Lily: NO WE DON'T!
Chloe: Was it spicy?
Maya: Scale of 1-10, how spicy?
Lily: I'm turning my phone off now.
Holly: That's a 10. Definitely a 10.
I groan and toss my phone into the passenger seat.
Tomorrow.
I'll deal with tomorrow when it comes.
But tonight?
Tonight I'm going to reread that book and try very hard not to picture Ethan Cross in the role of the Daddy Dom hero.
I fail spectacularly.
CHAPTER 2
Ispend the entire next day second-guessing myself.
What if this is a scam? When I googled him, I found exactly what he claimed. Successful anesthesiologist in a trauma department at a large hospital in the big city a town over from us. His socials were locked down, but his sister and his nieces were wide open to the public. In fact, his niece, who is just a few years younger than me, appears to be an aspiring influencer. But still, what if Ethan Cross is actually a con artist doctor who lures unsuspecting women to his mansion and... I don't know, harvests their organs to sell on the black market? I’ve seen every episode of Criminal Minds and it wouldn’t be out of the question.
"You watch too much true crime," I mutter to myself as I sit in my car outside his gate at exactly 5:58 p.m.
I'm early. I'm always early. It's a people-pleasing thing, according to Emily, who keeps trying to get me to set boundaries and stop overextending myself.
But being early has served me well. It shows I'm reliable. Professional.
And maybe, just maybe, eager.
I press the call button.
"Lily?" Ethan's voice crackles through the speaker.
"Hi. Yes. It's me."
The gate swings open, and I drive through, my stomach doing nervous flips.
This time, when I park, Ethan is already standing in the doorway. He's dressed more casually than yesterday, wearing jeans that fit him way too well and a navy henley that hugs his shoulders in a way that should be illegal. His very broad and muscular shoulders. When does he have time to work out? Aren’t doctors too busy to spend time on their bodies?
Stop. Stop letting your imagination run wild.
I grab my bag and step out of the car, suddenly hyper-aware of my own outfit. I changed three times before settling on dark jeans and a soft lavender sweater. Professional but approachable. Or at least, that's what I was going for. My simple gold heart shaped locket with my sister’s picture. I almost never remove it. Not since she passed away a few years back in a terrible boating accident. I reach up and finger it. She gives me strength everyday. I like to think she is watching over me. Like right now. In case, you know, Dr. Ethan Cross is a serial killer.
"Right on time," Ethan says, and there's approval in his voice that makes something warm unfurl in my chest.
"I try."
He steps aside to let me in, and I walk into a foyer that's even more impressive than I remembered. High ceilings. Gleaming hardwood floors. A chandelier that probably costs more than my student loans.
"Can I get you something to drink?" he asks. "Coffee? Water?"
"Water would be great. Thank you."
