There was a photo of Chet Caulfield underneath. Hands folded neatly in front of him, wearing a different—but equally fancy—outfit than last night. He was looking at the camera with a sad yet solemn expression, looking for all intents and purposes like a man who had never stolen cash out of an open register and gotten his middle-school-aged kid to take the fall.
“What,” Benji said flatly. “Thefuck.”
CHAPTER 4
Desmond Fowler was a good guy. But more importantly, he was a fantastic lawyer.
So, Noah was going to overlook how obsessed he was with golf.
“Noah,” Desmond yelled, twirling his state-of-the-art club as he spotted Noah walking over the green. “Took you long enough! Where’s your boy?”
“He’ll meet us at the bar,” Noah replied. He didn’t add that, upon being asked if he’d like to come golfing, Benji had burst out laughing so hard he’d had tears in his eyes when he finally straightened up. Then he’d realized Noah was serious and laughed even harder.
I don’t care how much money I have, Benji said.I’d rather kill myself than play one match.
They’re called rounds, Noah had said helpfully.Or loops.
Benji had scoffed in his face. So now he was waiting back at the bar, sipping exotic drinks he’d seen in movies. Most of which the bartender had recognized, some of which he’d had to look up and then inform Benji that they were fictional.
Desmond jogged over, his golf club resting easily over his shoulder. “Hoo! Great day for it, huh?”
“You bet,” Noah said, squinting up at the hottest summer day they’d had so far. He hated golf in regular weather, let alone when it made his shirt stick to him. He didn’t even have Benji here to watch him sweat.
Desmond led him over to the next ball. “Let’s see if you’ve gotten any better since college.”
“Still good enough to kick your ass, Des.” Noah lined up the club and swung. The ball went sailing into the green, rolling to a stop a few inches away from the distant hole.
Desmond whistled. “Okay. Son of a bitch still has it.”
Noah stepped back to let him get the next one. He’d usually ease into a conversation like this, but he was getting impatient.
“So,” he said as Desmond placed another ball on the tee. “What do you think? Has he got a case?”
“Huh?” Desmond glanced over, like he was more focused on golf than the pressing matter Noah was paying him a fortune to fix. “Oh, right. Noah, you have nothing to worry about. Dress up a pig, it still rolls in the mud. You dig for five seconds, and you see the guy’s story isfullof holes. That kid—I mean, your guy?—”
“Benji,” Noah supplied.
“Benji,” Desmond repeated, taking a few practice swings as he examined the target in the distance. “Yeah, Benji’s a little volatile. Hard for the public to like. But compared to his pops, he’s a fucking saint. Sure, Chet hasn’t been to prison, but the amount of times he’s been arrested? I don’t know why they picked this guy to be their spokesperson to turn the public against Benji, but whoever picked himmajorlyscrewed up.”
“Or they were desperate,” Noah said darkly. “And Chet was all too happy to play whatever part they wanted.”
Desmond gave him a curious look. “You really think someone’s trying to ruin your boy’s reputation?”
“I do.”
Desmond hummed thoughtfully. He had tried to pry earlier, but he’d backed off when Noah laid down the law. That didn’t mean he didn’t have theories. Noah could tell how much he wanted the whole juicy story.
“To ruin him,” Desmond said. “Or ruin you?”
Noah gave him a look. To anyone else, it would seem perfectly pleasant. But Desmond knew him well enough from his college days to know that it meant that it was time for Desmond to stop talking.
Desmond shrugged and swung the club. The ball went sailing, rolling past Noah’s attempt and coming to a stop a dozen meters away from the target.
Desmond sighed and wiped a sweaty forearm over his forehead. “That bar is sounding pretty sweet right about now. Raincheck?”
“You read my mind,” said Noah, relieved. He'd take any chance he got to shorten these golf games.
They headed to the golf cart, Desmond handing his clubs off to the caddy.
