Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Lena Joly has a fierce soul for healing every pet who limps into her struggling clinic. Taming human jerkwads is nothing new—until the day Brady Pruitt storms in with an adorable lost puppy.
There’s nothing cute about him. His wicked reputation overshadows devastating good looks and a jaw-dropping fortune. She’s relieved to send Seattle’s infamous bad boy billionaire packing and get back to fighting for her clinic. But Brady already decided the spitfire who ranks him lower than a banana peel can convince his family he’s finally respectable.
Lena could scream. A temporary “engagement” to fool his optics-obsessed parents? An obscene payday to keep tails wagging forever? And practice kissing?
Holy hell. The girl with barbed wire guarding her scarred love life can’t hide when the butterflies hit. And after their love for animals sweeps them away, after pillow talk becomes bad habit, after it feels too real, two stone hearts will be glorious confetti…
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
I
Dog Days
(Lena)
This job is bittersweet.
You don’t sign up for this business unless you live, sleep, and eat challenges.
Because no girl in her right mind dreams of spending her Friday evening cleaning up puddles of puppy pee.
I mean, it’s not that I mind. The puppies are adorable, bouncy little balls of golden floof, still finding their paws when they’re not mouthing everything in sight. Who am I to judge them for not knowing how to hold their bladders yet?
At their age, I probably couldn’t either.
But I love my job, urine and all.
Maybe I’d skip janitor duty if I could. But you don’t get the sparkle in life without taking out the trash.
So, here I am, mopping and disinfecting until my arms hurt. It’s just before closing, and I’m doing my very best not to eavesdrop on Dr. Ezzie’s conversation like the shameless rat I am.
Easier said than done when her office door is cracked open.
And I was born curious. Came out of the hospital wanting to know everything about everyone, so yes, my ears perk up at the concern in my boss’s voice.
Not good.
I can’t quite make out the words, but I don’t need to when her tone gives away so much. That sad, clipped edge in her voice says the news she’s getting isn’t sunshine and rainbows.
I finish cleaning and flush the dirty water from the bucket down the sink in the back room. Even from here, I can hear the way Dr. Ezzie’s tone rises and falls in the background, this nervous rhythm with a slight hush that hints she’s trying so hard not to overreact.
My heart hurts.
It has to be about her folks again.
Last week, her elderly father had a nasty fall and broke his hip.
That’s what happens when people get old—just like animals—but it doesn’t make it suck any less. Dr. Ezzie came in frazzled this morning, straight from the hospital, trading one bone-white center for sick creatures for another.
Straight from looking out for her dad to looking out for us.
As for her mom . . . well, I guess the jury’s out on whether she’s still all there. The last time she visited, her mother didn’t recognize her.
The thought hits me with anxiety.
It makes me worry for my own mom one day, and mourn the way I’ll never get a chance to face love and frailty with my dad because he’s already gone. But that’s not the only reason I’m worried today.
Why does this feel like a bad omen for Pawsome Hearts?
We’re a small clinic. One of those scrappy family-run businesses that put the well-being of our furry, feathered, scaly patients above all else. Dr. Ezzie drives the whole operation.
She’s the entire reason I applied for a position here, and I’ve loved it ever since.
But if she has to quit to play full-time caregiver or just because the job becomes too much when she’s got so much on her plate—
I don’t know.
I don’t have a clue what that means for the clinic without its owner.
And honestly, that scares me.
There’s no one standing by to swoop in and fill her shoes, to give us a fighting chance in a crowded Seattle market.
Without Dr. Ezzie, Pawsome Hearts won’t exist.
Not without a buyout from one of those big corporate places where they count dollar signs more than healthy animals. I can only pray that doesn’t happen.
Having our supplies and every hour I work micromanaged to “streamline” efficiency is not what I signed up for.
I glance at my smartwatch. It’s eight o’clock now—closing time.
Finally.
I head to the door to flip the sign and make sure it’s locked, pausing at the window to glance over the property.
Across the courtyard, on the edge of the parking lot, there’s the building for the kennels that backs up to the park, where dogs are bedding down for the evening. Keith, our lone night shift boarding guy, gives me a friendly wave as he circles back inside to check on them.
For Seattle, Pawsome Hearts is a unicorn. One of those rare overgrown green spaces bursting with small-town vibes in the big city, where people still know each other’s names and greet you with a smile.
No, I wouldn’t dare change a thing, even if our daily operations demand it.
When I first hired on, we had more kennel workers for boarding. We had larger kennels too.
It’s been a tough year. Even without Dr. Ezzie leaking deets about her finances, I know that.
It’s pretty impossible to miss when we’ve had to make cuts left, right, and center.
I suppose I should be happy, though.
I still get to work here.
I still get to help awesome pets and mend their owners’ worried hearts. All in a day’s work for a tireless vet tech who runs on iced lattes and ginseng tea.
Hopefully that won’t change.
I’m still mulling that over when I see people approaching the door. Just before I can reach them to say we’re closed, the bell jingles.