Wild Open Hearts (Bluewater Billionaires) - Kathryn Nolan Page 0,3

my arms. “Bed, food, toys?”

He stood up, still holding Jack. “I, uh… I don’t know, I thought he’d sleep in the bed with me unless you think that’s weird.”

“Not weird,” I said, hiding a smile.

“Well, all right then.” Buzz coughed and took the leash Jem presented him. But he didn’t let Jack go. “I guess I’ll be off.”

I stepped forward, passing my hand once more over Jack’s tan fur. He’d put Elián and Jem through their paces when it came to training—and there was a moment where I thought he might not be rehabilitated. Jack had been a risk we’d all been nervous taking.

But it was worth it for this moment.

Every adoption day made me think about Willow—the sight of her tail wagging as she walked off with her new family.

“Nice work,” I said, nodding at Jem. She was twenty-six and had spent a decent amount of her days in juvie as a teenager, just like me. And she’d gone through the same dog-training program, which was how we’d met—at an event where I was mentoring former juvie kids. Her lime-green mohawk had caught my eye.

That and she had a grit I’d also recognized in myself. Never again, it said.

“This was a great one, boss,” Jem said, letting out a big sigh. “I’m going to miss that little yappy monster.”

I pointed to the parking lot where Buzz was sliding into a large red pickup truck. Jack Sparrow was sitting on Buzz’s lap, tongue lolling. The raw, honest smile on the man’s face could have been seen from a mile away.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “That was a great one.”

3

Beck

Wes and Jem went back to work—Wes to the shitty trailer we called our office and Jem off to train a bulldog named Princess.

I yanked open the door to the trailer to find Elián flipping through a stack of mail. Elián was Cuban-American with a true understanding of animals and a love for motorcycles that matched my own. He was also Lucky Dog’s program director and my best friend.

We started this place together. Though why I ended up in charge, I still wasn’t sure. And neither was he, I knew it. That was clear enough given the anxious look on his face right now.

“Jack?” he asked, avoiding whatever bad news was in that pile of mail.

I nodded. “Went great. Buzz will be dressing Jack up in a sailor costume in no time.”

Elián grinned. “I can’t wait to see it.” He hesitated, then handed me a thin envelope, growing serious. “It’s from the Miami-Dade Community Foundation.”

They were our biggest funder. One of our only funders. At barely four years old, Lucky Dog was as grassroots as you could get, and their two-year grant had kept us open while Elián and I learned the ropes of running a nonprofit.

I tore it open—revealed a short letter telling me that although Lucky Dog was a very competitive candidate, they would not be funding us at this time.

“Fuck me,” I muttered. Leaned against the wall of the trailer and crossed my arms. “We’re out all that cash.”

“That was more than half of our income for this fiscal year,” he said grimly.

“We’ll figure it out,” I said, not knowing if I was lying.

“Did you go speak at their annual dinner?” he asked.

“Nope,” I replied.

Elián gave me a look.

“That was the night Beatrix came in. It was all hands on deck,” I said.

Beatrix was a snarling, 125-pound bull mastiff that had been found near a well-known dog-fighting ring in the city. Deep down, she was a sweetheart—which we were finding out—but that first night, dealing with her had been like trying to lasso a wild horse.

“I’m pretty sure we had her covered,” he said simply. “I think you should have gone. I think they would have appreciated, you know, some schmoozing.”

I’d rather have been tossed in the ring with Beatrix than have to put on a suit and schmooze. I’d never been good at impressing people—scaring them, sure. With the Mason last name, certain types of people in Miami knew better than to test me. But for a man who’d spent more years in juvie than actual school, those events made me feel dumb.

“Beck,” Elián said.

“I know,” I growled. “You don’t have to say it.”

“If I wasn’t your best friend, I might try and punch you right now.”

“I probably deserve to be punched.” I sighed.

I sank into my office chair—financial reports and grant applications littered the space. I knew I needed to pay attention to them. But it was too easy