Page 50 of The Irresistible Distraction

“Nothing.”

“Okay.” I let out a breath. “Why are you calling?”

At the still too-long red light, I smear on my tinted sunscreen and root around for any kind of a hair tie.

“We haven’t agreed to terms.”

“What terms?”

“The fact that I’m working an extra day.”

I close my eyes in exasperation, because I know he’s not serious. Everything online tells me that the Huntington-Brancas are loaded, wealthier than the Williamses loaded, comparable to Hollywood elite loaded. Thus, it stands to reason Brody is not angling for some kind of minimum wage.

“What do you want?”

“Another date.”

“Already agreed to Saturday.” The light turns, and I try to bite back a groan. Tomorrow. I’m going to be so tired.

“Yes, but we’ll probably have to reschedule tomorrow.”

“Why?” I try to keep the disappointment out of my voice, because yes, I’m too tired to even think about going on a date, but I’ve been looking forward to some one-on-one time with Brody.

“Not into somnophilia.”

I gurgle out a laugh, realizing how tired I am without the latte I’ve gotten used to Brody giving me. “I look that disgusting?”

“You looked that tired, earlier.” His voice is warm and lacks any hint of judgment.

I’m mortified by not only my appearance but the likely juxtaposition: Brody remains, as always, almost insufferably, effortlessly sexy.

“Also, I wanted to ask if I could take Sebastian down the mountain.”

“Elaborate, please.”

“So polite.” He takes an audible breath. “There’s a history tour his summer school teacher suggested, which he can complete for extra credit. If you’re willing, I could take him on Sunday, or . . . we could make a small trip out of it. You could pack a bag, I’ll get us a set of rooms, and we could go . . . together.”

“For Sebastian’s history extra credit?” My words are painfully slow, and I know I’m definitely overenunciating each word as I try to make my too-tired brain comprehend, rubbing a hand over my eyes. Somnophilia indeed. “This feels like a very elaborate three-way date that just happens to include Sebastian.”

“That’s both gross and, I feel compelled to inform you, illegal. It’s an educational trip, not a date, meaning it doesn’t count.”

Even though the traffic light has changed, I’ve forgotten to move.

“You still there?” Brody asks. “It’s not nice of me to push when you’re already frazzled.”

“Then why are you?”

“First rule of law school: Never leave any advantage unclaimed. And like I said”—even though I’m not seeing him, I can imagine that Brody-shrug of his—“half the battle with you is just . . . keeping you engaged and interested. This is for Sebastian. You’re just getting me as a bonus side piece.”

“But—”

“Stop overanalyzing.” Another pause. “Just say, ‘Yes, Brody.’ Or even better, ‘Thank you for convincing my son he wants extra credit, Brody.’”

“This is a psychological study, right? The foot-in-the-door thing. You get someone to say yes to the smaller, initial ask, you get them used to the idea of agreeing, and before you know it, they’ve stolen your retirement savings.”

“I love how your twisted little brain works.”

It’s unclear why I interpret his words as a compliment . . . but I just do. There is a palpable affection in his voice as he says it.