From inside, a gruff voice shouted that he'd be right there.  Claire stood up straighter and put on her most welcoming smile.  It took longer than she expected based on the size of the boat for the door to open.  The sight of the man before her almost caused her smile to slip.  Almost.  There was a shadow of the once great sports legend Mark Windham in this man standing before her.  This man had obviously run into harder times than just suffering with and recovering from an injury.<br/><br/>"A joke?  Mr. Windham, Mark, I can assure you that this is not a joke."  He was at his worst or at least what she assumed what was his worst but there was no point in saying that.  Her eyes dropped down to the stain in the center of his chest, her nose wrinkling slightly.  He was going to be even more of a project than she'd originally thought.  Ideas immediately began to grow in her mind.  If she could get the story of what he'd been up to for the last five years, if she could help turn his life around, if she could convince this fallen hero to emerge from his self-inflicted exile, she'd be guaranteed that promotion she had her eye on.<br/><br/>He'd grabbed the cane and was limping away from the door before she realized what was going on.<br/><br/>Claire stepped inside.  He hadn't said she<i>couldn't</i>come in.  The place smelled stale, like beer and stagnant air.  Her hand rose to her face so she could press a finger beneath her nose before dropping down to her side.  Not wanting to completely invade his home, she lingered inside the front door until he came back.<br/><br/>Extending her right hand, she offered another smile.  "My name is Claire.  Claire McOwen."  Here she fell silent.  Telling him her true purpose in coming here was bound to get her tossed out on her ass.  She'd have to tread carefully here.  Maybe the fact that he was chugging a beer this early in the morning would work in her favor.  "Do you want to go get a cup of coffee or something?"