Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 120631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 603(@200wpm)___ 483(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 603(@200wpm)___ 483(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
Every calculated touch advanced her in this little game she was playing. She’d inserted herself as a pawn, working her way across the board, dead set on crowning herself queen. He nearly admired the artistry. But she’d fixed her sights on the wrong king.
Pressing close to his side, she rose on her toes as if to whisper a tender word against his cheek. “There’s still time for Daddy to change his mind, you know.”
“This way,” someone called, and Soren turned just as light flashed, scoring white across his vision. He blinked as a photographer dissolved back into the crowd.
He’d had enough.
Squaring his cuffs, he broke from Olivia’s octopus-like grip. “If you’ll excuse me. I see someone I must catch. Olivia, why don’t you tell the ladies about the work you’ve been doing with your father?” Anchoring her to the group of nosy women, he made his way toward the door.
Texting his driver, he ordered his car to be brought up right away.
When he crossed paths with Warren again, the older man once again tried to monopolize him. Like father, like daughter. “Soren, come meet the Rasputins.”
“Hello.” Soren offered a quick greeting, stood for a few minutes of small talk, then told Warren he’d see him on the green first thing.
Mercifully, he made it in and out in under two hours. But when he texted Jocelyn to see if she was still awake, she sadly didn’t answer.
Disappointment only stung for a split second. She needed to rest up. Tomorrow was a big day for her, and afterward he planned to keep her up all night.
On the drive back to the hotel, he called Logan again.
He sounded tired when he picked up, and the television played softly in the background. “Your dog’s afraid of thunder.”
“Is it raining there?”
“Pouring. A storm tore in off the coast about an hour ago. You almost lost power.”
“The generators will kick in if anything goes out.”
“I gotta say, Soren, it’s no treat having a two hundred pound horse on your lap. I think King believes he’s a lap dog.”
He thought of all the times King deferred to Cordelia. “Yeah, he’s a bit sensitive. I’ve been working on ways to toughen him up.”
“You should get one of those weighted vests. I hear they calm dogs down during storms.”
The thought of King, frightened and alone, triggered a strange paternal desire to rush home and protect him. But that was impossible. He still had to get through tomorrow morning’s round of golf before he could jet back home.
“Give him some treats and try rubbing his belly. He loves that.”
“I don’t think you understand my current predicament. He’s got me pinned to the floor with no intention of letting me up.”
“Try putting on music to drown out the thunder.”
“I have the TV on, but it’s not really helping. He’s shaking like a leaf. Face it. You got a lemon.”
“He’s not a lemon,” he growled, hating the thought of his boy trembling. “He’s only three.”
“That’s like twenty-one in dog years.”
“When did you become such a fucking dog expert?” Frustrated that he was two hundred miles away and helpless to help his dog, he snapped, “Keep petting him and don’t leave him alone if he’s scared. I’ll check back in in the morning.” And ended the call with a huff.
Soren arrived at the country club just as dawn broke clean and cold over the Newport golf course. The conditions were reserved for the truly ambitious, not those with champagne headaches who would wince at even the greyest October sky.
He was ready to start the day. Every hole moved him one step closer to getting home. He searched the club promenade and course for any sign of Warren. All the LSVs were parked neatly in a slanted row, young caddies waiting sleepily to earn their tips that day, but the man was nowhere in sight.
Frost still silvered the rough where the sun hadn’t reached. Soren selected the most alert caddie. “Are you available?”
“Yes, sir.” The young boy instantly perked up.
“Good. You’re with me. I want to move fast today, so try to keep up.”
The boy nodded and moved Soren’s clubs to an unclaimed golf cart.
Soren checked his watch as he paced, waiting for Warren to arrive. The fairways rolled out ahead in long ribbons of green. Beyond the fourth green, the Atlantic threw itself against the rocks in slow, foaming crashes. Salt air carried the mineral bite of the sea on a dick-shriveling breeze. Later, the scent of cut grass and cigar smoke drifting from the back holes would take the lead.
“Christ, Hawthorne, this is a tee time made for summer,” Warren called, strolling in with a privately appointed caddie at his back. Unlike the boy Soren had selected, this middle-aged caddie wore a navy polo shirt with the Aldrich crest. “You got something against sleep?”