This was exactly how I'd spent the weeks after San Diego—holed up in my apartment, eating junk food, and trying to convince myself not to get on the first plane away from there forever.
I gained several pounds in that ordeal.
Amelia: 4:53 PM: Is he hot?
For a second I stared at the screen unbelieving.
She wasn't lecturing me at all.
Her question made me snicker.
This was the other side of my best friend, the busy, boy-chasing side that always pushed me to find "Mr. Right."
Ember: 4:54 PM: Yes. Very.
Amelia: 4:54 PM: How hot are we talking? Scale of 1 to 10.
God, I had to think about that for a moment.
Dr. Bradley's broad shoulders in that dress shirt, the way his silver hair was coiffed perfectly.
For a man pushing fifty, he was sexy as hell. Didn't look a day past forty as far as his skin and complexion, and those icy blue eyes held a smolder that would put Sean Connery to shame in his later days.
Ember: 4:55 PM: Fine. Nine. Maybe nine and a half.
I finished the last of the pretzels and crumpled the bag, tossing it into the small trash can beside my desk.
It missed, bouncing off the rim and onto the floor.
I grumbled and left it there.
Amelia: 4:55 PM: GIRL. Go for it.
I read the message twice, certain I'd misunderstood. Then I typed back frantically.
Ember: 4:56 PM: What? No. Absolutely not. He's my BOSS.
I stood and paced the length of my office, all six feet of it.
She was insane.
No way I could ever do that and live with myself.
Amelia: 4:56 PM: So quit.
Ember: 4:57 PM: I can't quit! I just started. And I need this job.
Amelia: 4:57 PM: Then keep the job and sleep with him anyway.
Ember: 4:58 PM: AMELIA.
I wanted to argue with her because I knew in my gut it was the right thing, but the stupid grin on my face wouldn’t go away.
She was encouraging very bad things.
I was just starting over.
I couldn’t take that huge risk in a city so far from home.
