Page 35 of Forget Me

We parked next to Larissa’s BMW, and Mateo made a big show of helping me out of his Jeep like an actual boyfriend might. For my part, I tried. I clutched the hand he offered and smiled up at him. “Thanks.”

“Of course. Babe.”

I winced at the endearment. It sounded so wrong coming from him to me.

Larissa popped her trunk. “Mateo, help me with my clubs?”

With one powerful movement, Mateo lifted the blush-pink bag from her car and slung it over his shoulder like it weighed nothing.

She led the way into the Spanish Revival–style white stucco mansion that served as the clubhouse. “Since we’ll be discussing the gala, the foundation will cover your club rental.”

“Oh, no,” I said. “I couldn’t ask the foundation to pay for this.”

“We’ll write it off. No big deal.”

“But nonprofits don’t pay taxes. There’s nothing to write off.”

“It’s for a legitimate business purpose, Miriam. It’s like the breakfast meetings we have.”

“But—” I bit my lip. When I hosted the foundation meetings, I did it at Synergy since it was free and offered coffee and snacks at no charge.

Larissa was in charge of both the foundation and of the job I wanted, so I remained silent.

Still, I refused to let the foundation pay for the club rental, so I handed my credit card to the woman at the desk. It cost more than I thought it would—or should—but I’d cut back on takeout to balance my budget.

While we picked our clubs, Larissa went to the locker room. She emerged in a short golf skirt and spiked shoes. Her long, blond hair was pulled back into a jaunty ponytail over a white visor. With our clubs and a bucket of balls, Mateo and I trailed her to the long stretch of green grass. Trees lined the sides and marked the far end. A row of golfers, mostly men, lined up in spaces marked by mesh dividers.

At the square of torn-up grass where she stopped, a handsome, blond man with razor-sharp cheekbones greeted her with a two-cheek kiss.

“Look who’s here!” Larissa linked her arm with his as she turned to face us. “Flavio, this is Miriam from the foundation and her boyfriend, Mateo. Guys, this is Flavio, my fiancé.”

Mateo shook Flavio’s hand. Like Mateo, he was tall and fit and blond, but the planes of his face were harder, sharper. His blue eyes weren’t soft or kind but glittering and hard as sapphires. Though when he spoke, he had an Italian accent I had to admit was sexy.

When I shook his hand, his cologne’s scent hit me like a garbage truck. I sneezed. Larissa gave me a steely glare, and I sniffled and moved farther away from her fiancé.

While Flavio set up at the tee and Larissa posed next to him, Mateo tugged me aside behind another set of golfers. “You didn’t have to pay for my clubs. I could have paid my way. Or I’d have paid for both of us.”

“No. It’s my fault you even have to be here, when you could be doing something”—someone?—“else. I should pay for it.”

“You made a face”—Mateo twisted his lips and furrowed his brow in a reflection of what my face must have done—“when Larissa said the foundation would pay for it. Why?”

I scraped my ballet flat across the turf. “Every dollar the foundation brings in should go to the kids. For anti-bullying programs. Or summer camps. Not golf. I don’t want to take money away from their programs.”

“And yet you want a paid position at the foundation?”

“That’s different. The foundation needs employees to run. It can’t run solely on volunteers.”

“Most volunteers aren’t as diligent as you are.”

Heat rose to my cheeks. “I believe in the foundation’s mission. And I like to do a good job.”

He nodded. “In everything you do.”

I squinted up at him. He spoke like he knew me. Like he saw me.

“Come on, you guys,” Larissa said. “Mateo, I’ll show you first.”

Mateo let her position his feet at the tee. Then she adjusted his grip on the club, standing well within his personal space. I checked Flavio’s reaction. He leaned casually on his club, occasionally waving at the other golfers. Not the jealous type, then.

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