Chapter 6
6
CADENCE
C rap. He caught me looking.
I send Maverick a little wave, then, cheeks burning, lower my head back to the dripping mop in my hand. God he's handsome. I thought maybe I was imagining how hot he is. I mean, everyone looks good in a dark club. That's the point of all that dim lighting. But nope, it wasn't the lights. It was him.
Bree's laugh rings out, echoing off the concrete. With a lot of effort, I turn my back to the men at the other end of the kennels. "What's so funny?"
She grins knowingly. "You can't take your eyes off him, can you?"
Totally busted, I shrug, a smile tugging at my lips. "Looking never hurt anybody."
"Mmhmm. Nick mentioned you two were making eyes at each other last weekend at Mav's club."
It really is getting warm in here. "We were not 'making eyes.' I was working."
She snickers. "Uh huh. Working real hard at undressing him with your eyes."
"Bree!" I toss a soapy sponge at her. She ducks, laughing.
"I'm just saying, the chemistry is obvious. Nick's a good judge of people, so I didn't doubt him, but seeing it for myself, wow."
I bite my lip, focusing intently on scrubbing the concrete floor. "It doesn't matter. He's my boss. It would be totally inappropriate."
"At the club, maybe. But you're not at the club. You're both consenting adults."
I sigh. "It's not that simple. There's a power imbalance. And I don't even know if he's interested."
Bree snorts. "Oh, he's interested all right. A blind man could see that."
I can't help but steal another glance. Maverick is crouched down, fingers outstretched for Goldie to sniff, his face split in a boyish grin. My heart does a happy little flip.
"See? You're doing it again," Bree teases.
"Hush, you." But I'm smiling. It's hard not to. There are worse problems in the world than having the hots for your boss.
"I think you should go for it," Bree says. "Life's too short not to take a chance on love."
"Love?" I shake my head. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I barely know the man."
"Then get to know him. What's the harm in that?"
"Here's here. I'll talk to him. Hell, I can even be his friend. But that's all it will be."
Bree bites her lip, studying me. "He's a good man. They all are. He would never take advantage of his position. Just think about it, Cady."
I shrug, and move to the next kennel, rolling the yellow mop bucket in front of me. Maybe he's a good man. Maybe he's a great man. Doesn't change the facts that he's my boss, and that job is going to save Nan and I. So no, I'm not going there.
Ever.
I'm scooping kibble into metal bowls when Maverick appears in the doorway of the little kitchenette. He leans against the frame, hands in his pockets, a small smile playing on his lips. My fingers tingle with the urge to flatten the little swirl of hair sticking up at the back of his head.
"Need a hand?" he asks.
"Oh, um, sure. If you want."
He steps into the tiny space, absently rubbing his stomach. The kitchenette suddenly feels even smaller with his broad shoulders taking up so much room. I hand him the other scoop and point to the line of bowls on the counter.
"Just one scoop for the little guys, two for the big ones."
He nods, getting to work. It's simple, repetitive work, but the air between us is thick. Hiding my smile, I sneak glances as he very carefully and methodically fills the scoop, using a finger to level it. I've had all kinds of volunteers through these doors, from sullen to exuberant. So why do I find his concentration so endearing?
"So, how do you keep track of all their diets?" he asks, genuine curiosity in his voice. "There are so many dogs out there."
I shrug. "I just remember, I guess. I don't always know what each dog needs when they come to me, but the ones that have been here a while I've figured out. Sammy is allergic to chicken. Weenie needs a low-fat blend. Terry gets an extra scoop because he's still a growing boy." I rattle off the details without thinking.
Maverick shakes his head, chuckling. "Weenie? Terry?”
“Yeah. Well, I don’t really name them. I call them some variation on a breed. So Weenie’s a dachshund. Terry’s a boston terrier.”
“Why don’t you name them?”
“Because that’s their new family’s job. Most of the adopters change the names, and that can be a little confusing for them. Plus, it’s too easy to get attached, and they’re not staying here long term. That’s the whole point.”
“When did this naming thing start?”
“It was something my grandma said years ago, when I brought home my third or fourth stray. It was so hard to fix them up and let them go, but Nan reminded me that I couldn’t help more if we ran out of room.”
“And you always wanted to help more?"
“Yeah. I just didn't want to stop.”
"It's clear you care a lot about them. They're lucky to have you."
"I'm the lucky one, really. They give me purpose."
Maverick hums thoughtfully. "Everyone needs a purpose. I'm glad you found yours."
I glance up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. The billionaire’s looking at me like he respects me. That’s…surprising. Our eyes meet, and for a moment, the air between us feels charged with...something. But then he blinks, and the moment passes.
