Contents
The Cowboy and The Bombshell
Copyright
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE Penelope
CHAPTER TWO Penelope
CHAPTER THREE Stone
CHAPTER FOUR Penelope
CHAPTER FIVE Stone
CHAPTER SIX Penelope
CHAPTER SEVEN Penelope
CHAPTER EIGHT Stone
CHAPTER NINE Penelope
CHAPTER TEN Stone
CHAPTER ELEVEN Penelope
CHAPTER TWELVE Stone
CHAPTER THIRTEEN Penelope
CHAPTER FOURTEEN Penelope
CHAPTER FIFTEEN Stone
CHAPTER SIXTEEN Penelope
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Stone
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Penelope
CHAPTER NINETEEN Penelope
CHAPTER TWENTY Penelope
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE Stone
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO Stone
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE Penelope
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR Stone
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About The Author
Socials
Other Works
The Cowboy
and
The Bombshell
By
Dove Cavanaugh King
Copyright
The Cowboy and The Bombshell
Copyright 2020 by Dove Cavanaugh King
All rights reserved. ISBN: 9798647968715
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying , recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
All references to brands, song titles, artists, movies, characters, and actors made in this book are the property of their sole copyright owners.
Cover Design: Haelah Rice Covers
Proofreader: Eve R. Hart
Dedication
To my husband and son,
who cheered for me every step of the way
To Emily,
who didn’t complain when I
yammered on and on
To Shawn & Sandra,
the original Cowboy and Bombshell
And to every person who thinks that they could someday maybe do that thing they have always wanted to do.
Trust me.
You can.
CHAPTER ONE
Penelope
This was it. This was the day I had been working towards for the last seven years. Everything I had done, everything I had sacrificed, had been for this.
Everything I ever wanted was hanging in the balance of this one meeting. Nothing could go wrong today.
Nothing.
I studied myself in the polished steel doors of the elevator, checking again to make sure my outfit was perfect.
Pencil skirt just the right length to entice but not distract? Check.
Silk blouse in a beautiful royal blue to perfectly accentuate my eyes and just enough cleavage to hint at what remains hidden? Check.
Sky-high stilettos that were tall enough to ensure I would be crippled by the time I’m fifty? Double check.
And last but not least, my blonde hair is pulled into a neat bun at the back of my neck, looking tidy but not matronly. I smiled at my reflection and applied one last coat of shimmery rose-colored lip gloss. Today was my day. I could hardly contain my heart as it beat excitedly in my chest.
Watching the numbers on the digital display climb higher and higher, I thought back on everything I went through, every obstacle I faced to get here.
I started college straight after high school, jumping right in for the summer semester so I didn’t waste any time. After struggling my way through the four years it normally takes to earn a Bachelors of Marketing at NYU and completing it all in only three, I immediately started my internship here at Pennington Hotels. Even though the one year internship was unpaid, it was worth it to be able to secure a spot on the marketing team when my term was up.
For as long as I could remember, my one goal in life had been to work at a Pennington hotel. As a little girl, my parents both worked regular blue-collar jobs. My mother was a nurse and my father had been a dedicated member of the New York City Police Department. Growing up in Queens, it was easy to see the difference between the haves and the have-nots; all I had to do was look across the East River at the shining towers of Manhattan to see that, while I didn’t want for much in my life, there were definitely people who wanted for absolutely nothing.
I didn’t resent them; far from it. I simply noted the differences between us. While some people rode around in a shiny black town car driven by a man in a neatly pressed suit, my family didn’t own a car at all, relying on New York transit to get wherever we needed to go. Some kids went shopping on Fifth Avenue for back to school clothes and left with more than they could ever wear, while my mother taught me how to bargain hunt at thrift shops and update and alter the clothes to make them cool again. Well, cooler anyway.
And while some families traveled to distant beaches or exotic cities for their vacations, my parents saved up every year so they could take me across the Queensboro Bridge on my birthday, where we would stay in a beautiful room at the Pennington Hotel.
It always felt magical, walking into that incredible lobby, with its high ceilings, gleaming marble floors, and gigantic chandeliers dripping with crystals. Like I was finally the princess I always dreamed I would be when I binge-watched Disney movies and drove my parents nuts by singing along at the top of my lungs. My parents would splurge on a park view room, allowing me to see all the way across Fifth Avenue, watching the sun glinting off the waters of The Lake. I would beg every year to go the Central Park Zoo where my parents would follow along patiently as I raced from exhibit to exhibit, loving the different animals that were housed there, always feeling like we were in the center of an enchanted forest. Then we would wander the park, eating from food trucks and taking in the street performers and families out enjoying the last few days of their summer vacation. In the evening, we would go out to dinner, wearing the nicest dresses my mother and I could find and alter, eating at the best restaurant we could afford. We tried a different place every year, but always got our dessert from a little shop that we swore only we knew about (ridiculous, I know, because there was no way our three slices of cheesecake a year were enough to support a business, but we liked to think we were special, if only for a day).
