Page 28 of Not the Puck Bunny

“Good,” I said lightly. “How's the development side going without me?”

He finally lowered his menu and looked at me with eyes that matched mine. “Slowly,” he said with a grunt of displeasure.

“Your father has already fired two people he hired to replace you,” Cynthia said. “I keep telling him to sell that team and bring you back to the office where you belong. You have better things to do than play around with that nonsense. I have no idea what he was thinking.” She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.

“I'm enjoying the challenge,” I said, trying not to bristle too visibly.

It didn't surprise me my father went through a couple of replacements already, but they probablyquit, rather than being fired. He'd never been an easy man to work with, or for.

“But if the development side is suffering.” Cynthia looked at Quentin meaningfully.

I felt as though I'd stepped between two land mines. Either way I moved, I risked being blown up.

Now that I thought about it, I couldn't remember a time when I wasn't placed in the middle of them, usually deliberately. One or the other expected me to take sides. Or at least mediate. That was what I usually did; try to calm them down until they found some kind of common ground.

But as I sat there with them, in the extravagant opulence of one of the most exclusive restaurants in Lowball Bay, I knew I didn't want to do it anymore. In the short amount of time since I'd started working with the Sea Dragons, I had more independence than I ever had before in my thirty years of life. Being away from them was good for me.

I caught the eye of a server. He nodded and hurried over to take our orders.

The ceasefire that lasted while he stood there ended when he moved away.

“I'm sure Andrea would like to return to work with you in your office,” Cynthia insisted.

“Andi is where she is for areason,” Quentin replied tightly. He seemed to be rapidly losing patience with the subject.

“What is that reason?” my mother snapped. “Because if we're losing money because of her absence, then this nonsense needs to end.”

“The losses aren't significant,” Quentin argued.

“Then why is she there?” Cynthia demanded. “Why in the everloving hell did you buy an ice hockey team?”

Could a hole please open up under my chair and swallow me?I thought.

The universe didn't oblige.

“Because she needed a challenge,” Quentin replied. “The opportunity to further develop her skills. To succeed in business these days, a CEO has to be well-rounded.”

“She’ll be well-rounded all right,” Cynthia muttered.

I stared at her. Had I heard her right? Had she really said something so bluntly mean about me?

She stared back at me. Blinked a couple of times. “That wasn't what I meant.”

“I think it was,” I said coolly. “I think you've been wanting to say that for a very long time. You know what? I don't give a shit.”

“Andrea, language?—"

I interrupted her. “My name is Andi, and I'll speak how I want to. I'm comfortable with the way I look and I don't give a fuck if you're not. That's your problem, not mine. I'm not going to sit here and take bullshit from you anymore.” I shoved my chair back, letting the feet scrape painfully across the floor before I rose to my feet.

“Andrea,” Cynthia hissed. “Don't make a scene.”

“Let her go,” Quentin said wearily. “You were out of line. You should know better than to comment on her appearance.”

Cynthia turned back to him and the battle continued as I wound my way through the tables and out of the restaurant.

I will not cry. I will not cry.

I told myself that, over and over again as I walked across the road to the beach. Through a haze of tears, I managed to avoid being run over. That would have been a bad end to a frustrating afternoon.

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