“That took you all over South America.”
“Since my job was to collect statistical data from the entire continent, I had no other choice, right?” she replied, irritated.
“What I mean, Penny,” her mother insisted, drawling, “you had to be on the move for work, but you could act however you wanted. Now, joining the L.A. Hawks…”
“It’s exactly the challenge I’ve always been up to,” she replied coolly. “Now excuse me, I have to prepare. The new year starts in five days. Tell Dad we’re playing his silly game, so he gets his way.” Then she turned and, like her brother, walked out the door.
“You can’t even walk in heels, Penelope!” her mother called after her.
“Well, thank God my feet are far from my brain,” she replied, pushing the door shut.
Then she squeezed her eyes shut, took three deep breaths, and nodded to herself. Her parents had no idea what she was capable of.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t certain she even knew, herself...
Chapter Eight
What would we call her?” Leon Alvarez leaned back in his chair and tilted his head, apparently considering the options. “I can’t think of anything. Ms. Boss, maybe?”
“Boss is boss,” striker Matthew Payne interjected, who was peeling the red wax off a Babybel cheese.
“Why?”
“Sexism,” Moreau, their goalie, replied, helping the young player out.
“Oh, yeah.” Leon nodded as if he should have figured it out himself. “Then maybe we should invent a title, right? I mean, how am I supposed to address Miss Clark if I don’t know what to call her?”
“By her name, Leon!” Lucy remarked, annoyed. She was a PR consultant and recent proof that Dax could commit to a long-term relationship. She also often accompanied the Dragon as a chaperone to the team. “You don’t call me PR Consultant Lucy, do you?”
Leon grinned. “No, you’re right. I call you a sweet, sweet…”
“Okay, Leon. It’s time for a minute of silence,” Dax said warningly.
The defender rolled his eyes. “You truly don’t get my humor anymore, since frequenting Lucy’s bed. Maybe she can't screw your brains out, but apparently she can screw the humor right out of your body.”
“You should start a scientific study,” Jack suggested dryly. He happened to know someone who could draw up the appropriate statistics. She was their new boss.
“My goodness, you’re worse than a bunch of kids on a sugar rush. Behave yourselves, okay?” Lucy said loudly, rising from her seat and casting a warning look around. “You will not shout, you will not spit on the ground…”
“Who of us has ever spit on the ground before?” Dax asked, snorting.
“Charkov,” Lucy said, glancing at the buzz-cut Russian defenseman, who was known for letting a puck through on the ice, but was extremely effective at bringing down the player who had dared score a goal.
“I have too much saliva, so I spit,” the defenseman said with a thick accent and shrugged.
“Not today!” Lucy replied sharply. “If you want to say something, you make yourself known like this.” She held up an index finger.
Matt cleared his throat audibly. “Are you going to smack our fingers with a ruler if we don’t behave?” he asked earnestly.
“No,” Lucy said tersely. “I’ll aim elsewhere.”
Dax grinned. “I’d be careful, Matt. She has a punching bag at home, and I just finally convinced her to remove my face from it. It’s not yet clear who’s next.”
“Lucy, if we’re going to say something, we’ll say something!” Leon chimed in. “And I have a lot of questions like: Do women with money find it as easy as men with money to find willing sex partners? I’ve always wanted to know. I’m not turned on byrich women, but maybe it’s only because I have so much money myself.”
Jack was about to open his mouth and confirm that Penelope Clark had no problem picking up men, even if she wasn’t one of those women who went searching for it. Just in time, he remembered that the statement might raise a lot of questions.
“Oh God,” Lucy murmured, a hand on her forehead.
