Page 202 of Wild Card 13

“Lucy.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“If that is who I think it is, make good choices.”

“I always make good choices.”

Naomi snorted.

I pulled one earbud free and ended the call before she could become more accurate.

Dottie reached the threshold and stopped, tail wagging so hard her hips moved with it. She looked up the corridor like she had discovered Christmas had a personal scent.

Then a shadow shifted beyond the glass.

I rose halfway from my chair before I meant to, one hand landing on the edge of the desk. My water bottle wobbled. The legal folder sat open beneath my palm, Charlotte’s email still glowing on the screen beside it, all that careful, manufactured outrage suddenly small in the face of the man standing just outside my door.

Ty Burns leaned one shoulder against the frame like he had not just crossed half the country, won a hockey game, and walked into the one room in Talon Arena where I was least prepared to see him.

His hair was a mess from postgame travel and flattened badly on one side. A dark team hoodie stretched across his shoulders beneathhis open coat. There were faint lines of exhaustion around his eyes, and his jaw held the rough shadow of a very long day.

Dottie made a sound that could only be described as betrayal with vocals.

Ty looked down at her first. His worn-out face softened. Then his eyes lifted to mine. “Working late, Ms. Thomas?”

“Unfortunately.”

Ty’s mouth curved faintly. “That sounded like a confession.”

“It was an observation.”

“Dangerous hour for those.”

Dottie stepped into the hallway and pressed herself against his legs like she had personally invited him and was relieved he had finally stopped being rude about it.

“Dottie,” I said.

She ignored me completely.

Ty looked down at her, and his hand settled over the top of her head. Slow. Familiar. Gentle enough that something in my chest shifted before I could file the sensation somewhere practical. Dottie leaned into him with her whole body, eyes nearly closing.

“That is extremely unprofessional,” I told her.

“She had a long day.”

“She slept through most of it.”

“She still looks emotionally exhausted.”

“She looks delighted.”

Ty glanced up at me. “Can’t blame her.”

The quiet stretched between us for one second too long.

I looked away first, because I was tired and because the legal folder was open and because his hoodie had the faint rumpled look of travel and his eyes held the worn-bright edge of someone whose body had not yet come down from a win.

“You’re back late,” I said.