Page 76 of Pros Don't

Take care of her.

Holland

I will.

I pocket my phone and gently slide into the seat next to Mallory. I sit next to her in silence for a couple minutes.

“I’m sorry. We should be practicing.” She makes a move to get up from the golf cart, but I reach out and put my hand on her knee for a fraction of a second, stopping her.

“No.” I shake my head. “My practice is the last thing I’m concerned about right now. And you have nothing to apologize for.”

She slumps back in her seat, bringing her fingers up to massage her temples. “This is the problem, though, Holland.”

“Yeah, it is. That piece of—“

She holds up her hand, cutting me off.

“He assaulted you,” I finish. My chest is tight as an image of Mallory’s terrified face comes into focus again. I stare at her now, to convince myself she’s okay and safe.

“I know,” she says quietly, calmly. “I’m grateful you showed up when you did. But this is what I’ve tried to avoid since what happened at Brevan’s course.”

I don’t understand where she’s going with this, and my anger at the situation is rising. I want to wrap her in my arms, and hold her, and make everything go away.

“This is why, as a woman in a male-dominated field, I have tried my best to keep everything locked down. My emotions, my reactions, even my hair.”

I look over at where her red locks are tied back into her usual tight ponytail.

“I’ve tried to draw as little attention to myself—and the fact that I’m a woman—as possible, because I don’t want it to be a distraction from the work I do. I don’t want people to be able to make comments about my appearance or anything like that. I want the focus to be on my job.”

I consider my emotions on the golf course over the past couple of years. I’ve been exuberant and candid, and the media has eaten that up. No one has questioned whether or not I can do my job. No one has said I’m flighty. But I can imagine if Mallory were to act similarly, it would be headline news. It’s an unfair double standard.

“Okay,” I say slowly. “I get that, and I’m sorry. If people are distracted by you, that’s their fault. Not yours. We’re all responsible for our own actions. Your ex-boyfriend and his dad were out of line, to put it mildly.” There are other words I could come up with to describe them, all of them curses, but I refrain. “They placed blame on you that never should have been placed on you. Whether you’re outspoken or stoic, or however you act around the sport of golf, no one—and I mean, no one—can argue you’re not good at your job,” I tell her. “I’ll fight anyone who does.”

She cuts me with a look, eyebrows arched like she doesn’t believe me.

“What?” I turn so I’mfacing her.

“The reporter at the Grand Masters did,” she says quietly. “And you said nothing.”

I tug in a quick breath. “You saw that?”

She nods once. “I was in the back of the room. I heard what he said. I saw you freeze up. Like it or not, the fact that I’m a woman and I’m your coach is now a talking point. ThrowMost Eligible Misterinto the mix, and it’s basically a disaster. One I don’t want to be subject to, and I don’t want you to have to deal with it as my player. So, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about all of it.”

“Hey.” I grab for her hands. They’re ice cold, and she gasps but doesn’t pull away. I rub her knuckles with the pads of my thumbs. “You are not to blame…for any of this.”

I take a deep breath. This is probably the worst time to admit this to her, but I can’t have her believing that I don’t have her back…not after what Jarret did. And not after finding out about her ex. Maybe this is the best possible time.

“You want to know what I was thinking about when that reporter asked aboutMost Eligible Misterand about you?”

She searches my gaze and doesn’t say anything. I take that as my cue to continue.

“I was thinking about how I had been a jerk to you in the shed. I’m sorry about that, by the way. There’s more I need to tell you, but it can wait. For now, I want you to know that I clammed up when I should have opened up and let you in. I was thinking about how the person I am starting to have feelings for through this entire crazy process is my coach. It’s you, Mallory. I was panicking, yeah, because you’ve told me in no uncertain terms that I’m your boss. I’m your paycheck. You’re not in the market for a boyfriend. I get it. I do. On top of all that, you are so far out of my league it’s almost laughable. You are elegant and poised, and I’m a golfer with a cocky smile and some muscles. I don’t know what to do with myself around you. I can’t stop thinking about how I want to know everything that makes you tick. I want to make you smile and watch you have fun. I want to take you on real dates andhear about your childhood and your dreams for the future. I want to explore a relationship with you. Not a working relationship. A real one. I want to be able to tell reporters that yeah, I’m dating you, and aren’t I the luckiest man in the room?”

I pause and take a breath.

Mallory’s mouth is hanging open, but she snaps it shut. “I—I…wow. I…had no idea. I…”

She trails off, looking bewildered.

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