The Long Shot Page 7

  “Good start,” Harry said as they headed into the referee’s office to hand in Morgan’s card. “You just need a little more spin on all your irons, but otherwise, don’t change anything.”

  “Got it.” She smiled as she handed over her card and had it validated.

  They left the office and found the path that led around to the area set aside for the press.

  “You meeting Charlie tonight?” Harry asked.

  “No, I’m having a quiet one. I’ll eat in my room and see you in the morning, okay?”

  He tilted his head. “You okay?”

  “I am. A little tired. And I need to just get this done so I can relax.”

  Morgan gestured toward the waiting press, and her attention was snagged once again by the beautiful woman she’d seen at the start of the day. She stood at the back of the group of reporters, her gaze scanning the approaching players.

  “Harry, who’s that?” Morgan nodded in the woman’s direction.

  Harry narrowed his eyes. “No idea. Why?”

  She tried not to blush. “No reason. Just never seen her before and was curious.”

  “Right.” His tone let her know he’d seen right through her.

  Clearing her throat, she patted him on the arm. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He smirked and wandered away.

  Lotte appeared alongside Morgan as she strolled up to the waiting press. “Hey, Morgan, it was good playing with you today. We haven’t been paired in a while, and I’d forgotten how much you make me work to keep pace with you.”

  Morgan chuckled, but the praise gave her a warm glow. “That’s sweet of you. It’s an honor to play alongside you—you’re a legend of our game.”

  “Are you calling me old?” Lotte’s grin told Morgan she was teasing.

  “No, never.” Morgan placed a hand on her heart and smiled sweetly.

  Lotte laughed and patted her shoulder. “Looking forward to tomorrow.”

  “Me too!”

  They reached the press area and separated, Lotte to talk to Cindy Thomson, Morgan to face the print news reporters with their handheld recording devices. Out of the corner of her eye, as she answered the banal and repetitive questions pushed her way, she saw the beautiful woman watching her again. For some reason, even though she wore press credentials, she never stepped forward to ask any of the players questions. Who is she? What is she doing here?

  And why can’t I stop looking at her?

  Embarrassed that her gaze did keep drifting, Morgan made a concerted effort to focus on the reporters. She also tried to smile a little more and inject more warmth into her answers. A few raised eyebrows told her the effort wasn’t going unnoticed, and the thanks she received from them seemed genuine, for once. It felt strangely nice.

  The next two days passed in pretty much the same way. She played well, kept to herself in the evenings, and woke up on Sunday feeling good about her prospects. She was one shot ahead of So Park, two ahead of Laurie Schweitzer. Lotte had fallen behind during the third round, so for the final round, she’d be playing with Schweitzer, while Morgan and So were the last pair to tee off.

  Not only was the win up for grabs, but Morgan, if she won, would move up to number three in the world, behind Kim Lee in first and Laurie in second. It would be Morgan’s highest ever ranking, and she wanted it. Badly.

  “Well,” Harry said, as he met her in the staging area. “I don’t need to give you any kind of pep talk this morning, do I? I could see the fire in your eyes from twenty yards away.” He grinned. “Good.”

  She smiled back at him. “Yeah, it’s feeling good this morning. Let’s do it.”

  They fist-bumped, and she went through her exercises to loosen up while Harry double-checked the bag. When it came time to tee off, Morgan was as focused as she could be. Her drive off the first was perfect, and the whoops of the crowd only lifted her mood.

  Game on.

  So that’s what she looks like when she finally gets in her zone.

  Adrienne saw it from a mile off. Morgan Spencer appeared two inches taller, her shoulders looked as if they were made of iron, and she practically glowed with confidence and the hunger to do well. It was rather stirring to see.

  Following Morgan these past few days had been an interesting experience. While Morgan was clearly focused on her game and hardly spent any time interacting with anyone, either other golfers, the press, or the crowd, there was something about her that didn’t quite add up. Sometimes she looked sad; perhaps haunted would be the better word. It was fleeting, and Adrienne was never sure she’d totally read it correctly, but it had stayed with her each time she’d caught the briefest glances of it.

