Page 9 of Late Harvest

Well…until now.

Remy hadn’t dated in years, and no one had truly caught her eye in a long time. But Bash Wheatley?

He was a charismatic, somewhat goofy…hunk of eye candy. And, unless she’d completely lost her powers of observation, he’d been flirting with her.

It had taken every ounce of her hard-earned skills to remain visibly unaffected by his charming babbling. Men like him were dangerous—on the surface, amiable and alluring. Underneath? Nothing good.

“Dr. Remington?” Lucia’s question jolted her out of her reverie.

“Sorry,” she offered, carefully washing her hands and each finger, pretending to focus intently on maneuvering the soap beneath her nails, when in reality, she could do this three-minute ritual in her sleep. “Just thinking through this case. But, I’m assuming you mean Bash Wheatley.”

Lucia actually tittered. Freaking tittered. Her rock-solid physician assistant, who’d risen to the ranks of lead orthopedics PA fueled by pristine performance—and who was usually as serious as a nun in church—giggled like a schoolgirl with a crush.

Remy sighed and ignored the uncomfortable roll of her stomach. She wasn’t lactose intolerant, but occasionally dairy didn’t sit well with her when consumed on an empty belly. The culprit in this case was likely a different diagnosis. Slick, handsome men never sat well with her, either. There lay danger, experience taught her.

Focus, Remy.

“I met him briefly, coming out of Dr. Desai’s office.”

“You met him?!” Ok. Now Lucia was squealing.

Remy finished her cleansing and dried off with the sterile towel, careful not to let it touch her scrubs. She silently stepped into the OR, performing one more hand sanitization with the special gel. “I did. It wasn’t a big deal.”

Liar. I am such a raging liar.

“Was he as hot in person as he is on screen? I’d love to run my hands through that hair.”

Donning her gear, Remy pictured his hair, artfully tousled. He probably spent an hour to achieve that casual look. “He was,” she paused, searching for a word that wouldn’t give away the riot of emotions that—coupled with the protein shake—roiled in her belly, “attractive.”

“Did you get to talk with him?” Now Lucia was practically panting. What had happened to her unflappable PA?

“Only briefly. I was in Dr. Desai’s office to handle something and he apparently was meeting Brinder for lunch.”

“Mmmmhmmm. I bet the two of them together could cause women all over the world to spontaneously ovulate.”

Remy said nothing. Her ovaries had long since given up the ghost, her ob-gyn midwife recently informing her she was officially menopausal. No more riding the crimson tide for her. And good riddance.

Lucia opened her mouth to say more, but Remy cut her off. “Let’s go. Our patient is waiting.” Hearing the business in her tone, Lucia immediately finished her own gowning.

In good news, Remy’s heart rate had finally decelerated to its normal state. But why had she been so…affected…by Bash Wheatley?

It wasn’t anything she wanted to examine closely, that was for sure. Chalk it up to the fact that he was attractive and somewhat glamorous, with undeniable magnetism.

In other words: dangerous.

Still, as her afternoon surgeries flew by, Remy couldn’t fully sink into her ballet. Her Zen garden had been invaded. Not by an arrogant, lazy PA this time. But by a sexy, cocky, charmingly goofy movie star. And she was not happy about it.

Thankfully, she never needed to see him again.

Chapter Five

What did one elevator say to the other?

I think I’m coming down with something.

—From Bash’s dad joke collection

Bash