Page 12 of The Knockout Rule

She left the forms in a pile and stood. “If you need me, I’ll be up front. We’ll start sessions tomorrow.”

His dog chuffed, but Brick didn’t reply. He just watched her with those unwavering eyes.

She’d try for a fresh start tomorrow, tame her inner hurricane and build their trust in the gym. She’d still keep her walls up, fortifications to stave off emotional setbacks like she’d suffered at her past physiotherapy jobs, but she’d find a way to be nicer.

As she neared the curtain, she heard a murmur from behind. Something not in English? Asian sounding? Whatever the language, the tone certainly hadn’t been polite. She glanced back, but Brick’s eyes were closed and his earbuds were in. She must be hearing things on this fun-filled morning.

Back in her seat, she clicked on her seat belt, closed her eyes, and somehow managed to lower her tense shoulders during takeoff. When the plane leveled, the sound of ice clinking into a glass had her cracking one eye open. Preston was, thankfully, still sitting opposite her father, but he raised his cocktail glass and winked at her. Ugh.

The stewardess rolled her cart toward Isla. “Can I get you a drink? Champagne? Cosmo? Whiskey sour?”

“Whiskey sour, hold the sour.”

She arched a manicured eyebrow. “That kind of day, huh?”

“You have no idea.” She could still feel Preston looking her way and hated that her father had had the nerve to play cupid with a guy she’d have to see regularly. “Make it a double, on the rocks.”

“Coming right up.”

Glass in hand, Isla sipped her drink, enjoying the burn of the alcohol slipping down her throat. Until Preston appeared at her side, grinning. He must have taken her drinking as a sign to socialize when all she craved was peace.

“May I?” He tipped his chin toward the empty seat opposite her.

She wanted to tell him to give it a rest but felt badly for how hard she’d shut him down before. If her father said Preston was a decent guy, she had no doubt he was kind.

“The seat’s all yours.” It was his plane, after all.

He made himself at home and sipped the amber liquid in his glass. “How’d it go with Brick?”

Awkward and unprofessional. “Good. We’ll start on therapy tomorrow.”

He settled deeper into his chair. “It’s a tough job, physiotherapy. How’d you get into it?”

“I was angry.”

Preston cocked his head and waited. “Care to elaborate?”

The rumbling jet drowned her heavy sigh. The odds of Preston understanding how her father’s career had affected her was slim to none, but the need to speak up surged. She couldn’t talk about her father’s illness, mention anything about his health today, but she could talk about their past.

She glanced at her father. He was asleep. The man had a talent for passing out anytime, anywhere. Still, she kept her voice low. “I grew up watching my father get his face pounded in, saw how it affected his health and body. Recovery got harder every time. He lived in pain, and it was tough on my mother. Boxing tore down his body and his marriage, and all I wanted to do was fix him somehow. Help him any way I could.”

“So you devoted your life to helping boxers like him stay in better shape.”

“No.” She was about to say she didn’t treat boxers, but that would lead to questions about why she was on this trip. “It’s not about staying in shape. It’s about building their defenses, giving them better tools when faced with injury. I educate athletes as much as help them. All athletes. Even if it means helping them make tough choices.”

He leaned back and regarded her. “Wow.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Wow, what?”

“Not many people I meet are passionate about their work, but you…” He tilted his head with interest again. “It’s refreshing.”

Talking to Preston was easier than she’d expected, aided by her non-sour whiskey, no doubt. But she glanced at the closed curtain, hating how she’d left things with Brick. For a woman who tried to build athletes up, she’d done a miserable job of it with him.

“Brick is lucky to have you on board,” Preston said, drawing her attention back. “As am I.” He unleashed a megawatt grin.

Again with the flirting. “What about you? Do you love your job?”

“I love my clients.”