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Fore!(Play)

Chapter 5

Casting

Casting: A prematurely uncocking of the wrists causing loss of power and control.

"For too long, golf has been a pastime for wealthy men. Yet it is one of only a few sports that can be played by all ages, all fitness levels, and both men and women. The course at Swan Creek is older, geared toward a younger, fitter man, and quite frankly, it discourages play by women, seniors, and children. I want to change that."

Warming to my subject, I hand Emmett and Jasper an overhead photo of the course layout. "I've been told that your degree is in landscape architecture with an emphasis on golf course design, Mr. Whitlock. Is that correct?"

After he nods, I start again. "Since you grew up here and this is your home course, you must know every good or bad, difficult or easy, shot on this course. Just off the top of your head, where would you begin to improve the layout?"

Jasper doesn't even hesitate. "Four," he says. "It's the worst hole on this course. I've never understood why it was laid out the way it was. First of all, there's no line of sight to the green, you have to hit up and over the intervening rise, and then because the other side is so steep, your ball rolls off the fairway on either side if you don't hit it straight." With his finger, he traces the areas he's talking about. "If you're a strong driver and are familiar enough with the course, you might hit a decent shot, but for seniors and women, it's next to impossible.

"The drainage has always been a problem. Right here." He taps the map for emphasis. "Water settles right here and takes forever to dry. Carts drive through the area, rutting it up and destroying the fairway. Hitting out of it is a mess. That's because there's a spring in the woods above the hole." With his finger, Jasper traces a line from the woods toward the fairway. "The cart path cuts across it here, diverting the runoff onto the fairway and toward the low spot. I once told Charlie he should move the path and use the runoff to make a water feature."

As Jasper continues to describe his ideas for hole four, I'm reminded of the day he found the spring in the woods. It was early one warm summer morning. I'd tagged along with my dad while he gave Jasper a golf lesson before the club opened. Jasper had already hit three balls into the muddy rough, and when his fourth landed there, he'd thrown his club into the woods and uttered a string of four-letter words that I'd been warned never to say. I must have gasped out loud because Jasper had glanced up at me, and then at my furious father.

"You watch your mouth," Charlie had warned. "The true mark of a man is his behavior on and off the course and around women."

"But she's—"

"My daughter and you owe her an apology."

That was the first time Jasper had truly looked at me as more than just an annoying little girl who seemed to always be in his way when he was working at the club. The sunlight glinted off his too-long shaggy blond curls and his intense blue eyes stared at me. "I'm sorry, Isabella," he said softly. Hearing him say my name sent a strange thrill though me, and I suddenly realized I had feelings for Jasper Whitlock.

This wasn't just a childhood crush. I'd crushed on Mikey Newton when he'd given me a box of candy for Valentine's Day in the fourth grade only to find out that he'd already opened it and eaten half the chocolates, nor was it the giddy feeling I had when Eric invited me to our first middle school dance. No, this was so much more. This was a deep-in-my-gut knowledge that Jasper would always be important in my life.

Time seemed to slow down as we stared at each other. A slight breeze blew his hair into his eyes. He frowned briefly and pushed it back from his forehead. Shadows shifted across his face, and I saw an older, more mature version of the high school boy in front of me. A version that would, unfortunately, break my heart someday.

Before I could answer, Charlie told him to go find his club. He stalked off into the woods and, minutes later, yelled something about a spring. I followed my dad, and we found Jasper bending over a small spring, bubbling up from the ground.

"This is the problem, Charlie," Jasper explained. Then he'd glanced down the hill, following the drainage, and began telling my dad what should be done to fix the problem.

"I think you're right, son," Charlie had agreed. "You've got a good eye."

Jasper grinned at Charlie's praise. "Someday, I'm going to design golf courses," he said. "Starting with this one."

He'd done just that, completely redesigning Swan Creek as his senior project. I have a copy of his plans in my desk.

"So, yeah, I'd start with hole four first." His words bring me back to the present.

