I still had a few hours before Livy got out of school. If I hurried, I could reach the club before Hoffman was done playing tennis.
On the train to Connecticut, I texted Jemma, telling her where I was going and why. She responded right away, demanding to know what I was wearing. Cringing, I took a quick selfie and sent it to her. Judging by her response, my worn jeans and V-neck T-shirt didn’t qualify as country club attire.
I’ll meet you at the club,she wrote back.DO NOT GO IN BEFORE I GET THERE.
I felt relieved. I’d much rather have Jemma at my side than go italone when confronting Hoffman. And the fact that she was willing to drive all the way up to Connecticut from her place in the West Bronx made my heart swell.
After the train ride, I had to hop on a bus to get closer to my destination. It dropped me off a short distance from the country club, and I figured I was lucky I didn’t have to walk for miles. After all, how many members of the Hickory Hill Country Club would ever bus there? None, probably. If I had money to throw around, I would have been willing to bet that the only people who didn’t use valet parking there were the employees.
I took my time getting to the club, not wanting to loiter awkwardly for long while I waited for Jemma. Even though I walked at the speed of a tortoise, there was no sign of her familiar red Camaro when I arrived.
I paced up and down in front of the semicircular driveway for a couple of minutes before Jemma’s Camaro pulled up to the curb, windows down.
“Take the dress,” she said, pointing at a blue garment on the passenger seat. “There’s no way you can trick anyone into thinking you’re a member looking like that.”
I glanced down at my clothes. I knew she was right.
“Where am I supposed to change?” I asked. “In the car?”
I didn’t see any other option. As much as I wanted to get revenge on Hoffman and get my money back, I wasn’t about to strip down on the side of the road.
“Sorry, hon. I’m working at the salon this afternoon, and I’m cutting it close as it is.” She leaned over and stuffed the dress out the window at me.
“You’re not coming with me?” I asked in dismay. So much for backup.
“You’ve got this, Em,” she said.
I jumped back just in time. She stepped on the gas and careened away from the curb. I watched her car disappear down the street and then turned to face the country club again.
If I wasn’t going to change clothes out in the open, I really had only one option.
I hurried around the side of the ostentatious two-story clubhouse, where bushes and rhododendrons lined the stone wall that blocked most of the property from public view. I glanced about to make sure no one was watching and then ducked in among the foliage. Branches snagged at my hair, and I nearly screamed when I came face-to-legs with a spider dangling from a silken thread. I dodged the spider and worked my way deeper into the bushes.
When I reached the wall, I leaned against it so I could unzip and kick off my ankle boots. I wriggled out of my jeans and stripped off my T-shirt before pulling the blue dress on. I worked one arm into a sleeve before my hair snagged on a rhododendron branch. When I tried to turn around to untangle myself, more branches grabbed at my hair. I twisted and wrestled until I was hopelessly ensnared. The shrub now had a firm grip on both my hair and the empty sleeve of the dress. With the zipper undone, my entire back was exposed to the breeze, which sent unpleasant chills over my bare skin.
And was that something crawling up my back? With a gasp, I tried to whirl around. Pain shot along my scalp as my hair got pulled harder. I flailed—as much as I could under the circumstances—trying to swipe at my back.
“Get off! Get off! Get off!”
When I could no longer feel creepy-crawlies on my skin, I stopped struggling, out of breath. Working or not, I needed Jemma to come back and help me. But my phone was in the pocket of my jeans, which were on the ground at my feet. When I tried to reach down, the rhododendron yanked at my hair again, the pain making my eyes water.
“Okay, don’t panic.”
Despite my own advice, panic settled in to stay a while. My heart raced, and my thoughts spun in dizzying circles.
I couldn’t believe this was my fate.
I was probably going to die here, trapped in the Rhododendron of Doom.
“You okay in there?” a male voice asked.
Yes, I was indeed going to die here. Of utter mortification.
Chapter
Three
The man peering at me through parted branches could have stepped right out of one of my favorite romance novels. With his faded jeans and white button-down shirt, he managed to look both casual and chic. He had tousled dark hair, eyes that were nearly black, and light brown skin with a hint of a bronze undertone. From the way he was stooped down to peer at me, I knew he had to be over six feet tall. He had the top button of his shirt undone, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing off his muscular forearms. I didn’t fail to notice his broad shoulders either.