  She’d hadn’t seen Morgan in any of the club’s restaurants or bars in the evening, and a couple of quiet inquiries had told her this was fairly normal. Morgan Spencer liked to keep to herself. For someone with her background, her looks—which, Adrienne could admit now she’d seen her close up, were very attractive—and her success, she came across as either shy, socially inept, or reluctant.

  Adrienne had scribbled copious notes in her production notebook, starting to formulate how their first sit-down interview might go on Monday. Something told her Morgan would be a hard nut to crack, and she’d have to be careful what questions she asked this first time around and how.

  Zipping up her light jacket in the face of the cooler than expected breeze that blew across the course this afternoon, she walked with the crowd that followed Morgan and So Park on their final round.

  Morgan’s caddy, Harry Carr, seemed to be the only person Morgan relaxed around. Adrienne often saw them chuckling with each other as they discussed which club to use, and each of those interactions transformed Morgan. The lightness in her face as she looked at Harry was remarkable. There was clearly a level of affection between them that no one else, as far as Adrienne could determine, got to experience from Morgan.

  Are they involved?

  She snorted at the thought. No, it wasn’t that kind of affection. Harry seemed more like a father figure to Morgan. Interesting. Besides, she’d heard on the grapevine that Morgan Spencer was into women—there were rumors of something between her and Naomi Chase, who was currently missing from the tour as she recovered from a shoulder injury.

  Adrienne smiled as she walked the course, watching Morgan extend her lead to three shots by the fifteenth. She mentally rubbed her hands together at the thought of interviewing Morgan in the morning. It would be a challenge, but she couldn’t wait.

  “Toby, I think here will be best for you. I like that portrait as a backdrop.” Adrienne pointed to the wall ahead of her, and the cameraman murmured his assent.

  “Yeah, the lighting’s cool here. Not too much glare from that window but enough natural light for me not to need the full spot.”

  He stepped away, looking at angles, and she left him to it. She’d worked with Toby many times before for this type of piece and trusted him to get it right without her interfering.

  Diane, the sound woman, was busy setting up her equipment. They were using a boom rather than lapel mikes. Adrienne always hated how those little things drew the eye when attached to someone, and she wanted her audience only focused on Morgan’s face and words.

  Jenny buzzed into the room long enough to say that the local makeup assistant they’d hired was waiting in the lobby and she was off to retrieve her. She hopped from foot to foot, her eyes wide, a huge grin on her face.

  Adrienne rolled her eyes and made a mental note to have a quick word with her overexcited assistant. Sure, it was cute how pumped Jenny was to be finally meeting her biggest sporting crush, but she still needed to maintain her professionalism.

  “Is she always so…wired?” Diane asked, her southern drawl stretching out the last word.

  Toby guffawed. “Hell yeah. She’s like the Energizer bunny. You kinda get us
ed to it, though.”

  “You do.” Adrienne smiled at Diane, who shook her head and turned back to her equipment. “Right, I’m going off to meet Ms. Spencer for a coffee.” Adrienne pulled her papers together and pushed them into her bag. “Should be back in about half an hour ready to start, okay?”

  “Sure,” Toby and Diane said in tandem. Neither bothered to raise their heads from their tasks, and Adrienne smiled. She did like working with pros she could trust.

  She stopped at a bathroom en route to her first meeting with Morgan, taking a few minutes to make sure she looked professional but not too formal. Morgan had been told to wear whatever she felt most comfortable in, and Adrienne didn’t want her subject feeling underdressed if she chose to come in super casual, so she herself had opted for a long denim skirt over knee-length brown boots and a simple cream cotton sweater that hung loosely on her shoulders.