Jasper grins at me, eyes flashing with excitement when he finishes. For a moment, we share matching smiles. "Exactly," I whisper, before looking away awkwardly.

"I would love the chance to rework this course," he begins. "But I have to say, Ms. Dwyer, that we're looking at a lot of money, several million in fact, and a lot of time to fix this course and do it properly. I have to wonder …" He stops to stare at me. "I have to wonder if the Swann Corporation understands just how much time, money, and effort it's going to take to implement all the changes you've discussed. I can't see how they can ever recoup all the money they'll be investing in this course. I also have to admit that I'm not sure I believe it's worth it."

His arguments are nothing new. I've heard them over and over with my mother and with our business consultant, Phil Dwyer. We've discussed, argued, and planned for years. Swan Creek was the first golf course my dad purchased after he retired from touring. It was old then, and he poured his energy into making it the premier golf course it once was.

Even after he went on to buy other courses and build an empire and fortune from real estate, manufacturing, and consulting, Swan Creek was his first love. I grew up here, and it was our family home for years until I moved away and his health declined. While it's true we could make more money by subdividing and building homes, there are some things more important than money. To my mother and me, Swan Creek is one of those. I need to convince Jasper that he is, too.

"I understand your concerns, Mr. Whitlock," I begin. "But let me assure you the Swann Corporation is fully committed to this endeavor. I've been told personally by the members of the Swann family that they're behind these plans one hundred percent."

"You've …" The leather of his chair creaks when he shifts nervously. "You've spoken to the family?"

"Yes, both Mrs. Swann and her daughter, Isabella."

"Oh." Jasper nods his head. "And, ahh … Are they well?"

"They seem to be." Jasper looks nervous and uncomfortable. Obviously, he wants to ask but can't quite bring himself to do so. "I had several lengthy interviews with both of them when I applied for this position. Although they were devastated by Mr. Swann's unexpected death, I believe they've adjusted and are both actively involved in the business and in other activities. I know Mrs. Swann is enjoying traveling extensively, and Miss Swann is pursuing an advanced degree at an Ivy League university."

"Miss Swann?" he asks.

I pretend not to notice his implied question, continuing on with my answer even though I see a quick look of panic cross Emmett's face. "Yes, Isabella. I believe you two were acquainted when you both lived here."

"She was …" He stops again. "Younger," he finally says. Jasper straightens in his chair, then faces me with a hard, determined look. "You'll have to excuse my skepticism, but in my experience, the Swann Corporation has a habit of withdrawing their support when things get a little uncomfortable or don't meet their expectations."

And there it is. I think to myself as I meet his accusing glare. Hurt, betrayal, and resentment, everything I'm here to rectify.

"I understand your doubt, Mr. Whitlock. That's why Mrs. Swann and her daughter have formed a foundation that will continue to support this course for the next fifty years. Plans are already in place to build single-family garden homes on the strip of land bordering the north side of the course. You might have noticed the townhomes that have been constructed near the entrance. Those are selling briskly. We're breaking ground on two more cul-de-sacs of townhomes next month. The profits from the sale of all the new residences have been pledged to the improvements we've discussed. I hope that information will ease your doubts."

He doesn't answer but nods slightly. Then, looking at both Emmett and Jasper, I ask if they have any more questions. Jasper asks a couple, and Emmett makes a comment or two. He's trying to be supportive, and I flash him a grateful smile. When our conversation ends, I look at Jasper once again. "If you think this position is something you're interested in, I'd like to discuss some additional responsibilities."

Jasper gives me a slight nod, so I continue.

"As you probably know, the Swann Corporation produces its own line of golf clothing as uniforms for the staff at each of its courses and for purchase in the pro shops and online. Sales have been disappointing for years. The decision has been made to make one last effort to improve the line or discontinue it altogether.

