Two rivals. One mistake. A shot we never thought we'd take. Being a professional golfer has always been my dream. But there are parts of the job I hate. Interviews. Tournaments that make me wear skirts. Being nice to Beau Devereaux. I hate that one—and him—the most. Since we were kids, he's had a special way of getting under my skin. As adults, it’s only gotten worse. My best friend's brother will always be the most infuriating man on the planet in his bright, tight, and outlandish golf shirts and his stupid beard covering his annoyingly chiseled jaw. Which is why it’s my worst nightmare that I’m paired with him for a golf tournament in Las Vegas. But I'll do it if it means I get my career back on track after my injury. Good PR can't hurt, right? “Shelby LeBlanc, Beau Devereaux get in fight on 16th green.” “Did Shelby LeBlanc and Beau Devereaux get married in Vegas?” Yes, we did. And yes, we did. I don't want to stay married, but I said I wanted good PR, and somehow this is giving it to us. It's fine. This marriage isn't for love. It's for our careers. Except the looks he gives me now are filled with heat, not disgust. The childhood nickname he calls me doesn't have the same bite. And seeing him shirtless around the house? A woman is only so strong. Now I'm starting to hate how much this feels right. Because this marriage might've been unexpected, but now I'm wondering if Beau and I were always meant to be.