  Once satisfied she looked as good as she was going to get, Adrienne exited the bathroom and made her way to the club’s small private dining room. A man dressed in a sharply-cut suit waited inside when she pushed open the door. There was no sign of Morgan, but a quick glance at her watch told Adrienne it was still ten minutes before their agreed meeting time.

  “Adrienne?” The man stood, holding out his hand. “I’m Hilton Stewart.”

  She shook it firmly and smiled. “It’s great to meet you in person, Hilton. Thanks for helping to set this up.”

  “My pleasure.” He motioned to the club chair beside his, and Adrienne dropped gracefully into it. “Coffee?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Hilton reached for the pot sitting on the table beside his chair and poured her a cup, adding a little cream when she nodded at his raised eyebrow. He was a handsome man, with a strong jaw, an easy smile, and a shaved head, his brown scalp shining in the light of the chandelier that dominated the ceiling above them. His suit was obviously expensive, and a glance at his shoes told her the man knew how to dress to impress. Given how much he must be earning off representing the likes of Morgan Spencer, she wasn’t surprised.

  “Morgan will be here shortly,” he said as he passed her the cup of coffee.

  There was something in the way he said it that gave Adrienne pause. “Everything okay?”

  Morgan had easily won yesterday’s tournament and was up to number three in the world as a result, so Hilton should have been looking much happier than he was right now.

  He sighed. “Morgan is… She’s a quiet, private person. Doing something like this is not high on her wish list.”

  “Ah.” Damn. Did that mean she was going to be more difficult than Adrienne had imagined? “Is there anything in particular I can do to make this easier for her?”

  “Other than not doing it?” Hilton smiled ruefully. “Probably not. Simply understand that about her and carry it with you over the next few weeks.”

  Adrienne nodded. “I can do that. I would have thought, though, that she was used to all this, given who her father is?”

  Hilton made a so-so motion with his hand. “Yes, she’s been in the public eye for most of her life, especially since she started to show such an interest in playing golf. But…well, let’s just say it’s sometimes not easy for a child to follow in their famous father’s footsteps.”

  There was something more to that, she could tell, but before she could press him, the door swung open and Morgan Spencer walked in. Adrienne caught the startled look Morgan gave her before the younger woman swiftly covered it with a lukewarm smile.

  “Morgan!” Hilton stood and walked over to usher his client into the room. “Come and meet Adrienne Wyatt.”

  Adrienne also stood and took two steps forward as Morgan approached. She held out her hand and smiled widely, wondering why her heart raced as the tall, beautiful woman neared. When Morgan’s hand gripped hers, she noted the coolness, the strength, and had the distinct impression that Morgan held back just how firm her grip could be.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Adrienne said. “Well done for yesterday’s win and the step up in the rankings.”

  “Thank you.” Morgan’s voice was soft, and again Adrienne had the impression something was being held back. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too.”

  She lies well. Adrienne tried hard not to stare at the young woman, even though the flecks of gold in Morgan’s light-brown eyes surprised her with the way they shimmered in the room’s lights. Her eyelashes were most distracting; long and lush, they framed the beautiful eyes that now beheld Adrienne with something akin to puzzlement.

  Adrienne realized she still had a hold of Morgan’s hand and quickly let go. She motioned to the chairs behind her. “Shall we sit?” she asked, thankful her voice didn’t croak.

  Morgan nodded, then stepped past her and sat in the chair that Hilton had previously occupied.

  While Hilton fussed with pouring Morgan a coffee, Adrienne surreptitiously observed her. She sat rigidly in her chair, her shoulders straight, her hands clasped together in her lap. With one leg crossed over the other, an expanse of tanned calf was revealed by the knee-length black pants she wore. Somewhere in Adrienne’s brain it registered that Morgan was very fit—the muscle tone on display was impressive, to say the least. Morgan had chosen a plain, thin purple hoodie to wear over the pants, and Converse sneakers with matching purple laces. While her clothes looked comfortable, her posture screamed anything but.

