Page 51 of The Potter

And somehow, I need to convince her.

Halle

It’s fine.

Everything is seriouslyfine.

Astor just needs me to bring a box of pamphlets he forgot… toNapa!

I’ve never been on a plane. Heck, I don’t even know how to get to the airport. And to set up the private jet to escort me to Napa? Yeah, that’d be an OMG. What was I thinking taking a job as his secretary?

I was thinking Dr. Potter would have agreed to do the surgery by now, and I’d be in Hollywood, living out my newfound freedom as an actress. But that hasn’t been the case at all.

Duke. I need Duke. He’ll know how to set up the jet and perhaps prescribe something to get me through the plane ride. Since I found Vance with my neighbor’s shirt in his fist, he hasn’t spoken to me. His silence probably has nothing to do with my neighbor and everything to do with the night we spent together. The night when his hand felt the wetness between my legs.

Honestly, it won’t hurt my feelings if he blocks the whole night out.

I did.

Okay, I’m lying. I relive that night on the daily. When I can’t get comfortable on the motel mattress, I envision Dr. Potter sliding a pillow between my thighs, the earthy scent of his sheets filling my senses as his fingers fill another sensitive part of me.

Shit. Napa.

Jumping up, I shake off the flush and nearly sprint to Duke’s office, where I’m met with an empty desk, but not an empty office.

“Duke’s in surgery,” says the man who haunts my daydreams, pulling his gaze from a chart to address me. “Did you need something?”

I swallow. This is not something I want to admit to Dr. Potter. He’s liable to fire me on the spot for being unable to fulfill my job duties. “No, that’s okay.” I offer what I hope is a sweet smile. “Thank you, though.”

I turn to leave when his raspy voice stops me. “Peach.”

Peach.

He called me Peach again, not Ms. Belle. Not even Halle. He went with Peach.

My mouth sticks, and I’m barely able to get out the squeaky, “Uh-huh?”

Those eyes, the color of an emerald, assess me with scrutiny before deciding he needs a closer look. He drops the file on the desk and comes around, standing in front of me, his fingers taking a piece of hair and tucking it back behind my ear. “What’s wrong?”

Well, we could start with the obvious. Dr. Potter is touching me and not in a doctor-patient way.

“Ms. Belle, I asked you a question.”

Ah, there’s the boss voice. Okay, things are right again in the world. Dr. Potter isn’t losing his touch.

His hands go to my upper arms, and he gives me a small shake. “Answer me, dammit.”

Is he concerned? Surely not.

“Five, four—”

My eyes go wide. “Are you counting down like I’m some sort of toddler?”

Vance visibly relaxes as his grip on my arms loosens. “No, I was counting to keep me from losing my temper.” He shrugs, and it’s absolutely adorable. “My therapist insists it works.”

I flash him a smile. “Did it work just now?”

He drops his hands and exhales. “No. I still want to shake you.”

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