Page 35 of Turn Me On

“Cool,” he says, but we’ve arrived at the sixth hole, and Braxton is back to the business of the day. “All right, golf pro. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

I let my club do the talking as I finish in three strokes to his four.

* * *

As suspected, I don’t sign him by the last hole. Braxton will take some time, but he’ll be worth it. He’s a good guy with a solid head on his shoulders and a big heart.

As we leave the clubhouse, the free agent kicker shakes my hand. “Thanks again for your time. I like your style. I like attention,” he says.

Do I ever understand him. “I’ll make sure you get it if you sign with us,” I say.

He’s quiet for a few beats. “I’ll think about it. And thanks for meeting so early. I’m an early riser,” he says, then checks his wristwatch. “This digital watch is like my best friend. I never miss a tee time.”

“I’m an early riser too. Which means feel free to call me any hour of the day.” I figure that’ll help my case with Braxton—I’m almost always available for my clients, or I can be quickly.

A small smile shifts his lips. “Appreciate that. See you soon.”

We go our separate ways, and as I drive to the office, listening to the Friday morning market news, I review the day ahead. Contracts, phone calls, and drinks with the goalie for the women’s soccer team to celebrate the deal Adriana and I struck for her with a yoga clothes maker.

Then, a glimpse of the ballpark intrudes on my day planning.

Ah, hell. I nearly forgot I passed the damn field on the way to work from the course.

I try to focus on my weekend schedule rather than the guy who’ll be fielding on that diamond later. Let’s see…My aunt’s coming to town tonight, so she’ll entice me to play pickleball sometime tomorrow. I’m seeing a play Saturday night with Bryan and some local friends. On Sunday, I’ll indulge in a long run in the hills.

Am I past the ballpark yet?

Almost.

Then on Sunday night I’ll…

But as the road curves closer, I spot the Jumbotron flashing Bandits versus Dragons at 1:10.

Like a rubber band, my mind snaps away from the weekend to right here, right now. Is Zane already at the ballpark, just a few hundred feet away? Or maybe working out inside the facility? Or heading to the diamond for batting practice?

Of course he is.

That’s his fucking job, and he’s doing it.

Keep doing yours.

8

DUE DILIGENCE

Maddox

A few days later, I board the plane in Los Angeles for London, right foot first for luck. A flight attendant in a starched blue suit asks for my ticket, then gives a cheery nod when she reads my name on the mobile app.

“Welcome, Mr. LeGrande. Let me know if I can do anything at all for you,” she says.

“Thank you. It’s good to be back.” I settle into the second row—seat 2A, my usual spot—and check my messages while I still can.

I sent a bcc text to all my clients a few minutes ago, letting them know I’d be traveling for the next eleven hours or so and to contact Adriana if anything should come up. I never want them to worry if they can’t find me easily—unless it’s the middle of the night, of course.

A few have already responded. Crosby replied:Oh my god, whatever will I do with myself if I can’t text you pics of my lunch?

I write back:You mock, but I know you had ramen yesterday and a green goddess chicken salad the day before. Can’t wait for today’s lunch pic.