Wrecked (Dirty Air 3)

Elías asks me every year why I choose to work PR for the biggest douchebags in Europe. The answer is simple: I don’t like perfect people. The most challenging jobs are the best ones, so give me all the broken individuals who desperately need someone to help them. Those are the clients I like. The ones who are unapologetically themselves, time and time again. They’re my favorite kind because I find the journey to help them reach the top all the more exciting.

Despite my resilience and experience, Jax triggers me like no other, with his aversion toward me. I can’t understand why it bothers me, let alone understand him. But I’m not an idiot. I see how he treats others, and—newsflash—it isn’t as standoffish as he acts with me.

Does it affect my self-esteem? No.

Does it affect my patience? Hell-freaking-yes.

I don’t know what to make of him, but I’m on a mission to learn everything there is to know about him. Jax wears angst like an accessory. Black tends to be his aesthetic unless he needs to wear McCoy’s white branding. His daily wardrobe includes Doc Martens, T-shirts, and ripped jeans. He rocks jackets with slogans and decorates his tattooed fingers with rings. To put it lightly, he’s bad to the last British bone in his body.

No matter how attractive he is, his guarded hazel eyes scream to stay the hell out of his way. Not to mention his attitude toward me is about as friendly as walking down a dark alley at midnight.

“Welcome to the land of the lavish. Enjoy it while it lasts.” He waves his hand around the suite like a half-assed episode of MTV Cribs.

“Wow, way to set the bar with your warm welcome. Thank you so much.” I stare at him, trying not to linger on how his shirt highlights bulging muscles and arms covered with tattoos.

Jax coughs, getting my attention again. His eyes have a rare lightness about them. “If you want to see my tattoos up close, all you have to do is ask.”

“Not interested, but thanks for the offer.”

“Some women would beg for a chance to see them in all their glory.”

I wrinkle my nose. “If that’s what women beg for, they should reassess their priorities.”

His laugh pulls a smile from me. “Don’t knock others’ priorities. Not everyone is a masochist, volunteering to work with me.”

“That’s rich coming from the guy who enjoys blowing his career to shit as a pastime.”

He runs a hand across his stubble. “There is one thing I like blown, and I can assure you it isn’t my career.”

I hold back the laugh I desperately want to let out. “Let’s play a game: you keep quiet and not speak anymore. Your mouth is going to get you into trouble.”

“You’d be surprised by the kinds of trouble I can get into silently.” He shoots me a wicked smile.

“Surprised? Probably. Interested? Definitely not.”

> “I’m going to appreciate having you around. There’s nothing that gets me going quite like someone hell-bent on resisting me.”

“Resisting you insinuates I’m interested in anything more than helping you.”

“I vote helping me orgasm is right up there with fixing my reputation. What do you say?”

I hit him with my best get over yourself look. I grab onto my luggage and move toward my room. “I’m going to take a nap and shower before the press conference.”

“Sleeping on the job already?”

I let out a deep sigh, not in the mood for his teasing anymore. “Connor emailed you the questions and answers I came up with yesterday. Think you can manage reading them?”

“Already done.”

I freeze, caught off guard. “Really?”

“Yes, contrary to your opinion of me, I can read. Rather quickly too, if I do say so myself. Now, since I’ve been a good boy, can you set up the telly with my favorite cartoon to make sure I don’t get bored?” He throws himself onto the living room couch.

My brow arches. “Telly?” I need to google British slang because some of the things he says make no sense without context clues. Who started calling a car trunk a boot anyway?

“Televisión.” His fake Spanish accent rolls off his tongue as he points at the remote on the TV stand next to me.

I attempt with everything in me not to smile. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.” Choosing to ignore his request, I enter my room and shut the door behind me.