Page 4 of The Player Penalty
“Did you take your medicine?”
This question has been asked a thousand times. Every morning, I sit down to some yogurt, a cup of tea, and my medicine organizer. It should be a habit, but I still need to be reminded. I can’t even remember to keep the organizer filled; Dad does it for me.
“Taking it now.” I gulp some water, shove the pill in my mouth, and swallow. It’s backward from what other people do, but taking the pill first makes me choke.
“Boone says you’re doing great work. Maddie has been singing your praises to him nearly every day.”
I frown at the pride in his voice. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Don’t thank me. It’s all your doing,” he says. “Boone says you’ve taken on this museum effort alone.”
The internship is not my doing. I didn’t earn it, and I’ve not proven myself. After Sarah Rivers quit her job, Boone’s fiancée, Maddie, was supposed to become my supervisor, which means she checks every few days to see if I’m alive. I’m there because my father is Pete Webb. I may be lucky to have such a great dad, but I didn’t earn it.
“It’s creative work, and I enjoy it.” That much is true. It was one of Sarah’s projects, and now it’s mine. She said I was a natural talent and put me in charge. She should not have. “It keeps me busy.”
Dad frowns before saying, “It’s time for me to go. Care to drive in together?”
“I have a class this afternoon. It’s one of my very last before the final, so I can’t afford to miss it.”
“I’m proud of you, Lily Flower. Your mother would be, too.”
Bragging about me is one of Dad’s favorite activities. It was uncomfortable as a little kid, and now I’m trying to see it for the compliment it is. He raised me all alone, making my success his. It’s also possible he never thought I would get this far, which is fair because I sometimes didn’t either.
My alarm goes off. “Time to go.” I check my phone and still no email.
This is silly. Don’t job offers come from phone calls? A text is too informal, and they won’t send me a letter in the mail. If they did, letters could get lost. That happens all the time. If it’s an email, I might have written my last name with one B instead of two.
Should I call them?
“Lily. It’s time to go.” Dad taps my arm. “Your alarm went off.”
I forgot.
“Oh, that’s right.”
∞∞∞
On her last day, Sarah Rivers suggested I take over her office. It was a nice offer, but I refused. It’s not mine, and accepting it might make Boone Rivers and everyone else think I want to stay. They already don’t know what to do with me. Instead, I spend my days in the museum workroom. It’s located in a forgotten corner, so I’m left alone. Unfortunately, the work won’t leave me alone.
This started as a manageable project, but now it’s a pile of half-finished tasks. It shouldn’t be so difficult. Sarah offered to put me in charge, and I foolishly accepted. It’s updating a few displays and changing out pictures. It’s simple, and I should be able to do it.
I stare at the spread of glossy pictures in front of me. Boone Rivers stares back at me. Even in a photo, his dark eyes judge me. He told Dad I was doing a great job, but he said that to make Pete Webb happy. He wants my father to stick around and thinks flattering me will help. It would make my life easier if he were wrong.
I give up on the pictures and switch to mapping out a new shelf.
Why would someone with no museum curation experience volunteer to do this? At least there’s only one hour to go.
The heavy wooden door creaks open, letting in an overly loud sigh. My lack of productivity must have been noticed, and I’ll be fired. Again.
Thank goodness.
“Oh, it’s you.” My shoulders sag as I sit back on the wooden stool.
Julian’s clothes always look tailored to his frame, and today’s polo shirt is no exception. The top two buttons are undone, offering me a tantalizing glimpse of chest hair. His broad shoulders stretch the material enough to hint at perfectly muscled proportions.
After meeting him last year, I put more effort into my appearance, enough that I almost imagined myself pretty. Next to Julian, I’m still the same sloppy girl he first met.
“It’s me. I started to think you were hiding somewhere.” He looks around the workroom and picks up on the mess. “Perhaps you were.”
