1
EMBER
I had been Dr. Nathan Bradley's personal assistant for exactly three days, and I was already drowning in a mountain of work.
My feet hurt, my back was sore, and sweat dripped down the back of my navy-blue skirt suit I thought would look professional.
Turned out it only served to make me look hot as I scurried behind him, weaving through the masses surrounded by garland and string lights.
The Christmas in July festival was in full swing with every traditional element of the holiday season, right down to the ridiculous commercialism that prompted sales in every storefront.
Dr. Bradley strode three steps ahead of me, his long legs eating up the distance between the craft vendors and the main stage.
His gray suit jacket hung over one arm, his white dress shirt rolled to the elbows, and even in the oppressive heat he movedlike a man with a mission, and I found it hard to keep up with him.
"Email Henderson about the board meeting," he said without turning around. "Tell him I need the quarterly reports by Thursday, not Friday. And call my mother—she's been leaving messages about Sunday dinner. Tell her I'll confirm tomorrow."
I fumbled with my phone, nearly dropping it as I sidestepped a toddler chasing a balloon.
My fingers flew across the screen, trying to capture every word while keeping pace and mopping sweat from my forehead with the back of my sleeve.
"Henderson, reports, Thursday. Your mother, Sunday dinner, confirm tomorrow. Got it."
A boy on roller blades darted between us, making me gasp, but Dr. Bradley didn't miss a beat.
"And reschedule my two o'clock with Dr. Mitchell. She wants to discuss the residency program, but I have that hospital foundation meeting I can't move."
"Reschedule Mitchell," I muttered, typing frantically.
I considered myself good at this sort of thing, but this man was next level, and he was a perfectionist too. "Foundation meeting at two."
"Two thirty," he corrected.
My stomach dropped. "Two thirty. Right. Sorry."
He finally glanced back, and I caught a glimpse of those pale blue eyes—cold as winter frost despite the summer heat.
When he looked me in the eye, it made my heart flutter.
"You brought water?" God, he was good-looking, even at his age, and I found myself noticing.
I dug into my oversized tote bag, past my planner and backup phone charger, and produced a bottle of lemonade from the thermal pocket.
"Lemonade. Thought it might be better in this heat." For mid-July, it wasn't as bad as it could've been, but it definitely wasn’t comfortable.
He took it without comment, twisted off the cap, and drank half the bottle in one long pull.
When he handed it back to me, I got a half smile from him that made me blush.
I'd always had a thing for more mature men, but never one this much older than me.
Checking him out felt naughty, but I knew better than to let it distract me.
He was a challenge with his busy schedule as it was.
I shoved the bottle back into my bag and hurried after him as he took off again.
I'd lasted three days, and already, I understood why four assistants had fled before me.
