Page 20 of Golden Days

“What…am I seeing?” he asks, coming to a halt.

“Me losing my will to live,” I mumble against the couch cushion.

“Is there another online scandal?” Ezra asks.

I lift my head just enough to give him a deadpan look. “Wow, thanks. Not this time. I need to find someone to do the pro-am with me by next week.”

“Damn, you gotta get on that,” he says.

“Unhelpful.”

“Where’s the popcorn?” he asks.

I point to the dustpan that’s between me and the coffee table, popcorn kernels threatening to spill out.

“Tsk, tsk,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ll make a new bag.”

“Don’t blame me, this was all Gus’s fault,” I tell him, pulling myself together enough to haul myself onto the couch.

Petunia makes her way to my lap, circles a few times, and promptly sits down.

“Gus is a little angel, how dare you?” Ezra calls from the kitchen. I hear the rustling of cellophane and the beeping of the microwave buttons, and a few minutes later he returns with a bowl full of popcorn. He places it between us on the couch, flops down next to it, and hits the play button.

“By the way, thanks for coming,” I say, keeping my eyes on the screen.

I sense Ezra’s gaze on my profile, but he doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

“Anytime.” He bumps my shoulder with his fist and smiles.

Once the movie ends, Ezra stands, ready to head back to the guest house. Halfway out of the room, he pauses. “What about Hazel?”

I frown. “What about her?” Did he think I was flirting with her today too?

“What if you ask her to do the pro-am with you?”

“I didn’t think about that.” That’s actually not a bad idea. Based on my very limited knowledge of her skillset, she seems like she could do well.

Ezra shrugs. “What do you have to lose? She’s not a pro yet. Could also be a good angle with the media,” he muses.

“How so?” I ask.

“Well, the pro-am is televised. If people see you being friendly with a nice girl, that might paint a good picture.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek. I get what he’s suggesting, but the thought of using Hazel like that—nothing more than a prop to improve my image—makes my stomach sour.

“I won’t ask for more than participation in the game,” I say firmly.

Ezra nods. “Okay.”

“I’ll ask her tomorrow.”

“See? Things are looking up, my friend,” he sing-songs, and vanishes through the door.

I wake to the sound of the vacuum and quickly glance at the clock. Shit, I slept in. Roxana must be here today to deep-clean the mansion. She’s been in my employ for the last two years—not only is she extremely funny, but she’s never once given me reason to doubt her or think she’ll go looking for secrets to sell to the media. Not that I have any; at least, not anymore. Besides Ezra and Rhodes, she’s the only other person who’s set foot in this house.

I throw on a pair of athletic pants and a T-shirt before making my way down the stairs. Maybe I’ll hit the gym with Ezra this morning before going in search of Hazel.

“Good morning, Mister Carmichael,” she says in her thick Russian accent. Her dark red hair is short, the bangs falling perfectly on her forehead. She puts the vacuum away and grabs the duster nearby. “I’m surprised to see you home. You’re usually out on the course by now.”