  Hilton sat in another chair, and Adrienne snapped out of her perusal of Morgan.

  “Thanks for agreeing to do this today, Morgan,” she said. “I know you have a plane to catch later, so this interview won’t be a long one.”

  Morgan nodded again but said nothing.

  “Do you have a set list of questions?” Hilton asked.

  “I have some, yes,” Adrienne said, not taking her eyes off Morgan, “but I always leave room for the conversation to take its own course.”

  Morgan frowned. “What if I don’t want to answer a question, set or otherwise?” Her tone was almost prickly, and Adrienne held back the urge to roll her eyes.

  “Then just say so, and we’ll edit that part out.”

  “What if I don’t want to answer any of your questions?”

  “Morgan,” Hilton said quietly.

  Morgan sighed before facing him. “I know.” She turned back to Adrienne. Her fingers twisted together in her lap. “I’m sorry, Ms. Wyatt. I don’t mean to appear rude. I’m just really not a fan of opening up like this, and not knowing what you’re going to ask me is…unsettling.”

  “It’s Adrienne.” She smiled, hoping to elicit even a small one in return from Morgan, but nothing was forthcoming. Okay, this was not the best start. Tread lightly. “I was obviously going to show you the set questions first for us to have a read through and think about how you’d like to answer them. Do you want to do that now?” She kept her tone light and gentle; it was as if she were talking to a spooked horse.

  “Okay.”

  Morgan was the epitome of tension; her posture had not relaxed at all since she’d first entered the room.

  Adrienne risked a quick glance at Hilton as she reached down to her bag to retrieve her notebook. His frown was deep as he tried to catch Morgan’s eye.

  Adrienne pulled the notebook from her bag and flicked through to the page where she’d written down her initial questions. Normally, she’d take the subject through the questions, and together they’d work out any kinks in her approach, but something told her that wouldn’t work today. She hesitated only a moment before she ripped the page out and passed it to Morgan.

  “Why don’t you both take a look through this? I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Morgan took the paper, her wide eyes staring at Adrienne as she did so. There was surprise in her gaze and something that looked very much like gratitude.

  Adrienne gave her a subtle nod, then left the room.<
br />
  “You’re doing it again, Morgan.” Hilton’s voice held a hint of exasperation.

  Her petulant side wanted to say something childish, but she bit it back and instead let out an extended sigh. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  She stood and walked over to the window that looked out over the eighteenth green. It looked so plain now that it was empty of crowds, players, and officials. Less than twenty-four hours ago, she’d stood out there, surrounded by people, and accepted the small trophy and the large check. She’d felt just as alone then as she did now.

  “I thought you were fine to go ahead with this.”

  “I was. Am.”

  She shook her head. It had to be her, didn’t it? The gorgeous woman who’d caught Morgan’s eye on day one of the tournament was, of course, the woman she would now spend weeks with by her side for this in-depth profile. Up close, Adrienne Wyatt was stunning, although older than Morgan had realized. Not that age mattered, of course. But Adrienne’s beauty and poise flustered Morgan; it wasn’t just the questions she would ask that had her all hot under the collar.

  Jesus, get a grip. So she’s a beautiful woman. So what? She’s here to do a job, so why not let her get on with it, and the sooner she does, the sooner it will be over.

  Grateful to Adrienne for giving her this time alone with Hilton, Morgan squared her shoulders and turned back to her manager. “Okay, sorry. I’m here now. Let’s look at those questions.”

  He tilted his head. “Anything we need to talk about?”

  She strode back across the room to her chair. “Nope. We’re good.” She picked up the sheet of paper, pulled her chair closer to his, and they bent their heads over the questions.

  The first few were fine, relatively innocuous and standard questions about how Morgan felt the year was going so far, her highlights, and what a regular week looked like for her when she wasn’t on the road. Unfortunately, that one segued into asking about how much time she had with her family now that she was so ensconced in the LPGA tour.