The Maverick Pride Tales - Chapter 140: Chapter 140

Prologue 2
Annabeth almost died when every eye in the room landed on her. She caught sight of the crimson tint coating Cornelia’s overly made-up face and wondered if her own blush surpassed the skinny Lioness’ blazing rage. Lord knew the woman was a couple of cards short of a full deck.
So, Cornelia got embarrassed by the big boss. Oh well, it happened. And frankly, it served that haughty feline right, walking around like she was better than everyone else! Cornelia did not work any harder than the Golden girls did, but she snatched every opportunity to kiss their boss’ furry butt.
She’d been that way since they were all cubs in the Pride’s summer youth camp. Seriously. Always brown nosing the camp counselors. Cornelia was forever in everyone else's business.
She had a long history of being a two-face, and Annabeth was certain she was going to be the maker of her own demise. She’d gone after her own sister’s mate at last year’s tree lighting ceremony in the center of their Pride’s gated community, like some shameless hussy, or so Annabeth’s mother said.
Why, in twelfth grade, Cornelia had even let Annabeth’s biggest crush, Tommy Furbanks, stick his fingers where good girls should never let bad boys touch—unless they were going steady.
Even worse, she’d found out the Lioness had only gone after Tommy after Cornelia had heard Annabeth’s plan to ask him to prom. She’d been just crushed after that and had accepted Ronald Grunkel’s hardly flattering prom-posal.
The Aardvark Shifter had sent Annabeth a box full of live ants and a jar of chocolate sauce—sooo gross. But beggars and choosers and all that. At least she hadn’t gone to prom alone like her sister Ariella.
Really, she should thank Cornelia for letting Tommy finger her before Annabeth could make an ass of herself by asking the dumb jock out. She was such a loyal creature, she’d likely have stayed with the creep, and she would be Mrs. Furbanks now.
Permanently stuck with Tommy, who’d incidentally turned into a real loser. After failing to land a pro-football contract, the Lion just let himself go. Dropped out of college, started eating nonstop, and was now a hundred pounds overweight and working as a janitor at their old alma mater.
Yay Blue Valley Lions—er, not.
Annabeth was certain he was trying to relive his high school glory days, but alas, time was fleeting. Annabeth should know. She’d gotten a tad rounder as the years passed herself. Not like Tommy, but still. Here she was on the cusp of middle age—okay, not quite, but close enough—thirty-three and not even one, single dating prospect and her heat cycle coming up like gangbusters.
In fact, none of the Goldens had any luck in love. Toni had come close, but she didn’t like to talk about. Ariella seemed smitten with a certain sexy Dire Wolf, who happened to make the best dang steak Annabeth had ever tasted. And as for Adrianna, well, she was rather tight lipped about the whole thing. George, their baby brother, was just hopeless when it came to most things, including romance.
Hmm. He was a greedy, annoying cub. Always eating the last of our cereal. We could still end him, her inner animal suggested.
Okay, soooo sometimes her inner kitty was a homicidal maniac. It was another reason Annabeth ate her feelings. Stress eating was a way of dealing with the crazy kitty who wanted to hunt her own brother on one paw, and on the other, to pounce on handsome strangers to sniff to see if they were her mate.
Prrrr.
Yes, her beastie was looking for a Mr. Golden, but where was she supposed to find him? Annabeth already knew everyone in her Pride. There were no eligible Lion males left. Maybe she should be like Ariella and develop a crush on someone outside their circle. If only she were brave enough.
Sad rawr.
“Miss Golden? Annabeth, are you listening?” Ms. Pierce repeated her name, and she jumped, turning her attention to her petite yet powerful boss.
“Sorry,” she murmured.
The older Lionesses were known for their wily and fierce natures. Everyone knew the females of the Pride were the badasses, and Ms. Pierce had a reputation for cutting her foes down to size without even messing up her fur. Annabeth wanted to be her when she grew up.
“Yes, Ms. Pierce?”
“You will represent Eat Well Live Proud at the New Jersey Convention for Quality Food Products this year. You will need to be there in time for the ball on Friday night. I ordered a plane ticket⁠—”
“But Ms. Pierce, I don’t travel well,” she blurted, astounded at her own bravery.
The older Lioness turned her golden gaze on Annabeth and took two steps forward. She felt everyone’s stares on her but was too worried about her boss to look.