At night, I would stay up as late as I could, wrapped in a blanket and sitting at the window to watch as the late August sun would dip below the horizon across the park, painting the tree tops in liquid gold, the sky on fire with reds and yellows.
Needless to say, some of my best memories involve the Pennington Hotel.
I frowned slightly, remembering how long it had been since I had a birthday in Central Park. My heart clenched painfully as I thought of the reason those special trips had stopped.
I shook off the memories, both good and bad, as the elevator pinged my arrival at the penthouse level of the hotel, the very same hotel I spent all those birthdays in. The owner of the company, Mr. Harold Pennington himself, lived here permanently. After his divorce ten years ago, he had renovated the entire top floor, tucked away behind the copper topped towers that ringed the roof of the hotel, turning h
alf into a private residence, the other half into the corporate headquarters. In my time at Pennington Hotels, I had never been called to this floor, but I had never been up for promotion to Vice President of Marketing before either.
Stepping off the elevator, my heels clicking on the imported tiles, I walked into the foyer, noticing a small reception desk in the middle with two closed doors behind it, one on each side. Seeing the woman sitting at the desk cast a bored glance my way, I headed in her direction.
“Penelope Lund here to meet with Mr. Pennington,” I said politely.
The woman arched a single well plucked eyebrow as she ran her gaze over my outfit. I could sense her silent disgust as she pursed her lips. The clothing I was so proud of just moments ago now felt like dirty rags under her scrutiny.
Looking down again, I noticed things I hadn’t before. The buttons I’d sewn on multiple times because the blouse was too expensive to just replace. The skirt which I had hemmed by hand last night after finding it in the clearance section at the Bloomingdale’s outlet; it had been marked way, way down, because it was two seasons old. And while my shoes were Kate Spade, upon closer inspection I could see the scuff marks I had tried to cover with felt marker when I picked them up at a charity shop in Brooklyn.
Not wanting to let her know that her judgment stung, I brightened my smile and dared her to actually say something.
She didn’t.
She did, however, tilt her head ever so slightly, indicating a row of uncomfortable looking chairs. I assumed she wanted me to sit there, so I did, crossing my legs and bouncing the top one rapidly, as I tended to do when I was nervous. My confidence was a bit shook, thanks to the silent fashionista over there, but I took a few centering breaths, remembering all the reasons why I was the best choice for VP.
My grades at NYU were impeccable, the reference letters from my professors glowing. My time at Pennington Hotels had been well spent, quickly rising from a junior consultant, to project leader, to department head. My specialties were social media and digital marketing, as well as brand expansion. I was a key player last year when Pennington Hotels added a line of boutique rental cottages along the Jersey Shore.
There was no way they could turn me down. I had this position in the freaking bag!
At least I thought I did. That was until the door to the private residence across the foyer opened and out walked a man and a women I knew all too well.
Constance Pennington-Grover and her husband, Toddrick. Constance detested when anyone referred to him as just plain old Todd.
Constance was Harold Pennington’s oldest daughter, and while not an official employee of Pennington Hotels, she was a face I saw on an almost daily basis. Firstly, because of her father, and secondly because her husband, Toddrick, also worked in the marketing department.
Toddrick was the bane of my existence. He was a pale, doughy man with no chin and watery blue eyes. He felt, as the son-in-law of the CEO, that it was his place to tell everyone in the department what to do, even though he had the worst track record of any employee. His ideas were all either completely idiotic, not financially feasible, or a blatant copy of another company’s work. He did nothing but drag the department down, then tried to blame anyone but himself when his projects failed miserably.
I also suspected he had a bit of a coke habit, if his constant sniffing was anything to go by.
Constance, on the other hand, was the quintessential picture of uptown New York elegance. She was tall and slender and she never had a single item of this seasons most sought after clothing out of place; no clearance racks for Constance Pennington-Grover. Her brown hair, so dark it almost looked black, was cut into a severe bob so that it angled perfectly with her sharp cheekbones. Her nose was slender, but not naturally so, and the same plastic surgeon who had reduced it had also given her a pair of obviously fake breasts that would defy gravity until the end of time. She was thirty-two but continued to tell people she was twenty-nine.
And she was an absolute bitch.
Walking over to the woman at the desk, Constance leaned down and delivered air kisses to both her cheeks. “Lovely to see you, darling,” she simpered, sounding about as genuine as a used car salesman. “We should get lunch later this week.” The woman smiled thinly, then turned her attention to me, causing Constance to turn my way as well.
