Colt doesn't even blink. "Blackwell. You're early. We don't open for another hour."
"I want to see my dog. Now."
"He's recovering from surgery. You can't just storm in here—"
"Watch me." Beau advances a step, and I can practically taste the violence radiating off his polished surface like heat waves.
"I told your girl on the phone—"
"That would be me," I cut him off, wedging myself between them before someone draws blood. "And I told you Dusty needed time to heal before he could be moved."
Beau's attention shifts to me, and those gray eyes narrow as he takes in my appearance. I fight the urge to fidget under his scrutiny.
"You must be the assistant."
"Lucy Reid." I hold out my hand, which he completely ignores.
"And you must be the ungrateful owner whose dog would be dead if it weren't for Dr. Mercer's skill."
The temperature plummets to sub-arctic levels. Behind me, I hear Colt make a strangled sound that could be shock or pure admiration.
"Excuse me?" Beau's voice could shatter glass.
"You heard me." I plant my hands on my hips and glare up at him, channeling every ounce of New York attitude I possess. "Your dog was stabbed multiple times and left todie. Dr. Mercer spent two hours saving his life, and instead of saying thank you, you're standing here making demands like he's the enemy."
"You don't understand the situation—"
"I understand that you're letting pride get in the way of Dusty's welfare." My voice rises despite my attempts to stay calm. "He needs to stay here for at least a few more days before he's stable enough to transfer. If you try to move him now, you could kill him."
Surprise, maybe respect flickers across Beau's face. He glances at Colt, who's watching this exchange with an expression I can't read. Pride? Terror?
"She's right," Colt says quietly. "About the medical part, anyway. Moving him today would be like signing his death warrant."
The fight seems to drain out of Beau all at once, his shoulders sagging slightly. For just a second, I catch a glimpse of the fear he's been hiding behind all that controlled fury.
"How is he?" The question is directed at me, not Colt, and I can practically see the knife twist in Colt's chest.
"He's going to be fine," I tell him, my voice softening despite myself. "The surgery was flawless, and he's already perking up. Dr. Mercer did absolutely beautiful work."
Beau nods once, sharp and controlled. "Fine. He stays. But I want updates twice a day, and I'll be checking on him personally."
"That's not—" Colt starts, his voice tight.
"That's absolutely fine," I cut him off smoothly. "You can visit during normal business hours. I'll personally make sure you get detailed updates."
Beau's gaze ping-pongs between me and Colt, and something that might be amusement sparks in those silver eyes.
"You've got yourself a fierce little guardian, Mercer."
"She's got fire," Colt says quietly, and something in his rough tone makes my pulse do gymnastics.
"Indeed." Beau's gaze locks on me again, and this time there's something warmer flickering behind the ice.
"Thank you, Miss Reid. For fighting for my dog when I couldn't."
"You don't need to thank me. I just want him healthy and whole again."
Beau nods and strides toward the door, but hesitates at the threshold like he wants to say something else. "I'll be back this afternoon."