"You've had some success with your Nike clothing line. We'd like you to work with our new designer, Alice Brandon, to revamp the brand starting with the uniforms here at Swan Creek. Depending on how successful those are, the designs will be expanded to the other courses, and then offered to the public."

I've been aware of Jasper's disapproving appraisal of my uniform while I've been speaking. He can't hide his grimace. I've chosen the most unflattering plain, dull brown, knit shirt I could find. Two sizes too big, it hangs off my shoulders and bunches around the waist of my matching dull brown pants. It's so ugly I had to force myself to put it on this morning.

"I think," he begins, then clears his throat. "I think new uniforms would definitely be a good idea, and I'd like to help with that."

I want to laugh so badly I can hardly contain myself, and it doesn't help that Emmett punctuates the silence with a loud guffaw. A glance at Jasper shows he's trying hard not to smile.

"Okay then. Well, ahh … let's talk about golf clinics." Hurrying along, I begin describing the golf camps that are planned for teens and pre-teens during the summer. "The high school golf coach will be in charge of the sessions, but we'd like you to get involved with them, too. Make daily appearances, encourage the kids, that type of thing. You might also keep an eye open for any students you think show promise. The Swan Creek golf scholarships are still available. I believe you were a recipient, Mr. Whitlock."

"Yeah, I was," he answers softly. He stares down at the floor, and I wonder if he's remembering the day Charlie Swann gave an eighteen-year-old young man the opportunity to leave his unhappy home life and make his dream of playing collegiate golf come true when he announced Jasper had been awarded a full four-year scholarship to study landscape architecture at the University of Massachusetts at Amherst and would be playing on their golf team.

I remember it well. The awkward thirteen-year-old Bella with the braces and untamable hair had watched from the side of the room as her father embraced the boy he loved like his own son and wished him well. Even then, I loved Jasper Whitlock.

The creak of Emmett's chair brings me back to the present. "There's just one more thing I'd like to discuss with you, Mr. Whitlock, before we move forward with the rest of the contract."

At Jasper's nod, I continue. "I've taken over the duties of the course superintendent, but we have a new head groundskeeper. He's a recent graduate of Cincinnati State Technical College with an associate degree in turf management. His name is Edward Cullen, and he grew up in this area. It's possible you might have known him when you lived here."

"Edward Cullen?"

"Yes. I think he just turned twenty so he might have been too young for you to remember."

"I don't think … Wait. Little Eddie Cullen?"

"Well." I laugh. "He's not so little anymore, but yes, that's probably him." Actually, I know it's him, but Jasper can't know I've known Edward almost as long as he has.

"Wow, and he's the head groundskeeper?"

"Yes, and the acting greenskeeper, too. We're shorthanded at the moment but expect to hire additional ground crew before the summer. Until then, Mr. Cullen is basically in charge of the course itself. He's very eager to see you again and talk about his plans for implementing new, more ecologically sound weed control and fertilizing practices for the course. He frequently quotes your published articles on the subject."

Jasper seems pleased with my news. His tense shoulders have relaxed, and he grins at me. "Great. I like that."

"So, we have one more item to discuss before we move on to your compensation package." Suddenly, I wish we'd never added this addendum to Jasper's contract. What I'm about to do and say will be hard for me to discuss and even more so for him to hear. I'll be lucky if he doesn't just get up and walk out, but this is the one stipulation my mother was absolutely adamant about. Just do it, I tell myself. Like a BandAid, just rip it off.

I pass Jasper and Emmett each a copy and, keeping my eyes on my paper, start reading.

"The Swann Corporation has added a morality clause to your contract." The paper crinkles in Jasper's hand. I can see his white-knuckled fist almost crushing it, but I keep going.

"Due to the unfortunate negative press surrounding the incident with the underage young woman at the Partridge Innduring the last Masters Tournament,the Swann Corporation has set forth the following conditions for employment."