Her gaze found me almost immediately, her eyes narrowing when she saw me sitting there, bouncing my foot. There was a second where I thought she was going to say something, as her eyes took on an evil glint, but before she could open her mouth, Harold Pennington himself appeared, opening the boardroom door with a flourish. Constance immediately dropped the calculating look on her face and replaced it with a fake smile.
Toddrick never even looked up from his phone. He trailed after Constance as she moved quickly to intercept her father before he could address me.
“Hello, father,” she said, all sugar-sweet and giggly, like she was still eight years old. Gag me.
“Connie, I didn’t expect to see you here. I have a meeting-”
She didn’t let him finish. “I know, father, but I thought it would be best to come now, with Toddrick, and just get the whole thing over with, don’t you agree?” She attempted to pout, but her over filled lips barely moved.
“Well, Connie, I don’t really think it’s appropriate to-” he looked at me, worry lining his already wrinkled face.
Harold Pennington was an old man. At seventy-four years old, he was still overseeing all the aspects pertaining to being CEO of the company he inherited from his own father. The word around the water cooler was that he was hoping to pass the Pennington Hotels to one of his children. But while Constance excelled at being a manipulative trophy wife, she had yet to convince her father that Toddrick would be a suitable replacement. Her younger sister, Daphne, was only twenty-one, and still in school out in Nevada. She was a bit of a wild child, or so I’d heard, and it was unlikely that she would choose to take on such a huge responsibility any time soon.
There were rumors that Harold had fathered a son before he married Constance’s mother, but no one had ever laid eyes on him, so it was all just speculation.
“Oh, father, don’t you think it’s best if she finds out now? You know, like taking off a band-aid.” That malicious glint was back in Constance’s eye as she turned her head to level me with a glare. Her eyebrows would have furrowed if they hadn’t been so full of Botox.
Wait. What was she saying? The conniving look on her face brought me up short. She couldn’t be talking about me, cold she? What could Constance possibly have to do with my meeting for VP?
But as my gaze moved past her to the fleshy lump in a wrinkled suit she was married to, I knew exactly what made her so supremely happy.
Toddrick was going to be taking my promotion away from me.
I could feel the sweat beading on my back, starting to make my silk blouse stick to my shoulder blades. This could not be happening. I had worked too damn hard to lose this opportunity to a trust fund baby whose only goal was to unite his nostrils. I refused to go out like this.
But as Harold stood there, glancing uneasily between his daughter and me, I knew there was no hope for me. Toddrick was in, and I was out.
“Miss Lund, please, won’t you come in?” Harold gestured to the door he had just come through, and I started toward the conference room. Just before I reached the door, Constance stepped forward and cut me off, determined to enter the room before me, juvenile thing that she was. As Harold followed us into the room, he placed himself at the head of the long table, Constance taking the seat to his right, gritting her teeth at her husband as he plodded in last. She pointed to the seat on Harold’s left, which Toddrick eventually slouched himself into, still more interested in his phone than the nuclear bomb he and his wife had just dropped on my life plan.
With the three seats at that end going to Harold and his minions, I was left with no choice but to find myself a seat farther along the table. I chose to
sit on the same side as Constance, but three chairs away so that I wouldn’t be forced to look at her face and see her reveling in my misery.
“Now then,” Harold began, still looking uncomfortable. “Miss Lund, as you know, a position has recently opened up for Vice President of Marketing for Pennington Hotels. This position would oversee all departments for all regions in our North American branch of the company. Your track record has been stellar in the short time you have worked for us. I must say, the board and I are all very impressed with your work.”
“Thank you, Mr. Pennington,” I said, trying to keep my heart under control. No matter how high his praise, I wouldn’t allow myself to get my hopes up, not with the Wicked Witch of Central Park West sitting here, sniffing the waters for my blood like a shark. “I take great pride in working for Pennington Hotels.” Such few words to convey the depth of what this company actually meant to me, but I choked on any words I may have used to elaborate.
“And we appreciate that,” Harold said with a smile that reminded me of my grandfather, warm and friendly. It was cut short, however, when Constance not-so-discreetly cleared her throat. Harold glanced at her, then at Toddrick, releasing a deep sigh before continuing. “However, at this time you are not the only candidate vying for the Vice President position.” Harold leveled a pointed glance at Toddrick, who was still ignoring the entire conversation in favor of whatever he was doing on his phone. “It is very important that we make the right choice.” He swung his gaze to Constance, but she simply scoffed at him. “The company can’t afford to gamble on…” he said, trailing off to look at the wall over my head. I was worried he was having a senior moment, drifting off into his own world, but then his eyes snapped back to mine. “Yes, exactly.”
Constance glanced at me, then at the wall behind us, trying to see what her father was looking at. Toddrick sniffed, not looking at anything.
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