Page 13 of Endurance

I almost chuckled.

“Not one to waste time with idle chit-chat, are you?”

“Not particularly. You have a mess on your hands, and I’m here to fix it.”

Taking another swig of Pepsi, I eyed her suspiciously over the rim of the can, still unsure what to think about her. “Your accent. It’s not Californian. Where are you from?”

“I live just outside of Washington D.C.”

I raised my eyebrows in surprise.

“You’re a long way from home. PR firms are a dime a dozen in these parts. Why would Milo enlist the help of someone from across the country?”

“Because Quinn & Wilkshire is the best—and you’re wasting my time. Can we please get down to business now?” she asked with an air of impatience, but it was nearly impossible to take her seriously. The multicolored strands intertwined with her golden blonde tresses made her look like a princess who just stepped out of a fantasy book—or in my experience, a rainbow mermaid emer ging from the ocean. It was a stark contrast to the tightness of her jaw and determined expression, but it may have been the sexiest combination I’d ever seen.

“Fine. Have it your way,” I conceded with a shrug. “We’ll skip the small talk, but I’m going to take a shower first. Sit tight, Rainbow Brite. Give me ten minutes, and then we’ll talk.”

Without giving her a chance to respond, I set my empty pop can down on the table and headed toward the bathroom.

As promised, I finished showering and shaving in less than ten minutes. I brushed my teeth and exchanged the old sweatpants for a pair of jeans but deliberately skipped putting on a shirt. Instead, I slung a plain white t-shirt over my shoulder and made my way back into the kitchen. Perhaps it was a dick move, but I had rather enjoyed watching her squirm uncomfortably after the way I had caught her looking at me earlier.

However, when I entered the kitchen, she wasn’t the one squirming uncomfortably—I was. In the short time I’d been gone, she’d cleaned up the mess of Styrofoam containers and beer cans that had been lying around. The trash was now piled into the garbage can, and the aluminum cans were neatly lined up in the recycle bin outside the utility room near the kitchen.

Well, shit.

I really wished she hadn’t taken it upon herself to clean up. Now I’d have to play nice—within reason, of course. Scrapping the plan to saunter in like I was James fucking Dean, I pulled the t-shirt off my shoulder, slipped it over my head, then grinned sheepishly at her.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I told her, motioning to the now tidy space.

“I know. I was just bored waiting for you to come back, so I made myself useful. Don’t get used to it. I’m your PR rep, not your maid.”

I cocked one eyebrow at her straightforward tone, then shook my head and smiled to myself. I was more than just a little captivated by the delectable woman sitting at my kitchen table.Her heart-shaped mouth, round emerald-colored eyes, and easy blush made my dick twitch. She was leaving herself wide open, and I couldn’t resist another opportunity to see that delicate blush again.

“Oh, I have plenty of thoughts on what you could be for me, Miss Kallie. Maid wasn’t one of them.”

Just as I’d hoped, a flush began to creep up her neck again. I grinned as I took a seat in the chair across from her, knowing I was getting to her.

Mission accomplished.

She sighed, ran a hand over her colorful braids, and met my eyes again.

“Listen, Sloan. I’m not here to play cat and mouse. Your agent warned me about what I might find when I got here, but I didn’t expect this.” She paused, seeming to collect her thoughts. “To put it bluntly, after being here for barely twenty minutes, it’s plain to see that you’re a train wreck. Enough beer cans and whiskey bottles are lying around this place to fill an entire dumpster. Drinking yourself into a stupor every day isn’t going to get you very far.”

I bristled at her condescending tone.

“What I do isn’t any of your business.”

“Everything about you is my business now. I know what you’ve been through. Milo sent me a file that outlined it all. It was a tough road, and I get that. I also know any man who was able to endure what you did is better than this. However, cleaning up your act is up to you. I can’t force you to do anything. I can only work with people who have the will.”

I scowled, pissed about the drastic turn in the conversation. I no longer wanted to casually flirt with this mermaid apparition who’d played a starring role in my dreams last night. Instead, I wanted to put her over my shoulder and toss her judgmental ass out the front door.

“Cleaning up my act, huh? I’m not sure what you think you know from my supposed file, but a few paragraphs aren’t enough to even scratch the surface of what I’ve been through.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t. So, why don’t I tell you what I do know, then you can fill in the blanks?” When I didn’t respond, she held out a hand and began ticking things off on her fingers. “I know you were in a terrible accident just over a year ago. Your car hit a wall during a practice session. You fell unconscious, were airlifted to a hospital in critical condition. The doctors said you had less than a twenty percent chance of surviving your injuries.”

“Yet, here I am,” I interrupted, extending my arms as if to prove it.

“I’m not finished,” she stated curtly before continuing. “The left side of your body was immobile, and your skull was fractured. You had a collapsed lung, several broken ribs, and a shattered hip. You spent three months on a ventilator in order to breathe. Despite the odds, you pulled through after nearly a year of intense therapy—but it wasn’t enough. The damage to your hip was too great, and you were told you could never race again. After receiving the news, you fell into a depression, started drinking, and popping too many painkillers. The result? Milo phoned me this morning to tell me that a little girl named Tanya Griffin is in the hospital because of your drunken rage. This morning’s newspapers have painted you as a monster, and I expect a lawsuit from the girl’s family to be filed any day now.”

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