The guy standing before us is barely taller than Penelope’s five feet, two inches. He’s dressed in an oversize sport coat that nearly swallows his frame. His hair is thin and greasy, about chin-length, and has been hastily tucked behind his ears.
“Spencer, this is Wolfie Cox.”
I extend a hand toward him. “Nice to meet you.”
“Did you get the itinerary for this weekend?” Spencer asks Penelope while not-so-subtly checking out her tits.
Asshole.
“Itinerary?” She blinks.
Spencer’s mouth curls into a smirk. “I must have forgotten to send it to you.”
Her eyes narrow. Something tells me there’s a story here, like maybe there’s a reason he forgot to send it to her. Or he frequently “forgets” to give her important information. Dick.
Spencer digs his phone from his pocket and flashes the screen at Penelope. “See? The whole weekend is laid out.”
“Can I see this?” I quickly grab the phone from him without waiting for his reply and forward myself the message. My phone buzzes in my pocket with an incoming text.
No way we’re going to be at this guy’s mercy all weekend, or have Penelope miss critical events because he “forgot” to tell her.
“Thanks,” I murmur, flashing the douche a smooth smile.
The lines around Spencer’s mouth deepen as he gives me a concerned look. But that’s fine. I’m not here to make friends or impress him with my manners. Fat chance of that happening, anyway.
“We’re going to go find our room and get settled. We’ll catch up with you later,” Penelope says, pulling me away with a tug.
We step into the elevator, and when I take my phone from my pocket, she scrambles for it, grabbing it from my hand.
“Penny.” I give her a smirk, raising one brow.
Her gaze snaps to mine. “Don’t you dare.”
We dissolve into easy laughter as she scans the itinerary.
While we locate our hotel room, she fills me in on the weekend’s events. Skeet-shooting competition this afternoon. A whiskey tasting tomorrow.
Good. At least her bosses have enough sense to know that whiskey shouldn’t be mixed with firearms. There’s also a dinner tonight, followed by a cocktail reception.
In other words, a lot for me to endure while pretending to be the perfect and adoring boyfriend in front of Penelope’s colleagues. But I said I was going to be here for Penelope, and I will.
I press my fingers to my temples as Penelope scans the keycard and steps into our hotel room.
The room is spacious with a seating area beneath the windows and a friendly bar cart parked nearby. But that’s not what makes my stomach sink. A king-size bed dressed in gray linens dominates the center of the room—looming like a dark cloud instead of a bed. A bed that I side-eye the fuck out of. Because, fuck.
Penelope seems unconcerned by the notion that we’ll be spending tonight together in that bed. She strolls inside and leaves her rolling suitcase beside the closet.
“This is nice,” she murmurs, running her fingers along a small marble table that holds a coffee maker and an assortment of tea bags.
I make a noncommittal sound. Nothing will happen in that bed. It’s just that this is the first time I’ve ever been alone with Penelope—for an entire weekend. It’s only natural that I should feel on edge. Right?
Fuck. I’m losing it. And according to that itinerary, I’ll be expected to fire a gun in a little while—without shooting Spencer or any other motherfucker who dares to look at Penelope’s tits again.
Good times.
“Did you need the bathroom?” she asks, eyeing me from across the room.
I gesture for her to go ahead. “It’s all yours.”
She nods, murmuring something about a two-hour car ride, and scurries away. I set my duffel bag into the closet and find a spot to plug in my phone charger.
Jesus. I scrub one hand through my hair. What the fuck am I doing here?
When Penelope reemerges a few minutes later, she’s changed her outfit and freshened her makeup, by the looks of it. Her lips are now painted a berry color.
Her features are delicate with high cheekbones and wide, round eyes that are curious and filled with intelligence. Her mouth is lush and full, and her honey-colored hair curls ever-so-slightly on the ends over her perky breasts. But that perfect exterior is only part of the package. She’s kindhearted, and has a quick wit and a wonderful sense of humor. Penelope is a treat for all the senses.
“You ready for this?” she asks.
I glance at the time. The skeet-shooting competition starts in thirty minutes.
At my hesitation, Penelope laughs. “You’re starting to question why you signed up for this, aren’t you?”
“Not at all. It’s going to be fine,” I say, but her raised brows tell me I’m not at all convincing.
Try harder, dude.
I’m here to help her, not stress her out. You’re doing this for Connor. At least try to be a decent friend.
