Page 16 of Crash Course
But PFOA? It didn’t go away. It clung with brutal force.
"Cilla?"
She snapped out of her mind travel, but questions about a contaminated farm and the possibility of her father lying nagged her.
"Sorry," she said. "I’m distracted."
"I see that. Anything I can help with?"
Oh, she’d come up with a solid list of things he could do for her.
All pleasurable.
But right now, she had questions about a toxic farm. "Thank you, but I’m good."
He boosted off the truck and pointed to her car parked two spaces down.
"Is the Quattroporte yours?"
It sure was. She peered at the car and its custom cherry red paint gleaming under bright sunlight. She grinned. "It sure is. Got it last month. Treated myself after a big case. I love it."
"V-six or eight?"
"Pfft. Please. V-eight. You like cars?"
He brought his attention back to her and held her gaze. "I like anything that goes fast."
She’d bet he did. "Thus, the pilot’s license?"
He shrugged. "Why not? If I want to go somewhere, I find a plane and go. It comes in handy with what we do. My goal is for us to have our own jet."
"That’s a great goal."
"We’ll get there."
Knowing Phin and his schmoozing talents, and now, after having spent time with Cruz, she had no doubt.
"Well," she said, "I should go."
He grinned at her. "Should you?"
At that she laughed and waggled a finger at him. "Oh, Cruz Blackwell, you are an evil man."
He raised his hands. "I know. I know. You’re a busy woman." He walked to the driver’s side door of his truck, then turned back to her. "Just remember, I’m here if you need anything."
Curiosity ragingover why her father would buy a contaminated farm, Cilla entered her office suite and stopped at the reception desk where Layla, her assistant, swiveled from her computer. She wore a blue silk blouse and light gray slacks and her long, dark hair was swept into a low ponytail that accentuated her pretty round face and slight crow’s-feet.
"Welcome back," Layla said. "I put a bunch of files on your desk."
At forty-six, Layla was Cilla’s kinda gal. No bullshit, no touchy-feely small talk. It didn’t lessen Cilla’s appreciation for her hard-working assistant or the relationship between them. That was the joy of Layla. She knew Cilla loved her. Period.
Her ever-increasing paycheck and frequent bonuses helped.
"You’re the best," Cilla said. "Seriously, you make my life easier."
She paddled her hands. "Blah, blah."
Cilla snorted. "Have you heard from Ed?"
