Over the course of her turn, she outshoots both Spencer and me, coming in only behind David. Her boss looks pleased by her performance.
It doesn’t surprise me in the least. Penelope is good at everything she tries, as far as I can tell.
“You were good at that,” I say once she hands the shotgun to a coworker who looks nervous to follow her.
She smiles. “Why don’t you seem surprised?”
I chuckle. “Because I’m not.”
Meeting my eyes with a soft expression, Penelope parts her lips, quietly watching me.
Pride gives way to another emotion. Something darker and more primal. Lust.
Stop. I won’t let myself entertain the fantasy of Penelope and me tearing up the sheets in that bed upstairs.
I swallow past a lump in my throat.
When the results of the competition come in, it’s no shocker that her boss, David, won. It’s become obvious why he chose this place for the corporate retreat. But Penelope and some older guy in management have tied for second place.
Congratulatory handshakes are shared all around as the event wraps up. Penelope leans against me, resting her head on my shoulder, and all the thoughts in my head vanish.
“Congratulations,” I murmur past the lump in my throat as I place my arm around her shoulders.
She makes a noncommittal sound.
“You okay?” I ask, my voice coming out deep and gruff.
She lifts her head, meeting my gaze. Her eyes are so expressive. They’re like the ocean at sunset, unpredictable in their depths. You know a lot is happening beneath the surface, but you’re never sure exactly what.
“I’m fine.”
“Your feet bothering you in those boots?”
Her lips part as her eyes widen. “How did you know?”
I chuckle and shake my head. “Just a hunch.”
They look new. And now she’s leaning against my shoulder, happy to let me support her body weight, so it wasn’t hard to guess.
“I think we’re about done here,” I say. “Should we head inside? Warm you up a bit?”
She nods, and after we return our equipment, we head inside.That night at dinner, I’m in awe of Penelope.
As she introduces me to more of her coworkers and I watch her work the room, it becomes obvious. Penelope isn’t just book smart—she’s people smart. She can easily read the situation and tailor her approach. She knows how to talk to people, how to make conversation—both the small-talk stuff that I suck at, like in line at the coffee shop, and the bigger stuff like politics or science—without getting emotional or offending someone.
I’m in awe.
But I also have to work to keep my frustrations in check.
Not only did her misogynistic boss ignore her most of the evening, but anytime she tried to bring up new ideas in the conversation, he was belittling, almost as though he was thinking let the grown-ups talk, Penny.
Seriously, what the fuck is with everyone calling her Penny? I know for sure she doesn’t like the nickname. But she just kept clenching her jaw all night and enduring it, so I did the same.
Now that we’re back in our hotel room for the night, Penelope sits on the bed to remove her heels one by one.
“What a disaster of an evening,” she mutters, rubbing the arch of her foot.
“It wasn’t that bad. You kicked ass at shooting.”
She smirks. “I kinda did. But believe me, it was still a disaster. David sees me as little more than an overpriced intern.”
I can’t defend David because he is kind of a dick, so I do the next best thing I can think of. Strolling over to the bar cart, I select a bottle of Jameson and grab two glasses. I know I can’t fix how she’s feeling, but maybe a glass of something potent will help relax her a little.
Penelope raises her eyebrows as I pour her a glass. “You sure drinking whiskey is a good idea when we’ll be sharing a bed?”
I shake my head at her, feeling unsettled, even though I’m sure she’s kidding. A girl like Penelope would never be interested in me. “I promise to keep my hands to myself.”
Her eyes flash with some unreadable emotion.
When I cross the room and hand her a glass, she accepts, then settles back against the pillows. I take a seat beside her with my own glass.
“Thanks, Wolfie.” She lets out a long sigh and takes a sip of her drink. “I hate not being taken seriously. Being looked down on.”
I nod. Penelope and Connor grew up without much, and she’s been through a lot. As a result, she’s driven to overcome her past. To prove herself. And I get that.
Scowling, she says, “I hate when people assume I won’t amount to much.”
I meet her eyes. “So prove them wrong.”
She smiles, her full mouth lifting. “Oh, I intend to.”
She licks her lips, still watching me, and for a second I’m sure she wants me to kiss her. But that can’t be . . . can it?
