to change the subject. “Sure. I’m going to cook her dinner.”

“You really
are
trying to impress this girl, aren’t you?”

Julian sighed. “Okay, meeting’s over guys,” he said, rising to his feet. Michael, as usual, had it right—for some reason he did want to impress Torrey, and not by spending a ton of money. Any dumbass could buy his way to a good time. He thought by inviting Torrey into his home and making dinner himself, he’d both surprise and please her.

He ushered Michael and Brendan out and locked his office door behind him. Torrey probably figured he’d sweep her away to San Francisco for dinner at some five-star restaurant. Not this time.

Still, it wouldn’t be a shabby meal either. He knew how to cook. Tonight would be a first though. He’d cooked for his pals and even thrown a few dinner parties for colleagues and friends, but he’d never once brought a woman home and prepared a whole meal for her. A part of him felt uneasy about that, but Torrey was special and deserved the best. And after they ate—as he’d promised her—they’d head out to his patio, drink some really good wine, and gaze at the stars.

And she could teach him about meditation, he thought, remembering their conversation in the canyon.

Not
.

*

Torrey spotted him the instant he strode through the sliding glass doors of the Terminal A baggage claim area. Taller than almost everyone else, Julian Grant was immediately recognizable, even with his eyes hidden by dark sunglasses. She felt like hopping up and down and yelling, but settled for a lazy wave in his direction. Julian saw her and cut through the crowd at an angle toward her. He wore a white button-down shirt with blue jeans, topped with a well-cut navy blazer. Her heart stepped up its rhythm as he approached. Across the carousel from her, an attractive young woman in a business suit stripped him naked with her eyes as he passed. Torrey stifled her urge to club the woman. After all,
she
was the one about to go home with Julian.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting,” he apologized, stuffing the sunglasses in his jacket pocket. Before she could open her mouth to answer, he kissed her with enough enthusiasm to provoke stares from a few onlookers.

Torrey pulled him closer as he tried to break the kiss. She claimed his mouth, desperate for his touch after almost three days of separation. Finally she let him go. “I missed you. A lot.”

“But you’re here now, and we’re going to have some fun,” he said, looking a bit taken aback by her eager response. He picked up her sports bag and started toward the door he’d just come through.

“What do you have in mind?” She grinned, hurrying to keep up with him. “Or need I ask?”

“I thought I’d take you to a great place for dinner, and then we’d play it by ear.”

“Sounds perfect,” she said breathlessly as he hurried her into a cavernous, noisy parking garage.

Julian popped the locks and helped her into a gleaming black car with a luxurious black leather interior. “Nice,” she said, climbing into the passenger seat. The smooth, ultra-soft leather felt like cool butter against the backs of her bare thighs. “What kind of car is this?”

“A Lexus LS hybrid,” he answered, firing up the engine. “It goes like a bat out of hell, but the hybrid soothes my conscience,” he said with a wry smile. “Not exactly a Corvette, but a great car for somebody like me.”

“Ah, that Corvette,” Torrey said wistfully, edging her hand onto his knee.

A very satisfied, very male smile lifted the edges of his lips. He covered her hand with his own as he steered toward the pay booth. “That was quite a night. But we can make another one just as good.”

“Is that a promise?”

“You got it.”

Torrey relaxed into the luxury of the seat, her short skirt riding up higher as she swiveled toward him. Julian didn’t fail to notice, his eyes locking onto to her tanned thighs for a long look as he waited for the attendant to give him change. She ran her tongue over her glossy lips.

“You are such a little tease,” he grinned, gunning the powerful car into traffic.

She shook her head. “I’ve never thought of myself that way, and I don’t think most guys do either. Maybe you bring out something in me that only you see. Does that make any sense?”

“I don’t know. All I can tell you is that you’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever been with. If other guys don’t see it, frankly I’m damn glad about that.”

“I’m not sure I believe you, but if you keep on saying it long enough I might,” she said in a joking voice, even though it thrilled her to the core to hear him say it.

“Brendan tells me you guys worked out some of the sponsorship details after I left.”