Good thing too, or she would’ve missed the telltale twitch on the corner of the she-Cat’s mouth that usually spoke of extreme annoyance. Unfortunately, Annabeth had caused said tick a time or two in the past. It never ended well for her.
Gulp.
“It is hardly a long distance, Ms. Golden,” Maggie growled. “I suggest you start driving now.”
Annabeth swallowed and nodded. Ms. Pierce went over a few other points with their team, but Annabeth hadn’t heard a word. She was too busy panicking.
Annabeth gathered her things shortly after they were dismissed, wondering how she was going to pull this off. Anxiety rushed through her veins and her stomach tightened. If only the absurd reaction could help turn her rolls into abs! Maybe then it wouldn’t be just another annoyance.
Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.
Since when did Eat Well Live Proud send a plump little fluff of a Lioness Shifter to represent them? Hardly common practice. Cornelia looked the part, all sleek and sophisticated. Annabeth was her polar opposite. A bumbling sort of blonde mess. Her hair lacked the telltale color base most Lionesses had, somehow, she’d been born with a medium ash brown head of hair with only a few tawny streaks, whereas most of the Pride sported full on gold locks.
Odd duck, that’s me.
She didn’t have dark curls like her Ariella, or the pin straight mane Toni was born with. Nope. Annabeth looked more like a tired suburban housewife with her boring wavy ash brown with overgrown highlights—natural, not from a bottle, fuck you very much.
She wasn’t all bad, of course. Sure, Annabeth was rounder than plenty of her peers, but she was a good Lioness, loyal to her Pride, dedicated to her family, and good at her job. She might not love her life, but she was happy enough. She had friends, men and women—though none were prospects for a mate. She had her sisters, her mother, and good working relationships with her coworkers.
Then there were her interests to keep her busy outside of work. She enjoyed reading, going to art shows, and listening to music—but Annabeth had a raunchy side too. She was fun-loving, too.
Her penchant for skinny dipping was not tempered at all by the fact her wide ass caused quite the splash whenever she cannonballed into whatever body of water she and her sisters frequented. They did that a lot in the warmer months, breaking into the community pool or the youth center for midnight swim parties.
It was all in good fun, and they hardly ever got caught. Mostly. The Goldens were infamous for their tomfoolery and sisterly shenanigans. George was usually too much of a goody-goody to join in.
But the Pride usually just blamed their outrageous behavior on their mother. Patricia Golden was one hootenanny of a mother and role model.
Because of that funny feline femme fatale’s rearing, Annabeth, and her sisters alike, all spoke their mind, cursed like sailors, drank like fish, and lived their lives to the fullest, which typically meant gorging themselves on champagne, chocolate—the sinfully rich kind, and whatever else floated their boats.
Of all the Goldens, Annabeth was the only one who hated traveling, and spent way too much time crying over touching commercials—the ones with the kids spilling juice on the floor and splashing in it as they run away, making red footprints everywhere, but the perfect skinny mom comes in with a roll of paper towels her handsome hubby hands her and they both just sigh dreamily as she bends to clean the mess.
Sigh. Sniff.
Of course, if Annabeth was in charge of writing those commercials, the handsome hubby would clean the mess, pour his wife a cup of coffee, then kneel before her and massage her feet before flashing her a wicked little grin that meant bedroom shenanigans were a-happening-soon.
Grrrr.
But that was not her job. Nope. Her job was to go represent the company at the food convention—and Annabeth was going to do her job to the best of her ability. Hell, she was proud Ms. Pierce had chosen her for it.
So, onward and upward, impending heat cycle or not, Annabeth was going on a picnic of a trip, and she was bringing—hmmm, what was she bringing?
Crap.
She had to pack! Annabeth didn’t believe in doing things half-assed, and part of being prepared for this kind of—gulp—business trip meant having the right clothes for the job. What did one wear to a food services convention, anyway?
One thing was certain, Annabeth was not asking Cornelia for advice. That feline had taste right up her ass, which was exactly how short she wore her skirts. Annabeth didn’t need any middle-aged, paunch-having weirdos slapping her butt like she was one of the female employees on Mad Men, for fuck’s sake. If there was one thing cable TV had taught her, it was the 1960s were a fucked up time to be a woman in the working world.
No, thank you.
“Are you still hanging around here, Golden?” Ms. Pierce snapped, and Annabeth almost peed herself.
“I’m leaving right now to grab my luggage, Ms. Pierce. Bye-bye,” she mumbled as she raced out the door.
Lucky for Annabeth, it was the 21st Century.