Page 11 of Dr. Bad Boy

Plus he only fucked me because he thought I was an escort. There’s that painful fact I’ll never get a chance to confront him with, because my professional ethics preclude me from demanding anything of this client except that he pays his bill.

“This is more work than I expected,” he says as his phone vibrates. “I have a committee meeting at the hospital in an hour. Who would I see about booking another appointment with you?”

“It’s not necessary for us to meet in person,” I stammer out as he stands. I stand, too, gathering up my papers. “A lot of this can be handled by email.”

“Violet.” God, he needs to stop saying my name. And he keeps going, his voice smooth and careful. Dripping with confidence. “That’s not going to work for me.”

“I…” What can I say? He’s the client. I nod. “My assistant manages my calendar. I’m sure if we book a time for a few weeks from now—”

The little muscles at the corners of his eyes tighten, as does his voice. “Friday.”

“I…” Violet, you’re a professional. Pull your shit together. “That won’t be possible.”

“Make it possible.”

“I’m in court all day, and I prep over lunch.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. He’s staring me down now, like he’s not going to take no for an answer. “Dinner, then.”

“No!” The protest rips out of me. So much for being professional. Although he started it. “Dr. Donovan—”

“Max.”

“Dr. Donovan.” I take a deep breath and step toward the door. “If you’ll follow me, we can check with Hannah for my next available appointment during business hours.”

“I work during business hours.”

“You’re here now.”

“This was an exception. I was under the impression that your firm was…flexible about such things.”

We are. For everyone except the man who made me strip for him in a hotel room and kneel on an ottoman for inspection.

Max and I need boundaries, and we need them fast. And we can’t discuss them in a glass fishbowl.

“Fine. Friday. Six-thirty. Here. My office, not the boardroom. And the door will stay open.”

He lowers his voice. “I swear, Violet, those are more conditions than you put on our night together.”

And with that, he’s gone.

Well, our night together was supposed to be a simple one-night stand.

Violet gets her groove back.

Not Violet watches her life implode, three months delayed.

I wait until my pulse stops racing, then I head back to my office, and the first thing I do is Google him.

I’m staring at his Wikipedia entry when Derrick returns. “You recognized him, huh?”

Yes, but not for the reason the junior partner expects. “Uh…” I click out of the screen. “Mm-hmm.”

“Is there a problem?”

Yes, the fact that I had the best sex of my life with my new client is a problem. It’s a conflict of interest and evidence of my terrible judgement in men.

“He’s a doctor now,” I murmur, turning to pore over Max’s file so I don’t have to look Derrick in the eye and lie to him just yet.

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