Page 19 of Hard to Love

“Yes,” Carson continues. “We were just sorting through the specifics, but he’s going to be your right-hand man over the coming weeks. I’ve set up a series of events leading up to the US Open that you’ll attend in addition to training.”

“Jesus, Carson,” she groans and all but stomps her foot like a petulant child. “I’m going to be training for the Open. The last thing I need is to be traipsing around shaking hands and kissing babies.”

“Please. Continue,” I speak for the first time. “Because you sound so very grateful for the opportunities you’ve been afforded. The ones you seem to be intentionally throwing away as of late.”

“You don’t know shit about me or my opportunities,” she spits out as she turns all her fire and brimstone on me. “And I’ve worked my ass off to have them so, take your judgment and shove it up your ass, kindly.” Her smile drips with the same sarcasm her words do.

“No judgment here. But your father hired Carson because he clearly trusted him to do what was best for you. He’s doing just that setting up this goodwill tour. So you’ll go to every event. You’ll train every day and get ready for the Open. And you’ll do it all with me by your side every step of the way.”

I want to choke over the words, but at the same time, I find a small pleasure in the disdain registering in her expression. She was clearly listening outside the door before she entered the room and expected me to balk at Carson’s request.

I was too.

But now? Now I might have just taken an ounce of pleasure in watching her stiffen at my words. That’s not saying I have a clue how I’ll manage my current workload and babysitting her . . . but I’ll deal with it somehow if the reward is putting her in her place somewhat.

We all jump when the ringer in Carson’s phone breaks the silence-filled tension in the room. “Carry on. I have to take this,” he murmurs as he holds his finger up and moves to the other side of the room.

Stevie huffs. “As I’ve said over and over and over again, I don’t need a babysitter. I’m a grown woman who is just blowing off some steam as us grown-ups are allowed to do.”

I pick up my phone and enter #StevieLancaster in the search bar on Instagram. My screen fills with picture after picture of her antics and debauchery over the past few weeks. Drunken selfies. Her trying out a stripper pole somewhere. Middle fingers held up to the photographer. Dancing in a nightclub clearly enjoying herself with the men on either side of her. “Clearly you do,” I murmur as I hold up my phone to show her the endless supply of evidence. “Because this? This doesn’t look like you’re playing tennis to me.”

“Like you follow tennis.”

My chuckle is low and unflinching. “I don’t have to follow tennis to know you look like a Kardashian mixed with Lindsay Lohan at her lowest in these pictures.”

Her eyes narrow as she glares at me. “I spent time with the Kardashians last month. For the record, we had a blast.” Condescension drips from her words.

“Seems like a good enough reason to miss the opening of the Indio Springs tournament.”

“I had a pulled groin muscle.”

I flick through more pictures and find one dated before the Indio Springs tournament. Stevie is on a dance floor somewhere with drinks in both hands and her head thrown back. “Clearly your pulled groin was from twerking too hard.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“No one disputes that, but then again, an asshole might have treated the nearly naked woman who passed out in his bed last night entirely different, Scarlett.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her smile is smug.

“Are you in the habit of leaving cash for the men you sleep with? Because if that’s the case, we have a lot more shit to deal with than just your partying.” I challenge, eyes locked on hers without a flicker of emotion on my face.

I don’t know why I get a rise out of pushing her buttons but I do. She paid me like I was her whore and now in an unexpected twist of fate, I’ll be the one getting paid to hold her feet to the fire.

And it’ll be a lot more than four hundred dollars, I can assure you.

She glances over her shoulder to where Carson is still on his phone before staring at me, teeth gritted and anger firing in those green eyes of hers. “No, but perhaps I was paying for the hotel room I ended up occupying since its owner didn’t exactly get to sleep in the bed himself.”

Her words surprise me when I don’t want them to. A sliver of decency in the overbearing wild-child façade.

STEVIE

SURPRISE FLICKERS ON HIS FACE and I take the moment to walk toward the window and look down at the pool party I’m missing. Carson’s still talking on the phone, and I’m even more desperate to get out of this hotel room.

And then there’s Finn. The prospect of Finn being my keeper does make things more than interesting, but the last thing I need is the man I was going to have sex with last night as my babysitter.

I mean, it’s one thing to know you’re walking into a meeting where you’re most likely going to be corralled and caged back into your disciplined life. It’s a whole other thing to find out the man who’s been chosen to be your keeper is the same man who elicited from you the strongest orgasm of your life.

Shock. Anger. Confusion. Denial.