Brady meant the comment but not the bite it came out on. He regretted it, just like he knew he wouldn’t apologize for it because it was true. She couldn’t talk to him about being antisocial when the reason for her fame was rooted in the same thing. Still, he didn’t like how her body language changed, knees moving away from him as she shifted in her seat.

“All I’m saying is a little honey does a lot more than vinegar. Grumbling about these people who are—and might be—helping us doesn’t make sense.” Out of his periphery, Brady saw her turn toward the passenger window, all but shutting him off after he’d offended her. “You wanted my help with good PR for the bar? Then we need to do well at the party, parade, and pageant, too. So you have to be willing to listen to me, or this won’t work.”

The cab of the truck became quiet.

Despite himself, Brady realized he didn’t like it.

“Fine,” he relented after a moment. “We can go talk to Roger, but only after I swing by my apartment and shower. My shift starts in five hours, and I don’t want to roll into the bar like this because you spent those five hours gossiping with Workaholic Roger. Deal?”

She didn’t agree as fast as he’d thought she would, and, when she did, her voice was a bit higher pitched. It earned an eyebrow raise from him, but he decided not to comment. For all her quiet moments, he was starting to see that Sloane was a surprisingly expressive woman.

“Deal.”

…

Brady lived in a two-bedroom apartment on the west side of town. It was a far cry from the Robertson estate for sure. A nice middle ground of cozy and, Brady’s favorite, affordable. However, there was one claim to fame it had that not even the richest of Arbor Bay did, and that was the view from the closet-size balcony. A sliver of the bay from across the street winked dark blue back at you through the branches of one of the several old oaks that surrounded the complex. More of the massive trees lined the small park placed between it and the water. There was no boat ramp in the area, but the dock there stayed mostly busy with locals.

Two older men with fishing poles were there as Sloane looked out of the sliding glass door that led to the balcony. Since they’d parked, she’d gone silent again. If Brady hadn’t felt like someone had just used him to mop a floor covered in dirt and grass clippings, he might have asked what she thought about it all. Instead he told her to make herself at home and went right into the bathroom.