Big Dick Energy - Cindi Madsen Page 0,24
view. The bar had been too dim to make out the freckles dotting her nose, and in spite of plenty evidence to the contrary, the word sweet still flashed through my brain like a neon sign, along with a memory of sipping strawberry lemonade on the boardwalk.
Maybe that fit. Sweet but with a kick of sour. “Those are some wicked heels,” I said, and she glanced at her feet, seeming to notice she’d lost a shoe. It made her significantly lopsided, a sensation slowly creeping through me as well.
“I’ve always liked shoes that could double as weapons.”
“I’m not sure which is more dangerous: the shoes or your mouth.” It was the wrong thing to say, as my gaze automatically dipped and then fixated on her brightly colored lips.
The phone timer made her jump, and our momentary truce shattered. Penelope wadded up the paper towel she’d used to dab blood off my lip and fired it across the room.
Nothing but net… or trash bag, in this case. For all the vitriol she’d packed into her sports movie slam, the woman obviously possessed a certain level of skills. The way she’d talked about Coach Johnson suggested her knowledge came from more than research.
Penelope swiped at the stray strands that’d fallen from her ponytail, readjusted her blouse and skirt, and turned to find her other shoe. I couldn’t help frowning as she braced a hand on the table and hovered her foot over her other shoe.
“Surely you’re not going to keep on wearing those deathtrap heels,” I said, and she glanced over her shoulder at me. “You twisted your ankle, and those shoes are only going to make it hurt worse. I’ll finish up with the client while you go get it looked at.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
I’d prefer the woman from a minute ago to return, but that ship had clearly sailed so far away it might as well be another planet. “At least sit grab some ice and take a load off during the rest of the meeting. If you sprained it, it’ll at least keep the swelling down.”
The glare she aimed my way matched the intensity in the resolve that set her chin. Keeping her eyes locked on mine, she jabbed her foot into the spiked disco-ball shoe and limped toward the exit, flinching with every step.
“Penny.”
“It’s Penelope. Only my friends call me Penny.” She flung open the door and strode across the hall.
“Of all the stubborn, dangerous, infuriating, sexy…” Strike that last one. Not that it didn’t fit, but from here on out, it was a fact I needed to ignore. I bent to study my reflection in the silver paper towel dispenser. Thanks to the fancy brushed nickel, it was too distorted to tell if I looked like a fighter that’d been in the ring for a couple rounds.
Thanks to Penelope, it kind of felt like it. I straightened my tie and rushed into the conference room for round three.
Penelope was leaned up against the podium, all her weight shifted to her non-injured foot. “Well? Did you guys come to a decision?”
“I tend to agree with Mr. York’s vision,” Mario Avila said, and I forced myself not to show any signs of celebrating. If I dared to fist bump the man, she’d likely lob her other shoe at my head.
Councilwoman Roberts steepled her fingers and placed them under her chin. “I’m fully invested in Penelope’s plan. It’s exactly what I asked for, and what I think would be the best for the city.”
My supposed teammate didn’t so much as glance my way. She aimed a nervous smile at Scott, Club President of the Pythons, and the final judge in this twisted version of American’s Top Architect. I hadn’t known him long enough to suss out whether he was more of a Simon, Paula, or Randy. The last time I’d watched American Idol was when I was sixteen, and it’d been mostly due to Carrie Underwood.
Note to self: introduce Izzie to Carrie and teach her to go all Before he Cheats on any dude who dares to mess with her.
“The truth is, I get both of your visions and I like both of them, too.” Scott leaned in his chair and stroked his chin. With his thinning hair, he reminded me of the thinking emoji Izzie scattered throughout her texts. Then again, they were mostly sarcastic, and I hoped that was where the likeness stopped. “Archer, I’m assuming you can draw yours to the same scale.”
Out of my peripheral,