The Long Shot Read online

  “He’s such a jerk. And it’s not just us players who think so. I overheard Patty moaning about him to that woman from Golfing Today.”

  “Well, that actually makes me feel better.”

  “Good.” Charlie slowly drank some more of her beer, then said quietly, “So Hilton’s been saying stuff, has he?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Morgan rubbed her chin. “There’s been a development this week. Because you and I have been in our zones, I haven’t had a chance to tell you.”

  “Tell me what?”

  Morgan sketched out for her what had transpired from her meeting with Hilton. It was hard to report back what S Pro thought of her, but Charlie merely patted her hand and sipped at her beer, letting Morgan finish.

  “Okay,” Charlie said, when Morgan stopped and took a drink. “You know I’m someone who gets you and loves you and all that, yeah?”

  Morgan smiled and nodded.

  “So don’t be offended when I say that I totally get what S Pro and Hilton are saying. And your mom too. It really is time to let the world in a little. Now, I know it isn’t going to be easy for you. So just remember, wherever we are, whatever tournaments we’re playing, whether that’s together or not, you know I’m always at the end of a phone, right?”

  Morgan smiled wider and squeezed Charlie’s forearm. “You have been, and continue to be, a great friend, Charlie. Thank you.”

  “Aw, stop, you’re going to make me blush.” She swigged the last of her beer. “When do you meet the TV woman?”

  Morgan stretched back in her seat and rubbed at her neck to ease out the kink that had built up during the day. “Thankfully not until Phoenix. I’ve got a week at home first, and I can’t wait for that.”

  “Yeah, me too! Haven’t seen my mama in so long. But wait, how come you’re meeting this woman in Phoenix? I thought the TV thing was about the majors, but the next one isn’t until the PGA in July.”

  Morgan rolled her eyes. “Yeah, this is the dumbest part of the whole deal—she wants to do two sit-down interviews away from the majors. We’re meeting on the Monday after the tournament finishes for her to grill me. I can just imagine the kind of ammo she’s going to fire at me when she gets me in front of a camera.”

  “You sound so enthusiastic about this opportunity, it’s wonderful,” Charlie said wryly, and Morgan couldn’t help but laugh.

  “I know, I know. I need to just get on with it, but honestly, I hate this crap.”

  “I know. But I go back to what Hilton said—this is the right thing to do, especially with where the extra sponsorship could take you. You will be number one, Morgan. And probably soon. And number one deserves the best this crazy sporting world offers, so that means S Pro or someone like them.”

  “I guess.” She shook her head. “All I ever wanted to do, though, is just play golf, you know? I never asked for any of this other stuff.”

  Charlie shrugged. “Yeah, me too. But you’re the daughter of Gordy Spencer, and as soon as you started playing golf properly, you were never going to get away from all this other stuff because of that. All you can do is try to make it work for you and fuck the rest of ’em.”

  Morgan snorted and laughed and pulled Charlie into a one-arm hug. “You should put that on a greeting card. It’d sell millions.”

  Charlie’s eyes lit up. “Hey, I might just do that!”

  The driver helped Morgan with the bags, but only as far as the front door, at her request. She let very few people into her house, and the drivers who escorted her to and from airports were not on that elite list. After waiting for him to back down the short driveway, she turned the key in the lock and let out a contented sigh when her foyer came into view.

  The house had been her biggest treat to herself since starting to win serious money on the tour about five years ago. Everything else she’d invested for the future, but this house was her pride and joy, not least because she’d earned it herself. Her parents had paid for her entire college tuition and most of the first two years she was on tour, and while they’d not allowed her to repay that, they had respected her need to be independent as soon as she could. The house was relatively small by Sea Cliff’s standards, but it was plenty big enough for her. It even afforded her space for a workout room that she’d be taking advantage of most days this week.

  After dragging her bags into the house, she locked the door behind her and finally relaxed, properly, for the first time in four weeks. The fresh scent everywhere told her that Renata had been in earlier that day. Morgan was sure the outside areas were immaculate too, with Alejandro, Renata’s husband, in charge of the garden and grounds. They had been keeping house for her ever since she first bought the property. Both hardworking and conscientious, they also made Morgan smile with their constant gentle bickering, which, she was sure, disguised a deeply held love for each other.

  “Unpacking can wait until tomorrow,” she said into the empty space of the foyer.

  It was already past five in the afternoon, and she had only two things on her mind: a run to ease out the stiffness from yesterday and the—albeit short—travelling today, and then a night of indulgence in front of her TV. She had a catch up of CSI: NY to get sunk into.

  The run did exactly what she needed. San Francisco had, for once, had a pleasant day of June weather, an even sixty-five all day with bright sunshine. She’d run through the Presidio, along with many other people all with the same idea, and returned home hot, sweaty, and feeling infinitely better.

  She settled in front of her awesomely large TV screen, a bowl of her favorite coffee ice cream on her lap. After a few mouthfuls, she let her mind return to the conversations with Charlie, Hilton, and her mom. She knew they were all right, deep down, and that this TV thing was something she should really embrace. But she hated talking about herself, and she’d never been good at letting people in. It was why Naomi had turned her back on her in the end, making it easy for Morgan to end things when Naomi had decided she would apparently get more forthcoming “conversation” from the receptionist at their hotel in Miami. Catching them in the act had been one of the most devastating moments of Morgan’s life to date. And mainly because she had, for her, really begun to open up to Naomi. Just not enough, it seemed, for Naomi to be happy.

