Brother to the Boss (Managing the Bosses 8)

When he’d agreed to have the news crew come to report on Little Lake Country Club he had expected it to go more smoothly, but the potatoes weren’t the first problem they’d had. It seemed like the minute someone was going to be watching, things that had been running perfectly fell to pieces. Go figure. Now, they had an hour to finish getting everything ready, and Mark wasn’t in his ‘high society country club owner’ suit yet.

Thank goodness for Erica, honestly. Without her, he was pretty sure the place would be a shambles after the day they’d had, but she was always right where he needed her to be, and had an innate sense for what needed to be done to whip things into shape.

If he’d had more time, Mark might have stopped to linger on other things he liked about Erica. Like the way she’d looked in his bed that morning. But those thoughts would lead to places that he shouldn’t be going with an hour to finish getting ready, and so Mark reluctantly turned his considerations to everything else that needed to be prepped for the evening, and kept his shower short.

A few minutes later, dressed in a well-fitted suit, he made his way back downstairs, careful to avoid anyone carrying a tray of food. Getting a mess on his suit was not something he wanted to deal with.

“Potatoes dealt with?” he asked as he passed Michael in the kitchen, and the manager nodded. “Good.”

He headed out into the main part of the clubhouse, looking over the big room in the front where the guests gathered, and sticking his head into the ballroom. Everything looked immaculate. The cleaning staff had done an excellent job. From there, it was onto the green to see if all of the trainers had arrived and knew their roles. There were a few guests moving through the course, and Mark knew by the time the news crew arrived the early evening crowd would have finished filtering in, so there would be plenty of people for the camera to see. In fact, he’d specifically called in a few of his wealthier regulars to make sure that people saw just who played golf at Little Lake.

The first news story about the club had been just a blurb, more because Alex was famous than because he was. ‘Billionaire’s Brother Opens a Country Club’, or something. But this time the story was about Mark and his business, and he had every intention of making sure that it was not only favorable, but glowing.

“You look like you’re drawing up a plan to take over the world,” Erica said, stepping away from a group she’d been chatting with to stand just a little too close to him for propriety.

“Just thinking about the news piece they’re going to run on us,” Mark said, answering her smile with one of his own. “So I guess something like that, yeah.”

“Oh, I see,” she laughed. “Well, I’m sure it’s going to be great. Before you know it we’ll be overrun with members.”

“You’ve got more faith in the press than I do,” Mark said. “The way they’ve treated Alex hasn’t really inspired much belief in their sense of fair play, or their honesty.”

“You’re being approached by the golf channel, not a gossip rag,” Erica said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “It’s a totally different thing. Trust me, this is going to be just what the country club needs to really take off.”

Mark looked down at her, eyebrows lifting. “When did you become such an optimist?” he demanded, only half teasing.

“When I caught you,” she answered.

Before he could say anything about it she was gone, sauntering back to the guests she’d been instructing, and Mark watched the sway of her hips with longing. The news crew would hopefully be quick about their business, because he had business of his own he wanted to take care of. As soon as possible.

“Mr. Reid,” a young man’s voice said over his shoulder, and Mark dragged his eyes away from Erica’s backside to find one of the caddies waiting for his attention. “They want you up at the clubhouse. The news crew just pulled in.”

“Thank you, Derrick,” Mark said, immediately starting up the slope toward the building at the top.

This was it. Go time.

He made it up to the clubhouse and in through a side door in time to welcome the reporter and his crew in through the main foyer. Already the cameras were rolling, and he felt a little self-conscious in their glare, but he reminded himself that Alex would know exactly what to say in a situation like this one, and that if his brother could do it, he could, too. They were going to see nothing but confidence in this interview.

“Welcome to Little Lake Country Club,” he said, stepping forward and offering his hand to the reporter. “I’m Mark Reid, owner of the establishment.”

“Mr. Reid,” the reporter said. “It’s very nice to meet you. I’m Jason. We’re so glad to be here at your club, and can’t wait to take a look around.”

“Happy to hear it. And just as happy to take you on a tour, if you’re ready

?”

“Ready and willing,” Jason answered, and gave Mark the kind of smile that newscasters always seemed to have: wide and white and full of very straight teeth.

“Fantastic,” Mark said. “If you’ll just follow me this way I can give you a tour of the clubhouse, and then we’ll head out onto the green and let you get a look at that, if that sounds good?”

“Sounds like a plan,” the newscaster said.

Mark led him through the foyer, and into the big room with the couches and the fireplace that would probably be more popular in winter and the fast-approaching autumn than it was now. He didn’t, of course, say that to the news people. Even so, there were a few patrons scattered across the indulgently padded leather furniture, with glasses of wine or tumblers of whiskey in their hands. Mark nodded to all of them, and they all professionally ignored the news crew, probably more than used to seeing the paparazzi hanging around.

From there, Mark took them into the ballroom with its sleek wooden floors and crystal chandeliers. “This room, like the rest of the clubhouse, will be available to reserve for weddings or parties,” he said as they stepped inside. “And of course we’ll hold some of our own events here, particularly as the weather outdoors becomes colder. And right through here,” he continued, “is the restaurant.”

It was as well-furnished as the rest of the place, with heavy tables of dark wood and comfortable chairs. A fully-stocked bar sat against one end of the room, just past the door they’d come in through, and on the opposite side was a patio that overlooked the golf course. He watched the camera pan, getting a full view of the room and the patrons already being seated for dinner. They were still only half full, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing when you were catering to the rich and the famous. They did like exclusivity.

“Upstairs,” he told the news crew, “there are suites for private conferences, bridal parties, and the like, as well as my own rooms.”