Page 49 of Slow Burn

“So, what, you want me to start… doing yoga or some shit?”

My mouth lifts into a smirk, thinking about the plans I’ve made for Beck’s big birthday bash this weekend. At first, I did it because I thought it would be a fun way to tease him, but now I think it might be exactly what he needs.

“Yeah,” I say. “You could try doing yoga. It might loosen you up a little.”

I lean over, bumping my shoulder into his, but the contact sends a jolt down my arm and it suddenly feels about ten degrees hotter in here.

I stand abruptly from the table to get myself a glass of ice cold water, and if Beck wasn’t sitting in front of me, I might have dumped the whole thing over my head. But his dark eyes have followed me through the kitchen and over to the sink, so I settle for taking a healthy glug instead.

“The other suggestion I had, if you scroll down–” I say, after swallowing. “–is to sell off more of the herd this season. I know you typically sell the calves from last season, but maybe you could consider selling off some of the others, too. Some of the healthy breeders. You might get a good chunk of cash, which would be useful right now. But it would have a snowball effect on next year's expenses. Less feed to buy over the winter, too. You could slowly start growing again once you’ve recouped some of the losses.”

Beck makes a humming sound that vibrates through me, warmth pooling at the apex of my thighs.

“I didn’t want to resort to that,” he answers, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms, lifting a hand to cover his mouth while he thinks. “This herd has been in my family for generations. They aren’t just cows, they’re Hollis cows.”

“Okay…” I say, leaning back against the counter while I consider other options. “Then we should look at what we need to do to make this place more sustainable for them. But that might require some investment up front. Things like planting different grass seeds that will be more drought tolerant. I’d have to do more research.”

Beck’s eyes meet mine, his mouth forming a tight line. “Thank you, Lyla. I appreciate everything you’re doing. Trying to find solutions and all that.”

“It’s my job,” I say, and with a soft smile and a wink. “And you are going to pay me at the end of all this.”

While this is technically a job, I can’t say that it has all felt like work.

Beck nods, with an expression that says of course.

“Thank you for defending me tonight at dinner.” I drop my gaze to my feet. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned from having you helping out around here, is that every once in a while, it’s nice to have someone else going to bat for you,” Beck says.

“Sometimes my emotions get the better of me, as you probably saw in that awful video,” I say.

“Haven’t seen it. Never will.”

When I look up his dark brown eyes are serious but genuine. Almost… caring.

I tilt my head. “You aren’t dying of curiosity? I would be.”

I’m almost used to being treated like some kind of circus act, like my emotions are a form of entertainment. Not one of the fun oddities that garners wonder and awe from onlookers. No, I’m the lion, that everyone is convinced is one day going to snap and it’ll be the headline of the front page news: Bloodbath in the Big Top.

My exes probably talk about me like I’m a funny anecdote, the hysterical woman they used to date. People probably laugh and say “Oh my god, she was nuts.” Now they have video proof to pass around.

What I’m sure the video fails to show is the part of the conversation where I laid out all the issues I had with having my name tied to the portfolio. How the owner of the company was willing to pay me off to cover up negative reviews of their skin care products, and also pay off customers who’d had bad allergic reactions to it.

Digging deeper, I found lie after lie, cover up after cover up, of how this company that touted ethical, cruelty free products was using a third party to test them and never asked questions about their practices until they started receiving complaints.

But Beck isn’t looking at me like an oddity. He’s looking at me like he sees me for who I really am. Just a girl who feels intensely, who cares passionately, who loves fiercely. A girl who feels it all with such clarity and acuity that it needs to come out otherwise it’ll burn her alive.

He shakes his head. “You remember what curiosity did to that stupid cat? I have no need to watch it, Lyla. I know you, I know who you are. And if you read that CEO the riot act, I’m confident you had a damn good reason. I’ve always liked you for that. You stick to your principles, and you’re not afraid to tell people what they need to hear.”

I smile, because I think that might be the closest Beck Hollis has ever come to saying that he likes me, and I can’t waste an opportunity to rib him for it.

“Awe… you like me?” I croon.

His expression goes flat. “I said I like that one quality about you.”

“You said you like me, because of that. There’s a difference.”

Beck rolls his eyes, but I don’t miss the way the corner of his mouth twitches. “Okay, fine. I’ll admit it. I like you, Lyla Morgan.”