“Kidding, only kidding,” he says, flashing a huge smile. “Anyway, I’m off to enjoy free drinks, courtesy of the young whippersnapper who just won the round.”
My heart begins to stutter. Please, God, let that young whippersnapper not be our Tripp.
I made it abundantly clear to Eli that no matter how good a player he might be, he should not, under any circumstances, show these men up. Their egos are way too fragile. Judge Thackermustwin. If he doesn’t, there’s absolute hell to pay. Janey told me that, a few years ago, he even found a way to land their fourth in jail after a particularly humiliating loss on the course. Called a few of his buddies at the sheriff’s office and set the poor guy up for aDUI after having paid the guy’s bar tab himself. The story may be a classic Janey exaggeration, but knowing Judge Thacker, I’m inclined to believe it.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Joel says, shaking his head. “Did you lose any money off him?”
“Hell yeah.” Griggs snorts a laugh. “The old judge kept upping the stakes, sure he was gonna eventually turn the thing around.”
“Stakes?” I ask, my face flushing hot with anger. “You mean, he won a bet?”
“Cleaned us all out.” Griggs laughs, gesturing toward the adjacent Men’s Grill patio, and I finally spot Tripp, joking along with the guys as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. “Tripp Bedford’s his name,” Griggs continues. “Of the Mississippi Bedfords. That boy has a damn-near-perfect golf swing.”
“And how’s Judge Thacker handling it?” Joel asks, smirking.
My legs turn to jelly. I have to hold on to the back of Peter’s chair.
“Well, you wouldn’t know by looking at him, but the esteemed judge is mad as hell.” Griggs couldn’t be more amused. “Thinks the kid sandbagged us on his handicap. Doubt Tripp Bedford will be joining our standing threesome again.” He sounds entertained, as if our plan’s literal demise is oh-so-funny. “Crying shame—he’s a solid young man and a fabulous golfer. At least we get a round or two of bourbon out of him.”
My mouth goes so dry that I involuntarily reach for Peter’s blood orange mimosa and take a long swallow. Why did he not follow my instructions? They couldn’t have been clearer.
I think back to the derby party, and how quick Eli was to place a bet. Does he have a gambling problem? Is he just using me and Luisa to get in among the high rollers? Whatever the answer, I have to extract Eli from that situation before he’s saddled with a huge bar tab or a DUI. Or, God forbid, both.
Griggs starts to walk away, then seems to think better of it. He pauses, turns back, and then speaks directly to me. “Oh, and, Holly, I thought you should know…” He smiles wickedly, and I know that whatever’s coming next is not good. “The Undergraduate Dean over at UGA—he’s my college buddy’s uncle—he’ll be comin’ down to join me at the club in a few weeks, for a round of golf and brunch.” My mouth falls open against my will, but I can’t seem to utter a word. “I’ll be sure to tell him all about your son, Aidan. I know he’ll be intrigued.” And then, the despicable man has the audacity to wink, as he calls out “Go Dawgs!” and then takes his leave of us.
As soon as Griggs walks away, I jump back, tipping over Joel’s Bloody Mary and knocking the stool to the ground with a loud thud. Every single person at the Golf House turns to look at me, but there’s just one person whose attention I need: Eli’s.
“Oh, goodness,” I cry, grabbing a napkin from the table and sopping up Joel’s drink. “I am so clumsy today.”
Just as I hoped, Judge Thacker and the rest of his foursome turn and look across the patio toward the commotion. I make eye contact with Eli and tilt my head subtly toward the restrooms.
“It’s all right,” Peter says, his voice kind. “Not even a drop landed on us.”
“I’m going to go see if I can find a dishrag,” I reply, stepping away from the table.
As I make my way inside, I’m followed by a dozen piercing stares. I can hear the talk already:
Poor Holly, she must be so exhausted. I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like to be a single mom, working night and day for all these years.
Can you believe that Holly was so drunk at work, before noon, that she knocked a stool right over?
And to think she’d consider applying to be general manager. What a lark!
Soon they’ll be gossiping about my felon son and how he got kicked out of college—or lost his scholarship and had to quit—after the Undergraduate Dean learned of crimes he committedright here at the club!
How are we ever going to stop Griggs now? A stomach-churning defeat threatens to overwhelm me, but I shove it down deep. When I get to the hallway, I duck into a broom closet, feigning an attempt to find dishrags. Our Tripp comes sauntering by,utterly cool and collected. I grab him by the arm and yank him into the closet, closing the door behind us.
“What the hell, Holly?” he whispers. “Have you lost your damn mind?”
“Yes, and it’s entirely your fault,” I spit. “What have youdone?”
“Things are going great out there,” he replies, gesturing toward the bar.
“No, Eli. Things are not going great. Are we not paying you enough?” I ask him, my voice accusing. “Because it seems that you just can’t resist any opportunity to skim more cash off this deal.”
“Hold on,” he says, head going sideways. “Are you pissed about the illegal betting inyourplace of employment, or about the fact that I cleaned out those rich assholes’ pockets?”
“I’m pissed, Eli, because our plan has just hit a big fat dead end.” I gesture wildly with my hands. “Why, you ask. I’ll tell you why,” I loud-whisper. “Because you failed to follow my instructions and you beat out all three of those egotistical men.” My cheeks are flushed, my arms still flailing. “You were supposed to play it safe,” I whisper-shriek. “What happened?”
