Page 22 of The Cowboy and the Bombshell
“So, let me see if I have this right? This girl, she’s beautiful, smart, sharp, and she puts you in your place when you’re being a belligerent ass?”
“Yes,” I ground out thought clenched teeth.
Silas slapped his hand down on the table. “Well, shit, Stone. If you don’t want her, I sure as hell do. Any woman who can take what you dish out and give it back just as good has got to be one hell of a catch.”
I narrowed my eyes at my friend, the thought of him and Penelope together making my jaw clench. He didn’t miss it, and it only made him laugh harder. “Oh, hell. You got it bad, boy.” He was saved from the beating I wanted to give him by the arrival of our food.
Throughout the rest of our meal, I steered conversation away from Penelope and back toward the project. Silas was as excited about the theme as I was, and we reviewed some of the aspects of security he wanted to handle while construction was still happening, things like camera placement and emergency exits and the like. I told him he had complete control and that I would arrange a meeting with the head contractor as well as his staff tomorrow. Then we settled into regular bullshit conversation, the type we’d been having since high school.
It was early evening when we headed for the house. Walking in, I heard Penelope’s laughter coming from the kitchen and immediately saw a suitcase sitting at the bottom of the stairs.
What the hell? Was she inviting guests to the house? Without asking me?
Then another thought hit me. Did this bag belong to her boyfriend? Some yuppie schmuck from SoHo or something. Some pale man-boy with a sweater vest and horn-rimmed glasses who insisted on eating vegan and drinking artisan beers.
I hated him already. She could do better than that loser.
Well, I’d show them. There was no way that asshat was gonna be staying in this house. She was here to work, not traipse around with her beatnik boy toy. He was taking his piece of shit suitcase and he was outta here. Tonight.
“What the hell are you doin’ now, Blondie?”
Silas hissed quietly behind me. “What the fuck, Stone?” I ignored him. My anger was up and there was no stopping me.
Penelope came into the foyer, a confused look on her face. “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Montgomery?” she said, her tone docile, her eyes full of contempt.
I pointed at her boyfriends busted up suit case. “Get that piece of shit out of here.” He needed to leave. Now.
Penelope looked at the bag, confused. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. He needs to leave.” Silas stood beside me, shaking his head.
“Who needs to leave?” Penelope asked, looking at Silas. “He’syourguest.”
“What?” I said, and Silas looked at me, eye brow raised. Yeah, we were all confused. “Not him,” I hooked my thumb at Silas. “Him.” I said, again pointing at the bag.
Penelope frowned. “My bag? Why? And why do you keep referring to it as ‘him’?”
Now I was the one who was frowning. “Your bag?” There was no way. A New York girl would never have such a busted up suit case. Constance had always insisted on Louis Vuitton or some other smarmy brand. This thing looked like it was from the seventies, all worn brown leather and large buckles. There was no way this was Penelope’s.
But as he walked over to it, I realized I was wrong. The tag hanging from the top was purple and had flowers all over it. “Yes,” she said, grasping the handle and pulling it away from me. “My bag. I Realize that it may not live up to your standards, but I would appreciate it if you would not give me any grief about it. It’s not any concern of yours.”
We stared at each other for a moment, her face defiant, mine baffled. What the hell was going on?
The tension was broken when Silas slapped me on the back, then moved past me toward Penelope, his hand extended. “Hello. I’m Silas Harrison, Security Manager forThe Alamo.”
Penelope faced Silas, a brilliant smile on her face. “Hello Mr. Harrison. Penelope Lund, marketing. A pleasure to meet you. Now,” she turned to me, a look of barely restrained violence thrown my way, “if you’ll both excuse me, I have to take my ‘piece of shit’ bag and go to my room. Good night, Silas,” she said politely, granting him another smile. It dropped from her face as she glared at me again. “Mr. Montgomery.” And with that, she heaved the bag up the stairs, stomping the whole way.
Silas and I watched her go. When she was out of sight, he turned and punched me full force in the arm, my bicep going numb with the hit. “Ow! Shit, man. What the hell?”
“What the hell, is right, you sorry fuck. What the hell was that?”
Rubbing my arm, I put on my signature scowl. “Nothing.”
“That girl didn’t deserve one ounce of the shit you just flung her way. You wanna tell me what that was all about?”
He was right, the ass. But how could I tell him what went through my head? How could I possibly explain that at the sight of the ratty suitcase, my stupid brain had conjured up an entire scenario, spiraling me into a vortex of rage over a man who didn’t even exist? That just the thought of Penelope having a boyfriend had made me so angry, I blew up at her again.
I was so screwed over this girl. I knew it, but I still denied it.
