The Metal Princess
Sara Hockley swung her golf club (coral pink, with a hint of strawberry rouge. She'd had her butler paint them herself) over her shoulder lazily, and shielded her eyes from the warm, hazy Summer sun.
"Daddy," she attempted to converse with the man dressed in entirely plaid, bending over the golf ball, drenched in sweat, his brows knitted in concentration.
"Yes, my pumpkin?" asked the man, not moving from his position.
"I'm going to go and have a drink." Sara smiled sweetly.
"Well, off you go, sugar pie, but get Daddy his iced tea," the man, his name Archibald Hockley, architect and billionaire, answered.
"But Daddy!" Sara answered, shocked, "I can't walk! I'll ruin my new golfing shoes, and you know I got them specially made."
"So get Smith to drive you," Archie answered his daughter, and knocked the golfball straight into the hole.
"Come on, Smith!" Sara ordered the annoyed caddy (there were four of them altogether, dressed in identical outfits) into the golf cart, "Drive me to the bar already!"
"Yes, ma'am." Smith begrudingly replied.
"Daddy," she attempted to converse with the man dressed in entirely plaid, bending over the golf ball, drenched in sweat, his brows knitted in concentration.
"Yes, my pumpkin?" asked the man, not moving from his position.
"I'm going to go and have a drink." Sara smiled sweetly.
"Well, off you go, sugar pie, but get Daddy his iced tea," the man, his name Archibald Hockley, architect and billionaire, answered.
"But Daddy!" Sara answered, shocked, "I can't walk! I'll ruin my new golfing shoes, and you know I got them specially made."
"So get Smith to drive you," Archie answered his daughter, and knocked the golfball straight into the hole.
"Come on, Smith!" Sara ordered the annoyed caddy (there were four of them altogether, dressed in identical outfits) into the golf cart, "Drive me to the bar already!"
"Yes, ma'am." Smith begrudingly replied.