Distraction by Emily Snow

Author:Emily Snow [Snow, Emily]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Emily Snow LLC
Published: 2017-04-25T18:30:00+00:00

“You're not wearing your scrubs,” Bailon muses several hours later after Sonora guides me into his office. He motions for me to shut the door behind me, and I wait until my back is turned to fire off a retort.

“And you're not dressed in lounge pants—imagine that.”

“Someone’s feisty today. Not enough sleep?”

If he only knew.

I had gone home immediately after we parted ways in the parking garage. Although I had hoped to go right to bed, I had tossed and turned for hours after I found the Instagram messages he said he sent. He was telling the truth. He hadn’t simply shrugged off contacting me like I let myself assume all week. There were two messages—one from Tuesday and another on Wednesday afternoon—and both were so sexually charged, I found myself kicking my sheets away from my body. I eventually fell asleep a little after nine, and when the sound of the doorbell dragged me awake at noon, I made up my mind to ask him for a rain check on the way to answer it.

I was afraid that in my current state, I’d make decisions that were too stupid when it came to him.

That was before I opened the door to the flowers.

They weren't like the last arrangement he sent. Instead, these were a blend of roses and freesia, jasmine and orchids. It wasn’t until after I climbed out of the shower and my gaze caught the half-full perfume bottle on one of my bathroom shelves that it finally hit me: He had sent me the combination that makes up my perfume. I had stared at the rose-colored bottle for what felt like an eternity—until the emblem started to cloud my vision—and then I quickly got dressed for lunch.

Now, he clears his throat behind me and I splay my fingers on the door. “Did you get the flowers?”

“I did.” I face him, rubbing my hands over the backs of my jeans as I approach his desk. “They were beautiful.”

“You didn’t throw them away?” he asks.

“What sane woman throws away perfectly good flowers?” Sliding into the chair on the other side of his desk, I cock my brows at the travel itinerary in front of him. “Going somewhere fun?”

“Back to Los Angeles,” he says, stretching one arm across his chest to massage his fingers over his shoulder. He makes a pained expression as his hand works against his flesh. “I’m still negotiating that contract for my client. He was a last-minute replacement in a movie—big budget. It’s going to make his career.”

“Oh.” That one word seems to echo off the walls surrounding us, and it earns me a cocky grin.

“Don’t look so sad, Flowerbomb. I promise I have time to teach you another lesson or two before I take off for the next few weeks—if you’re up for it, that is.”

Despite the heat that caresses my body at his promise, I flinch. “You’re going to be in California for a few weeks?”

“Maybe less time. I’ve got some work I need to catch up on in L.

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