Wild Open Hearts (Bluewater Billionaires) - Kathryn Nolan Page 0,28

time.”

“People make mistakes though, even CEOs or whatever.” She shrugged. “Plus, I tossed all of my Wild Heart products already. It’ll be okay in the end.”

“Will you text me what products?” I said. “I’ll get you new ones once everything’s fixed.”

“Oh… please, you don’t have to do that.” Her pale cheeks were turning pink.

“Let me,” I said. “Consider it payment for rescuing Penelope and all the work you do here every day. I’ll stock you with eyeliner for life.”

Her entire face lit up. “If you insist…”

“I do,” I said. “And I’m working on fixing those mistakes. Because it was a mistake driven by…” I hesitated, searching for the right words. “A mistake driven by impulses I’m not proud of.”

Jem shook her head, looking out across the field. I caught a glimpse of Beck scowling at me from his window and I gave him my best Miss America wave.

“Wes, Beck and I all met through the same rehabilitation program. We’re familiar with mistakes,” she said so quietly I almost didn’t catch it. I helped her tear open the bag of gravel and deposit it evenly over the ground. I was sweating, dirty, heart racing—my job hadn’t been this physical in, well, ever.

“The one with the dogs?” I asked.

“That’s the one,” she said. “I was really lucky to get a nice judge. She didn’t think my future was gonna be that pretty without an intervention, you know? That was six years ago.”

I sat back on my heels, brushing a strand of sweaty hair from my forehead. “Did your dog get adopted?”

“Walter,” she said. “That was his name. And yeah.” She scrolled through her phone and showed me a picture of a family with two little kids and a terrier that looked practically chaotic with happiness.

“Oh, Jem,” I said, tears springing to the corners of my eyes.

“Oh my god, don’t cry,” she said. “It’s not sad. It’s happy.”

“I cry when I’m happy,” I said, laughing a little through the tears. “You’re such a fucking bad-ass.” I clapped a hand over my mouth. “Sorry, are we allowed to curse here?”

“Fuck yeah,” she said. “If you don’t think the f-word comes out of Beck’s mouth a hundred times a day, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“I knew there was a reason why I liked Beck,” I said, shaking out a sheet and placing it across the new bed. I folded it with care, tucking it into each corner, fluffing the pillows.

“Not to lean too hard into the canine metaphors, but his bark is way worse than his bite,” she said.

I bet I’d like his bite.

I dropped the shovel I was holding and it clanked against the concrete.

“Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah, just super hot,” I said, fanning my face. Where the hell had that thought come from? I looked back toward the trailer and Beck was now outside, drinking a cup of coffee that looked doll-sized in his hands. Without his vest on, his chest appeared even more expansive. His chest hair pushed through the v in the shirt.

Maybe… maybe I hadn’t wanted to admit to myself that Beck Mason gave off a very real filthy sex vibe. He looked like the kind of man who’d leave you marked and breathless and blissed out for weeks.

“He’s a good boss though?” I asked, attempting a distraction. He and I were working together, nothing more.

“Beck makes this place what it is,” Jem said. “Which is why it’s frustrating that he won’t let himself be, you know… like the you of this place.”

“He doesn’t like attention,” I said.

Jem shook her head back and forth. “Nope nope nope.”

I wiped down everything with bleach and water, humming softly as we worked together. I wasn’t sure which dog was going into this kennel but it was my goal for it to be the best. I brushed every last scrap of dust from the bed and folded the sheets. Arranged the toys with military precision—and noticed how worn and old they were. I placed a Milk-Bone right in the center of the pillow, like a hotel mint.

I snapped a photo. “I only get four designated photos a day per Beck’s privacy measures,” I said, “but I think this one is worth it. What do you think?”

Jem appeared over my shoulder. “It’s beautiful. You really think this will help?”

“I do,” I said—the first thing I’d felt certain about in days.

She gave me such a precious, toothy smile I pulled her in for a picture.

“For your page?” she looked horrified.

“Of course,” I said, but then thought

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