Page 12 of Doctor’s Orders

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Bram says. “You don’t even like most of your money. You’re always looking for ways to get rid of some of it.”

“It’s not really about the money.”

“I know. It’s about you worrying about knowing if someone loves you for you and not for what you can buy them.” He shrugs. “You can always use a pre-nuptial agreement. I know Blake, in town, drew all of them up for the Crawford kids when they had to marry for will purposes.”

“I never said anything about marriage,” I snap. Usually, just hearing that word makes my skin crawl. But when I think of it in to reference Lizzie, none of my panic surfaces. I don’t even begin to want to know why that is.

“Can you keep it in your pants?”

“Yes, jackass. I’m not a teenager.”

He holds his hands up in surrender. “You said yourself that this woman is different. I’m just asking.”

“You didn’t ask me if I would be tempted. You asked if I’d cross that line. You know me better than that.”

“I do. But I also know,”—he glances over his shoulder and then a genuine smile appears on his face—“that sometimes love shows up when and where you least expect it and I was almost an idiot. Thankfully, my kids talked some sense into me. And if memory serves me right, it was you who forced me to meet her. Telling me I needed to get back in the game. When you’ve never even stepped foot on the field.”

Emma comes out, the screen door slamming behind her. She plops herself into Bram’s lap and he pulls her in close, wrapping his arms around her body. A pang of something I can’t quite name rattles through my chest.

“He’s not wrong, Graham. If you like this woman, then why don’t you just ask her out on a date like a normal person?”

“Can’t now. She works for me.”

Emma nods. “Yeah, and it never works to mix business and pleasure. Maybe we should call Jared and Audrey and let them know their relationship is doomed.”

“I don’t know why the fuck I come over here,” I grumble.

“Because you love us,” Emma says with a smile. Then she leans forward and pats my knee. “We love you too. You deserve to be happy.”

chapter

seven

Lizzie

I’ve worked side-by-side with Graham for two weeks now. I’ve lived in his pool house, but I’ve only ever seen him here, at his office. He’s been nothing but professional. Except when I catch him staring at my ass. Or my tits. Then his eyes heat and his jaw tightens, and he walks away.

We’ve had a relatively slow morning for a Friday, so I was able to leave the office and meet Annabelle for a quick lunch at Ruthie’s diner. I really hate to admit it—I hate even more that I feel it—but I love Saddle Creek.

I remember loving it as a girl, even if I didn’t have Greyson Hendricks as my best friend, like my sister did. But I’d had friends. I’ve been able to reconnect with Madison Crawford (now Burton) and Jade Larson (now Bishop). Because, of course, everyone is married. Everyone but me because I have crap taste in men.

I mean, at least Graham is a good man. Can’t say as much about Billy. But Graham is one hundred percent unattainable. Not only is he my boss, and landlord, I’ve heard talk around town about how dead-set he is on remaining a bachelor.

So yeah, Lizzie has shitty taste in men. I just have to keep reminding myself of that. Especially when Graham wears jeans to the office. It’s not an everyday occurrence, but when it does happen, it feels a bit like Christmas. I love how the denim molds to his tree-trunk thighs and his butt.

Speaking of Christmas, that’s exactly what I’m doing when we get back to the office. I’m putting up the tree that goes in the waiting room. It’s also the last thing Carol is working on before her retirement officially begins. She didn’t have to do much to train me other than to point me in the direction of the supplies and charts.

But when I get to the office, I see that Carol has gone for lunch. I poke my head into Graham’s office to let him know I’m back.

“Good. We have something we need to discuss. Come in and close the door,” he says. He gets up and leans his ass on the edge of his desk, crossing his meaty arms over his barrel chest.

He’s so virile and manly I think I might be drooling. I am in so far over my head.

“Did I do something wrong with my chart notes from this morning’s patients?” I ask, closing the door behind me.

“No. Nothing like that.” He motions to the chair in front of him. “Sit down.”

This is all feeling very official and weird and I think I might be about to get fired. Which, I know legally, he can’t do and I could sue his pants off for sexual harassment. Not that I’d ever do that. We met as strangers and fate or cruelty brought us together here at work.