“You heard me. Full-time position. We’ll go over details tomorrow, but it should cut your workload in half.”
I stop dead in the middle of the beach. “You’re kidding.”
“Not at all.” Emily laughs. “And before you ask, no, you’re not losing your job, your salary, or your end-of-season bonus. Management finally realized, especially after all the amazing feedback from Rogue’s ceremony, that you’ve been doing the work of three people and deserve some help.”
A laugh bursts out of me, pure disbelief and relief tangled together. I throw a little fist pump into the air, then look around to make sure no one saw me.
Emily keeps talking. “We can either go through the formal hiring process or offer the position to one of the interns who helped during Rogue’s ceremony. They’re all prequalified. If you want, we can do a three-month trial period.”
“I want June,” I blurt out before she even finishes. “June Moreira. She’s smart, she caught on fast, we worked really well together.”
“June…” Emily mutters, probably scrolling through files. “Ah, found her! Great Lakes local. Perfect. I’ll reach out to her today and keep you posted.”
“That sounds amazing. Thank you, Emily. Seriously, you just made my week.”
“Thank whoever found the budget,” she teases. “But I’m glad you’re happy. Talk tomorrow, yeah?”
“Tomorrow. Thanks again!”
We hang up, and just like that, “The Life of a Showgirl” blasts through my headphones. I can’t help it, I start dancing right there in the sand, spinning in a messy circle, laughing out loud. The waves crash, the wind tangles my hair, and for a second, I feel weightless.
I close my eyes, smiling, the sun warm on my face. This is the first time in weeks I’ve felt genuinely good. The kind of good that fills your lungs instead of just keeping you alive.
The air shifts, subtle, but enough to make me feel like I’m not alone.It’s probably nothing, I tell myself. Still, the hairs on my arms rise, traitors that they are.
I spin one last time, turn—and freeze.
There he is.
The same wall of muscle I ran into on this beach not long ago.
Rogue Gallagher.
He’s standing a few feet away, hands tucked into his joggers, a towel slung over one shoulder, the morning light catching on the curve of a grin that shouldn’t make my stomach flip the way it does. His hair is still damp, curls pushed back like he’s just finished his own run.
For a heartbeat, the world narrows to the sound of the surf and the thud of my pulse in my ears.
Then his gaze finds mine, slow and deliberate, his grin deepening just enough to make my knees go soft.
And then he speaks, low and steady. “Hey, kitten.”
Chapter 17
From a distance, I see her before she sees me. She’s on the phone, voice masked by the waves, punching the air. Whatever the good news is, it’s got her glowing. She ends the call, lifts her oversized T-shirt, and slides her phone into the waistband of her shorts.Christ.My eyes betray me. That arse could make a saint swear.
The wind catches her hair, and she laughs before breaking into a little dance.
I stand there, feet buried in sand, watching her spin under the sun. The world disappears, and all I see is her.
She turns and gasps, nearly colliding with me again. Her eyes widen, then pink rises in her cheeks, fast—pretty, unguarded.
“Hey, kitten,” I say, low enough that the wind has to carry it to her.
“Rogue,” she breathes out, one hand going to her chest. “Jesus, you scared me.”
“Didn’t mean to.” A smile tugs at my mouth. “Didn’t want to interrupt your victory dance.”
Her lips curve. “You saw that?”
