Page 4 of Blindside Sinner

“Got a boyfriend?”

“Not even close.”

She squints at me. “Do you even like men?”

I laugh. “I have been known to enjoy their company when life really kicks me in the crotch, but I’m too busy and poor to date right now.”

She grins. She really does not seem drunk anymore. In fact, she’s looking downright bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Sparkly, some might say.

“Fantastic,” she pronounces. “Consider the buck passed. Send me your information. If the background check clears, you’re hired.” She hops off the barstool and digs in her pristine YSLpurse, sliding over a crisp business card once she finds it. “I’m Vivian, by the way.”

Surely this can’t be happening, right? This is a dream. Any minute now, I’m going to wake up to a blaring alarm and another text from the Bloodhound, telling me my payment is past due once more.

But the lights buzz overhead like they’re real. The smell of grease floats out of the kitchen like it’s real. And the woman looking down at me seems really, really real.

I stare at the writing on the card.Vivian St. James, PR Manager for Four Leaf Media.

I realize belatedly that she’s holding out her hand to shake. I can’t tell if this is a “nice to meet you” kind of a shake or a “done deal” kind of shake. Given my Bloodhound problem, I’m understandably a little wary about shady deals with strangers.

But I take her hand before I can second-guess myself.

“Sloan Reeves,” I mumble. I hold up the embossed business card. “I’ve never heard of Four Leaf Media.”

“We’re the premier public relations firm for professional sports on the West Coast,” Vivian rattles off with a slight note of disappointment in her voice, as if I should have heard of them. “Email me your info tonight and I’ll call you to set up your onboarding next week.” Purse slung over her shoulder, she grins. It’s damn near feral with glee. “This is going to be so much fun, Sloan Reeves.”

Then she zips out of Rusty’s like she’s stone-cold sober.

Leaving me standing there in shock like I just got sucked into a tornado, shaken like a ragdoll, and set right back down on my own two feet.

Monroe comes to stand beside me, looking out the glass door as a very expensive Jaguar speeds away. “What the hell was that about?” she asks, snatching the card out of my hand.

“She offered me a job,” I whisper.

And even though I’m sure Vivian isn’t actually going to hire me—nothing good ever happens to a Reeves—something bubbles in my chest for the first time in ages.

Hope.

2

SLOAN

Early Monday morning finds me seated in the headquarters of Four Leaf Media. The name on the plate-glass office door readsVivian St. Jamesin a crisp, modern font.

Actually, everything in here is crisp and modern and alarmingly pristine. It took me less than a minute to shove my hands in the pockets of my borrowed slacks so I don’t leave grubby fingerprints everywhere like the trailer park trash I am.

The woman of the hour, on the other hand, looks perfect in an all-cream suit that sets off her blonde hair nicely. It’s her eyes that get me, though. She sits behind her gold and glass desk with a green juice in hand, scrutinizing me like she’s not sure what she saw in me originally.

Same, girl. Same.

I try telling myself to relax. This is just another job, right? Plus, think of the money.

Right.The money. The six-figure income that will change my whole cursed life as long as I don’t screw it all up in typical Reeves-like fashion.

No pressure.

The tap-tap-tapping of Vivian’s perfectly manicured nails echoes as she reads off my file. “Sloan Reeves, age twenty-four. Seattle native. Says here you went to college briefly before dropping out for personal reasons. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”