Page 7 of Take It Offline

Honestly, I can name half a dozen improvements her name has been attached to, so I don’t know why she’s treating this role like it’s a life-and-death situation.

Her time will come again.

Meanwhile, if I’m promoted, I can finally stop checking my bank balance fifty times a day. I want to take a damn vacation and stop fake laughing at jokes told by sulfur-fueled jackasses in upper management.

I want to stop pretending I like golf, for fuck’s sake.

“You’re right,” I say, because I’m a lot of things, but I’ve never wanted scumbag to be one of them. “I’m sorry.”

Her eyes widen and her lips part, and there’s a moment where we’re just two people forced into the same crappy situation.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, a hint of softness peeking through.

Damn, what I wouldn’t give to crack her wide open. See if there’s more under there.

“Though I would have appreciated it more if you’d said it months ago.”

So much for that.

“Well.” I clap my hands once. “This has been great, but I still have my actual job to do.”

“I look forward to working with you,” she says, looking as pained as I feel.

I sigh. No matter what Roberts says, there won’t be any working together. Emma might have grown up with a silver spoon in her mouth, but I was born with a pair of brass knuckles; I won’t go down without a fight.

With that, she turns on her heel and leaves.

I ignore how much colder the room feels after she’s gone.

CHAPTER 4

YOU CAN TAKE THE STRAY OUT OF THE SHELTER…

CHARLIE

Nights and weekends, I swap cuffs for collars.

All because my sister is living her dream of running a rescue shelter.

We might not be related by blood, but I’ll do anything for Reese, and at least three nights a week,anythingtranslates towhatever she volunteers me for.

I love it almost as much as I love her, and that’s a hell of a lot. I’ll gladly take shoveling this shit over the hot air Roberts spews, and also, what kind of monster doesn’t want to spend their spare time around puppies?

They’repuppies.

I brace myself beside Reese, who’s staring down a tabby named Saffron. “Ready?” I ask.

She nods.

“I’ll open on three,” I say. “You grab her.”

“Careful, she’s scrappy.”

Saffron eyes me like it’s high noon, poised and ready to strike. It’s the exact same look a teenage Reese used to give me when I’d drag her out of bed before nine a.m.

“I can handle you, can’t I?”

Chuckling, I duck out of the way before her elbow can hit me.

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