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I offer a one-shoulder shrug.

“Puh-lease.” Phoebe doesn’t fall for my bullshit. “The only reason you wouldn’t have a physical reaction to those two men is if you were made of tin foil. Even then.”

“Okay, I ogled.”.

“So, you do have a pulse.”

I flatten my lips into a thin line. “Don’t quit your day job.”

“Seriously, Ari. This is a huge step for you.”

I tend to stick my head in the sand and pretend I don’t see men.

“It takes a lot to ruffle my feathers—”

“Or flutter your vagina.”

“Phoebe!”

“Just sayin’.”

“I’m immune to men—”

“Seems to me like those days are behind you.” Her wide eyes are fixed on her laptop.

No doubt, she’s scrolling through a wall of deliciousness.

“Oh, videos!” she says.

The edgy sound of Random Misconception blares in the background.

“Holy Jesus! Beckett can sing.”

“I can’t say rock music is my thing, but the man has an insane voice—”

The wine has mellowed me out, removing my barrier to overshare.

“God! Beckett has a sexy ass in those jeans!”

“Are you sure you’re in love with Oscar?”

“Don’t you dare question my love for my man,” she says. “I’m just being a good friend by evaluating these two for you.”

“They’re clients.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” she says before moving her attention away from me. “Let me check out your other hunky client.” Her fingers are already flying on the keyboard.

“Oooohhhh!” she says. “Rhys could get me to listen to rap music.”

“You kill me.”

“This display of manliness bears the question again. How in the world can you work with—Dear God—”

“What?”

“These two redefine suit porn!”

“I know.” I take another sip of wine.

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