The quick change in subject surprised her, but she was happy to talk about it. “Brendan was great. I drew up a draft schedule of tournaments for the next three months, and broke down all the costs of the qualifying tournaments that make up Q-School in the fall. Between those expenses, my living costs, and some new equipment, it added up to a big chunk of money. But Brendan didn’t even blink. He just asked a few questions, and then he told me he’d have his staff transfer a first payment next week. Honest to God, Julian, I don’t think my feet touched the ground on the way home,” she said, excitement rushing through her again. “It’s what I always hoped for, but it’s more than I ever thought could happen.”

“You deserve it. Besides, we look at it as an investment,” he said, gunning the Lexus up the ramp and onto the fast-moving 101 northbound freeway. “Pretty soon hundreds of thousands of young guys are going to be watching you on TV and at the course, staring at your chest with our OTE logo jumping out. I guarantee that your boobs are going to sell a ton of video games.”

His deadpan expression and level voice made her wonder if he was actually joking. Then he started to laugh. She poked him in the shoulder, feigning annoyance.

“You had me going there for a second. You guys wouldn’t be the first to use women’s bodies to sell your products,” she said, trying for a tone of mock outrage. “Though I think you could have found a better pair if that was what you really had in mind.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” he said. “Though another close inspection is definitely in order.”

“Capitalist beast.” She grinned. “And here I thought you were halfway sensitive for a filthy-rich tycoon.”

“Halfway sounds about right.”

Julian swung the Lexus off the winding Moody Road and onto the short cul de sac that ended at his estate. Torrey had been craning her neck for the past several miles, gazing toward one rolling estate after another. He turned onto what appeared to be a private, tree-lined road for a couple of hundred feet before coming to a gentle stop in the circular driveway that fronted a single-story, Mediterranean-style house with a shake roof.

Torrey scanned the exterior as Julian opened her door and helped her out. While the stone-fronted, rambling bungalow clearly spoke of wealth, somehow she had expected something grander in appearance—perhaps a two-story, faux French chateau, or an ultramodern, expansive mansion of glass and redwood. She didn’t know exactly what a billionaire would choose, but she’d seen some pictures in magazines of the kind of places the mega-rich lived, and this estate, though quite lovely, seemed to fall several notches below those.

Julian must have noticed her puzzled reaction. “People are always a little surprised when they first see my house. It’s sure not a Bill Gates-type mansion. But wait until you see the grounds. Then you’ll know why I decided to buy this place.”

Julian unlocked the heavy wood double doors and led her through a marble foyer into the living room. “Wow,” she breathed as she stopped to gaze at the floor-to-ceiling windows that constituted the entire west wall of the room. The cathedral ceiling gave the massive window an elongated pentagon shape. Beyond the glass she could see a yard that extended back several hundred feet and was lined with leafy trees that gave way to a stunning view of the low mountains beyond. Beyond the concrete patio, at least an acre of grass enclosed a circular fountain. Farther back, a rectangular, fenced swimming pool covered a large area on the north side of the grounds.

“That was my reaction the day the real estate agent brought me here. I knew I’d found my home.”

“It’s absolutely stunning,” Torrey said, angling her neck to look at the enormous stone fireplace that climbed from the floor all the way to the thick beams that supported the cathedral roof. A pile of four-foot logs and kindling had been built but not lit. “That fireplace is amazing, Julian.”

“My bedroom and the family room have stone fireplaces, too,” he noted. “Come on, I’ll show you the master suite, and you can put your stuff away.”

Torrey followed him past a granite-countered, professional-looking kitchen, her heels clacking down a long hallway floored with huge stone tiles in a terra cotta color. The master suite faced south, and again featured ceiling-high glass running nearly the length of the south wall. Late afternoon sun angled in through the open drapes, falling on the stone fireplace in the corner. A four-poster bed in a dark wood that looked antique fought with the fireplace as the focal point of the room. A thick, white quilt, embroidered with yellow and blue floral designs, was half covered by an array of cushions in similar tones.