The throbbing between my legs as I walk to my car suggests otherwise.
At least it’s stopped when I arrive in the half-full parking lot, early despite my morning... distraction. I sit in my car for an extra minute, hands gripping the wheel as I mentally run through my game plan: be professional, focus on the medicine, don't stare at Sebastian's hands. Or his mouth. Or the way his forearms look when he rolls up his sleeves. "You're a doctor, not a teenager," I mutter to myself, grabbing my bag and getting out of the car. "Act like it."
Sierra Mercy looks almost peaceful in the early morning light, the red brick facade warmed by the rising sun. I adjust my messenger bag, take a deep breath of cool morning air, and head toward the entrance with purposeful strides. I can do this. I'll be calm, collected, and brilliant.
"Morning, Dr. Phillips," calls a nurse I recognize from yesterday as I pass through the lobby. I smile and wave, relieved that my first human interaction of the day doesn't involve the star of my shower fantasy.
I'm still congratulating myself on my composure as I round the corner toward the elevators, my mind already shifting to the cases we might discuss today, when I slam directly into what feels like a brick wall in human form.
Strong hands grip my upper arms to steady me, and I'm suddenly engulfed in a familiar scent. My eyes travel up from abroad chest covered in a crisp blue button-down to a strong jaw dusted with stubble and finally lock with the dark eyes that had been burning into mine in my dream just hours ago.
Sebastian Walker.
Of course.
We're pressed together for all of two seconds, but it's enough time for my treacherous body to register every point of contact—his hands on my arms, his chest against mine, his breath warming my face. He's solid and warm and so real that my fantasy version suddenly seems pale in comparison.
"Dr. Phillips," he says, his voice low as he quickly releases me and steps back. His eyes flick over me, taking in my appearance. Is it my imagination, or do they linger for a fraction of a second longer than necessary?
"Dr. Walker," I manage, my voice mercifully steady despite the heat climbing up my neck. "I'm sorry, I wasn't looking where—"
"Clearly," he interrupts, straightening his already perfectly straight tie. "Perhaps save the daydreaming for off-hours."
The unfairness of the comment—when I was actually thinking about work before he appeared—sparks a flare of irritation that cuts through my embarrassment. "I wasn't daydreaming. I was reviewing potential diagnostics for Cheryl's case."
"And?" he prompts, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that makes the fabric of his shirt pull taut across his shoulders. I force my eyes to stay on his face.
"I think we should look at heavy metal toxicity again." The words tumble out. "I know you ruled it out, but dancers often use old theaters with lead paint, and the peripheral neuropathy combined with the GI symptoms is classic for—"
"We tested for lead, arsenic, and mercury," he cuts me off again. "All negative."
"But did you test for cadmium?" I counter. "It's less common but would explain the—"
"Staff meeting. Ten minutes," he says, already stepping around me. "Don't be late."
And then he's gone, striding down the hall with that efficient grace that somehow manages to be both irritating and attractive. I stand there for a moment, trying to process what just happened.
The elevator dings its arrival, snapping me out of my thoughts. I step inside, pressing the button for the fourth floor harder than necessary, as if I can channel my frustration into the small plastic circle.
By the time I reach the diagnostics conference room, I've managed to mostly compose myself. The physical encounter with Sebastian has left me more rattled than I'd like to admit, but at least I didn't completely embarrass myself. That's a win in my book.
Dr. El-Sayed is already seated at the table. She gives me a brief nod as I enter. Dr. Kim shuffles in behind me, mumbling a quiet good morning before taking a seat as far from Naima as possible while still being at the same table. The only one missing is—
"Morning, colleagues," Dr. Langston announces as he strides in, looking like he stepped out of a medical journal photoshoot. His hair is impeccably styled, his tie matches his eyes, and his smile has that practiced charm that makes me instantly wary. He takes the seat directly across from me, folding his hands on the table. "Dr. Phillips, isn't it? I don't believe we were properly introduced yesterday."
Before I can respond, the door opens again and Sebastian enters, carrying a stack of files that he places on the table. The room immediately falls silent, the air shifting as everyone sits up straighter.
"Good morning," he says without preamble, his gaze sweeping over each of us before lingering briefly on me. "We have threenew cases to review this morning, plus updates on our existing patients."
He begins discussing a case involving a teenage athlete with unexplained joint pain, but I find my focus drifting as he speaks. My eyes keep betraying me, drawn to his hands as he flips through the file, to the way his jaw tightens when he emphasizes a point, to the slight furrow between his brows as he considers a question from Naima.
Fragments of my dream flash through my mind—those same hands on my skin, that mouth against my neck, that voice whispering things that would make me blush even harder than I already am. I shift in my seat, crossing my legs tightly as heat pools low in my belly.
"...which is why Dr. Phillips and Dr. Langston will take the lead on this case."
I snap back to attention at the sound of my name, realizing with horror that I've missed whatever case Sebastian has just assigned to me. Harper looks at me expectantly, a slight smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, like he knows exactly where my mind has been.
"Do you have any questions about your assignment, Dr. Phillips?" Sebastian asks, his tone making it clear he too has noticed my inattention. "Or shall I repeat the pertinent details for your benefit?"