Before I can continue, Jasper is on his feet. I drag my eyes from my copy up to his livid face. "I was not involved with that young woman!" he shouts. "I was the one who figured out she was being trafficked. I was the one who called the police and got her out of there." Closing the distance between his chair and my desk, he leans over me and yells in my face. "I was the good guy, Miss Dwyer, not the bad guy."

Holding his gaze and keeping my voice as even as possible, I answer him. "I know, Jasper. I know."

He blinks rapidly, then jerks away. I wonder if I've made a mistake by using his first name, but it seems to have calmed him. "Please, Mr. Whitlock. Please sit and let me continue." With a resigned sigh, he collapses into his chair. Fatigue and exhaustion so easy to see in the slump of his shoulders. He doesn't look at me when I continue.

"The Swann Corporation, the Swann family, and I, know that you were the real hero that night. They investigated the incident thoroughly and would never have offered you this position if there had been even a hint of impropriety. Unfortunately, some of the tabloids and paparazzi spun the story incorrectly. Even when you were completely exonerated and praised by the police for saving that unfortunate young woman, the stories and theories were still being spread. That's why they feel it's very important for you to avoid being seen in the company of any young man or woman in a situation that could be misinterpreted.

"It's also why—with your permission of course—they'd like to start a small but consistent public relations campaign to counteract some of the negative press." I pause, hoping for some reaction but get none. Jasper stares out the window as if he doesn't even hear me. "So," I start again. "These are the conditions in this clause."

I read them one by one: no drug use, no public lewdness, no disorderly conduct, no gambling, no situations that might reflect negatively on the Swan Creek Golf Course. He doesn't react until I mention public intoxication and the requirement to attend one Alcoholics Anonymous meeting a month.

"I am not an alcoholic," he states emphatically. "I don't need to go to any meetings."

"Your actions this morning would seem to indicate otherwise, Mr. Whitlock." Ouch, I flinch internally at my snarky words. Emmett's chair creaks as he changes position. A quick glance shows me his worried face. Modifying my tone, I continue. "You may not be an alcoholic, but alcoholism is part of your family's history. In addition to the AA meetings, you'll also be required to attend the local Gamblers Anonymous meetings at least twice a month."

Now, I have his attention. Jasper's nostrils flare, his eyes narrow, and his jaw clenches as he glares at me. Afraid I may have pushed him too hard, I make the decision to try to defuse the situation. "Please understand, Mr. Whitlock, these are not my conditions. I'm only relaying to you what the Swann family feels would be beneficial to you."

My mention of the Swann family seems to work, at least a little. Jasper leans back in his chair and relaxes a bit. "Tell me, Miss Dwyer, just how much of my family history do you know?"

I've backed down as much as I'm going to. Time to be assertive again. "I'm the manager of the Swan Creek Golf Club; as such, it's my responsibility to know everything I need to know about my employees. I have a file detailing your education and training, your golf history, both amateur and professional, and your extra-curricular activities. I know you've never used hard drugs and have spoken openly about their negative affect on athletes. I also know you're addicted to gambling. That, plus the drinking and partying that accompanies the gambling, has led to the financial problems you're now facing."

We're in another glaring contest, but I'm going to win this one. "During my conversations with Mrs. Swann and her daughter, they shared a little of your childhood and the family circumstances that led to you spending a great deal of time on this golf course and with them." Jasper's glare has faded, now he just gapes at me. I've gone too far to back down now, and it's time to end this. "I also know that Charlie Swann loved you like a son. He would have been dismayed to see what has happened to you both personally and professionally."

Complete silence fills the room when I finish. I've gone too far. I know it immediately by the look on Jasper's face. Such sorrow, such regret, and so much defeat. Slowly, he rises from his chair, still staring at my face. "If you'll excuse me, I'd like to take a break and visit the men's room." Without waiting for a response, he walks out of the room.

Elbows propped on the desk, I cover my face with my hands, slowly shaking my head as I consider what I just said. I may have won that battle, but I feel like I've lost the war.

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AN: Thank you for reading and reviewing. Many thanks to Sally for catching my mistakes.