  Which reminded her—she’d heard through the grapevine that Naomi was slated to make her comeback in Chicago the week before the Women’s PGA.

  Ugh.

  She shoveled more ice cream into her mouth and let the intense flavor distract her.

  Come on, CSI is what you need.

  She had three whole days with no commitments whatsoever and wondered how many episodes she could get through in that amount of time.

  “Come on, Morgan! Harder! Faster!”

  Damon’s voice, although smooth and melodious, made Morgan’s teeth grind. He was, without a doubt, the best personal trainer she’d worked with yet, but sometimes she hated how hard he made her work. Especially after three days of binging on CSI and coffee ice cream.

  Yes, she’d run daily and made use of the weights in her workout room, but Damon always took things to another level. Right now, he had her doing run-squat combinations down the pathway she kept clear on the left side of the garden for such fitness purposes. She’d agreed with Damon months ago that whenever she was home, he’d work with her every other day to make sure her overall fitness, not just her muscle tone, was at a high level. She was one of the few female golfers who took their fitness this seriously—most definitely did something, but she and a few others worked it as hard as the top male players like Rory McIlroy. Damon saw her as a unique challenge and loved their time together.

  Of course he would. He gets to inflict all this pain on me. Sadist.

  “Four more!” he shouted from his comfy position leaning against the wall of the house at the end of the path.

  Grunting with the effort, she went into a s
quat position at the far end of the garden, then straightened and turned in as fluid a motion as she could manage before sprinting back toward him.

  “Oh, my poor Miss Morgan!” Renata called from across the terrace. “What is he doing to you?”

  “Working off that damn ice cream you left her in the freezer,” Damon said with a wicked grin.

  Renata threw up her hands in mock surrender. “I am only the paid help,” she said in a mournful tone. “I do as I am told.”

  “Hah!” Morgan puffed out scornfully as she reached Damon. She went into the squat, then turned and sprinted away from him again. Renata’s laugh followed her all the way down the path.

  “What is this, some sort of conspiracy between the pair of you?” she panted, once she’d finished the other three reps and bent over, hands on her knees, next to them.

  Renata chuckled, and Morgan grinned, loving how it felt to be so relaxed. Around people like Renata and Damon, in the comfort of her home—her sanctuary—she could completely be herself. Out on tour, she always felt the need to remain on her best behavior, if only to always present to the world as worthy of being Gordy Spencer’s daughter.

  The phone ringing on the outdoor table where she’d left it at the start of her workout brought her out of her reverie.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Hello, darling. How are you?”

  “I’m well. A little out of breath after Damon ran me into the ground, but yeah, okay.”

  Her mom’s laughter was soft and understanding. “I don’t know how you do it. Your father never did anything like this. I’m not sure he even stretched when he got out of bed in the morning.”

  Morgan snorted. “Yeah, it’s a different world now.”

  “Indeed. Anyway, talking of your world and your father.”

  “Yes?” Something unpleasant churned in Morgan’s stomach—she had a feeling she wasn’t going to enjoy whatever was coming next.

  “Well, it’s all rather exciting. Your father has been approached by ESPN to be one of those expert commentators!”

  “Oh! Wow, that’s actually pretty cool.” Okay, maybe this wasn’t so bad after—

  “Yes, and the first championship he’ll be working on is your PGA next month!”

  And there it was, the sucker punch.

  Ouch.

  The idea of her father, who’d never given her game or the women’s game in general the time of day, being a so-called expert in front of the ESPN cameras had Morgan’s stomach not only churning but clenching and twisting, like she was on the most hideous rollercoaster ride ever.

  The good mood her workout and the banter with Renata and Damon had engendered flew out the metaphorical window.

  “Morgan, are you still there? Did you hear what I said?”

  She worked hard to pull herself together when anger threatened to spill over. “Uh, yeah, Mom, I heard. That’s really great.”

  God, she hoped she sounded sincere. Her mom didn’t need to be in the middle of Morgan’s issues with her father. Well, no more than she had been for the last ten years anyway.

  “I know. I’m so excited.”

  And what about how he feels, huh? Is he that excited? I bet he isn’t. Come to think of it, why the hell did he agree to do it, given how little he values the women’s game?

  “So, um, Dad must be really pleased. First time he’s been approached since that documentary a couple of years back.”

  Her mom cleared her throat. “Yes, well, obviously he’s thrilled.” She sighed. “Morgan, I have to be honest. This wasn’t exactly his first choice of events to cover, but it appears they already have a full panel for the men’s events right through to the end of the year, and, well, he thought this would at least—”

  “Get him in the door, so to speak?”

  Her mom paused. “Yes. He sees it as a stepping stone.”

  “And nothing else, I bet.” She couldn’t help the bitter words, despite her vow of only moments earlier to keep her mom out of this. Her mother stayed silent, and Morgan sighed audibly. “It’s okay, Mom. I get it.”

