All I Am. Nicole Helm

Sweetness yipped happily at her feet, and the desire to quit receded. He’d given her a dog. His dog. He wasn’t all bad. Just, well, like he said, a mess.

      Maybe if she learned how to deal with someone else’s much harder mess, she’d figure out how to deal with her own.

      “I’ll be back bright and early Wednesday morning.” She lifted her chin, daring him to argue.

      He gave her the slightest of nods, and she got the distinct impression he was purposefully not saying anything.

      That was fine and dandy. They didn’t need to talk. They didn’t even need to be friends. He could be gruff, silent boss man, and she would be A-plus administrative assistant lady.

      She gathered up her things and clipped Sweetness’s leash onto her collar, but when she walked over to him so she could leave, he didn’t move out of the doorway. He blocked it, arms still crossed, all frowny and...

      Hot. The word you are looking for is hot. She had no idea how, but his mountain man flannel and hair had become something of an obsession.

      “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice so low and grumbly she barely made out the words.

      It was possibly the most sincere apology she’d ever gotten. He was uncomfortable, and his enunciating could use some work, but that was what made it so genuine.

      It wasn’t BS. It was very real. Very honest. She didn’t know what to do about that, except be honest back.

      “You weren’t wrong, even if you were kind of jerky about it.”

      “Yeah, well. I’m sorry for the jerky part.”

      Sweetness tugged on the leash, obviously ready to get outside, but Cara wasn’t ready for it because she was still a little off-kilter from the apology. Instead of holding on tight and tugging back, she bumped right into Wes.

      A hard wall of muscle. Yowza.

      He gripped her elbow with his unscarred hand. “She needs some work on her obeying.”

      I would gladly obey. Talking about a dog. Not her. Right. Cara swallowed. “Well, I should get her outside, huh?”

      He maneuvered her via the arm he held, so they switched places. He was now in his office, and she was in the door frame.

      “Right. Well. See you Wednesday.”

      He nodded, giving no indication he felt any of the same crazy attraction electricity she got every time he was all whatever that was.

      She should be glad he didn’t feel it, but she remembered the way he’d blushed when she asked him how she looked with the buttercups in her hair. He wasn’t immune, and she wanted to know why he insisted on pretending he was.

      Except he was her boss and, of his own admission, not mentally healthy.

      “Did you need something else?”

      “Nope. I’m good,” she said brightly. Too brightly, but oh, well. He was always too grumpy, and she could be too cheerful. Maybe they’d balance each other out.

      Hardy-har-har.