"Well, that's the last of them," he says, setting down the scoop. "What's next on the agenda?"
I clear my throat, trying to regain my composure. "Um, I usually take them out for one last potty break before bed."
He nods. "Lead the way."
Conscious of him trailing closely behind, I grab a couple of leashes from the hooks near the kennels then leash a little boston terrier mix, and a beautiful, already spinning in circles, Australian shepherd.
I hand the leash for the terrier to Maverick, who's giggling as he watches the manic shepherd acting like a goofball at my feet. "This is Shep. He is not a gentleman. Your guy Terry is much better on the leash."
"That’s good," he murmurs, carefully winding the leash around his fist so it doesn't drag on the ground.
“Are you sure you can handle him?” he asks, as Shep has a loud argument with his non-existent tail.
“I’m sure.”
As soon as we step outside, the Australian Shepherd at the end of my leash loses his mind. He's bouncing up and down like he's on a pogo stick, tongue lolling out of his mouth in pure, unadulterated joy.
I laugh, trying to keep my balance as he pulls me forward. "Dude chill! You'd think he's never been on a walk before. But he does this every single time."
Maverick chuckles, the little Boston Terrier trotting primly beside him. "Terry seems quite happy to go for a nice walk."
"Oh just you wait." I grin knowing exactly what he’s in for. Terry’s a gentleman, but he’s also stubborn and lazy. "He's lulling you into a false sense of security."
As if on cue, the Shepherd takes off like a shot, nearly yanking my arm out of its socket. I break into a run to keep up, my sneakers slapping against the pavement. The industrial park is quiet at this hour, nothing but the sound of our footsteps and the dog's panting echoing off the warehouses.
Maverick, not one to be left behind, breaks into a jog beside me. But barely ten paces in, Terry sits down abruptly, nearly sending Maverick tumbling over him.
"What the-" Maverick stutters, righting himself.
Terry looks up at him, head cocked, as if to say "You really thought I was going to run? Please."
I can't help it. I burst out laughing, doubling over and clutching my stomach. The Shepherd, thinking this is some great game, starts zooming around me in circles, tangling me up in his leash.
"I meant to warn you!" I wheeze out between giggles. "Terry is more of a 'stop and smell the roses' kind of guy."
Maverick shakes his head, a rueful grin on his face. "I guess there’s nothing wrong with that. But a little warning would have been helpful."
Still chuckling, I untangle myself from the leash and give the Shepherd a scratch behind the ears. "Alright you menace, let's finish this walk so we can all get some sleep tonight."
The Shepherd seems to take that as a personal challenge and takes off again, nearly sending me face-first into the pavement. He's not a huge dog, and I am a sturdy woman, but his enthusiasm mixed with my exhaustion and okay…distraction have me unstable. Maverick lunges for me, but I've had plenty of practice so I catch myself, and with a grin tossed over my shoulder, I take off running again into the night.
Mental note, use some of my tip money to buy a new athletic bra. I'm about to give myself a black eye.
Maverick's beside me suddenly, the terrier perched happily in his arms, tongue hanging out, nose tipped to the breeze. Laughing, I slow, gently tugging the still energetic shepherd to a stop, and prop my hands on my knees to catch my breath.
"Holy fuck Cadence," Maverick mutters, putting Terry on the ground. "He almost pulled you right over. Jesus fuck."
Still panting, I stand and study the worry on his face. "It's okay. I'm used to it."
"What if you got yanked over while you were out here all alone? You could crack your head open on the sidewalk."
It's not just worry on his face. It's more than that.
It's fear.
I step closer and place my hand on his arm. "I'm a big girl Maverick, and I don't mean chronologically." I sweep my hand down my body. "I'm built thick. I have a lot of weight behind me, so despite what it might look like, I'm not actually getting yanked around that hard."
His brows arrow down, and his hand wraps around my wrist, easily circling it. We both stare at where we're joined. Ever so slowly, he releases me, sliding his fingers over my palm until our hands are pressed together.
I'm a big girl. Tall, yeah, but I have big hands and feet, and a lot of ass. I'm just a lot. And my hands are as big as some men's.
But not Maverick's.
We both stare at our hands, and his fingers flex, the pads of them coming to rest on the tops of mine. A whole pile of feelings are rattling around in my chest. I can't make sense of them, and that's enough to make me pull back with a little laugh.
"You're just big. But my point still stands. I can handle the dogs, you don't have to worry."
He nods, and forces a smile, fingers gently rubbing against his palm looking down at Terry and Shep as they wind around each other, tangling their leashes.
Something achy, something needy unfurls in my stomach.
Something forbidden.