  “It’s…it’s not okay,” her mom whispered. “Not at all. I’m so—”

  “Don’t. Those aren’t your words to say. I appreciate it, I really do, but just…don’t.”

  “Okay, darling. I…I understand.”

  Morgan didn’t know what else to say then. Both Renata and Damon had wandered away during her call, perhaps picking up enough of her side of the conversation to know this was a contentious one. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to be alone.

  “Okay, gotta go, Mom. I’ll call soon.”

  “Have a good flight to Phoenix tomorrow.”

  “Thanks.”

  She hung up before her throat could fully close and swallowed the lump that caused the discomfort. When she looked up, Damon was saying good-bye to Renata as they walked back to the house.

  “Morgan, I’ll catch you after Phoenix, okay?” he called.

  Thankful for his intuition, she nodded and waved. Renata cast her a sympathetic look before heading back into the house with a downcast face.

  Alone in the garden, Morgan stood with her hands on her hips and tried to breathe away the hurt and anger. She turned her face up to the sun, hoping its weak warmth would somehow overcome the coldness that had settled into her chest.

  Chapter 5

  “Boss, you need to go. Now. Or you’ll miss your flight.” Jenny hovered in the doorway, her eyes wide with worry.

  “I know, I know. Give me just…one…second.” Adrienne clicked send on the e-mail, then shut down her laptop. She grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair while the laptop did its thing and crammed that into her bag once it had gone dark. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  She hurried toward the doorway, where Jenny now leaned against the frame, her face transformed from panicked assistant to kicked puppy. Adrienne chuckled.

  “Get over it. You’ll meet her on Monday, and then you can make those goofy eyes at your big crush.”

  Jenny snorted and tried to look affronted but crumpled under the pressure, instead collapsing into laughter. “Sorry, it’s pathetic, isn’t it?”

  Adrienne patted her arm and walked past her. “Yes, it is, but I won’t hold it against you.”

  “Gee, thanks, boss!” Jenny called after her.

  There was a spring in Adrienne’s step as she exited their offices and walked over to the waiting cab. She needed this, this time out of New York. Everything here had stagnated for her in the last twelve months, and time away, even if it was somewhere like Phoenix, which had never been on her list of must-see places, would do her a world of good.

  She’d made a deal with herself, admittedly at Trish’s demanding prompting, that she would try to do as little work as possible on the flight, and so two hours in opened the March issue of National Geographic. She ignored the fact that she was three months behind and instead lost herself in features about cultures and places she’d never heard of and would probably never experience firsthand. That didn’t detract from her enjoyment, however, and she allowed herself a small smile at the thought that she’d been an avid reader for over thirty years and through that had been all over the world from the comfort of a chair.

  One day, she’d have a house big enough again to have her entire collection on display. She’d managed it in the house she’d bought with Paula, but now everything was boxed up again and in storage. Her mood threatened to dive at the thought, and she pushed it away while summoning the flight attendant and ordering herself a second glass of champagne. Because why the hell not?

  After checking in to her hotel an hour or so after she’d landed in Phoenix, Adrienne spent some time on her laptop, figuring out where she was headed the next day. The first meeting between her and Morgan Spencer was slated for eleven on Monday morning, after the tournament finished, but Adrienne
had deliberately arrived in the city in time for the first round on Thursday, which started in a little over twelve hours. She was determined to watch Morgan over the few days of the event without her knowing who Adrienne was so that she could get a feel for what kind of person Morgan was when she was out there competing. And to see if she could garner any clues as to why Morgan could regularly win on the tour except at the majors.

  Adrienne considered herself a pretty good reader of people—it was partly what had made her the success she was. Something told her she’d need to be at her best to get Morgan’s story, her real story, over the coming months.

  The applause was muted as Morgan’s tee shot sailed down the center of the fairway, but Morgan wasn’t surprised. The first two days of the women’s tournaments rarely attracted large crowds, and in some ways, Morgan preferred that. It was nice to have that quiet hum of people in the background without the over-exuberant cheering and shouting that tended to come to the fore on the last day.

  As she handed Harry the driver for stowing away in the bag, her gaze caught on a striking woman standing at the edge of the press area behind the first tee. The woman stood maybe a couple of inches shorter than Morgan, with short reddish-brown hair, light-brown skin, an oval face, and a full mouth. She wore press credentials on a lanyard, but Morgan was convinced she’d never seen her at any of the press calls before—surely she’d remember someone so beautiful.

  She blinked as that thought filtered through her brain. Okay, way to lose your focus on the game, Morgan. She shook her head, then turned away from the woman’s intense brown eyes only to be caught by Harry’s inquiring gaze.

  “Something wrong?” he asked impatiently.

  With a start Morgan realized her playing partner, Lotte Karlsson, and her caddy were already some fifty yards ahead of them on the walk down the fairway.

  Shit.

  “No, all good,” she bluffed, striding after the Swedes.

  Harry’s tut was loud.

  The round went well, both she and Lotte hitting all the sweet spots and coming in at the end with both of them in a three-way tie for the lead with So Park on three under for the day.