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“You’ve known him long?”
“Way too long.”
“Is he connected with your business life or your personal life?”
“You might say.”
She thought about asking if he was bigger than a bread box. “Just tell me!”
He hesitated, then shrugged. “Your good friend’s husband, that’s who.”
“Dallie?”
He winced. “Don’t say it! I can’t stand hearing that name.”
“Even I know he’s a famous golfer, but—”
“Just about the most famous golfer in the world. He’s won all the majors at one time or another and more regular tour events than anybody can count. Next year he turns fifty, and he’ll start tearing apart the senior tour.”
“But I thought Francesca mentioned that he was the president of some kind of professional golfing organization.”
“Only temporarily. He had to have shoulder surgery not long ago, and he agreed to take on the job of acting PGA commissioner while he recovered. The organization wanted to take its time finding the right person to fill the position permanently, and he was one of the few people everybody mistakenly trusted to hold the position until then. He didn’t much want to do it, but certain people persuaded him.” He frowned.
“You being one of them?”
“The stupidest thing I’ve ever done, considering the fact that the job gives him more ways to abuse power than a South American dictator, and he’s used every one of them against me.”
“That’s hard to believe. Francesca makes Dallie sound like the kindest, most amiable man.”
“He’s a bloodthirsty, power-loving, manipulative, arrogant son of a bitch, is what he is. Now, can we talk about something else? I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast, but you’ve just about made me lose my appetite.”
“The waitress at the country club today said something about signing a petition to get you back on the tour. Does that mean you’re not actively playing at the moment?”
“I’ve been suspended indefinitely,” he said tightly. Those violet eyes turned hard as flint.
“By Dal—By Francesca’s husband.”
He gave a short nod.
“Why?”
“Stuff happens, that’s all.”
When he made no effort to elaborate, she regarded him more closely. “How do I fit into this?”
The arrival of the appetizers gave him an excuse to ignore her. He busied himself with the stuffed jalapeños while she sipped her frozen margarita. A few grains of salt caught on her bottom lip. She flicked them away with the tip of her tongue. “All I have to do is ask Francesca.”
He stared at her bottom lip so long that she was afraid something was wrong. She blotted it with her napkin.
He blinked his eyes. “Francesca has a lot of influence with her husband.”
“And?”
“She’s going to use it to get me back on the tour.”
“I see.” Now she did see. “But only if you agreed to help me.”
“That’s about the size of it.”
