“I’ll take it if it means I can throw it at Mark and shut this thing down.”
Emily laughed again, but a little too loudly this time, enough to draw the attention of the three teams standing close by. They all glanced their way, brows furrowed, which frankly, only made things worse, and before Bette knew it, she was laughing too.
“Everyone ready for the next part?” Mark said, his gaze flicking briefly their way before seemingly deciding it was too much effort to get them to quiet down.
Bette gave Emily a sideways glance and for a second there, all she could think about was the way the surgeon had winked at her the other day. A wink that seemed far more significant than it had back then, as if actually meant something, as if this whole awkwardness between them, was because of that wink—because it hinted at the possibility of something more.
But no. There was no chance of anything happening between them. Nada. Zilch. Nothing. Not only would it be completely unprofessional, but Bette was still licking her wounds. Deep cuts made by Reba’s infidelity that needed forever to heal.
“Let’s get started!” Mark announced to the room.
The next three activities were a blur of awkwardness and reluctant groans from several people. The second game was blindfolded drawing, where a member of each team had to draw an object while blindfolded, with their partner givingthem directions. It quickly became apparent that neither Bette nor Emily had any drawing sense and lost the game miserably. Then came the cup stack challenge, which Bette was sure she’d played in college, but back then it had been a drinking game and considerably more fun. They’d faced off against Dr. Shaw and Human resources manager, Mackenzie Felix, and had narrowly won the final round. The last game, which, in Bette’s opinion, they should’ve won fair and square, was a simple relay race across the width of the conference room. But near the end, Emily had tripped, and Bette had grabbed her waist––only for them both to collapse on the ground in a heap of tangled limbs.
They probably could’ve still won if Bette hadn’t become increasingly aware of Emily’s body under her hands. The way her fingers had fanned out over Emily’s ribs, how the soft fabric of her blouse was thin enough for the heat to seep through. There was a flicker of a moment where Bette could concentrate on nothing but Emily’s body beneath her fingertips. And then Mark had announced the winner—which wasn’t the two of them.
At least the team-building event was drawing to a close.
“Congratulations, Doctor Shaw and Mackenzie Felix for winning today’s team-building event,” Mark proclaimed, pointing to a basket in the corner of the room Bette hadn’t even noticed until now. “It includes a selection of gourmet snacks, a bottle of Napa Valley’s second-best Cabernet Sauvignon, and special edition glass water bottles with Oakridge’s symbol printed on it.”
“Told you,” Bette whispered under her breath, stepping closer to Emily, close enough that her breath had brushed a piece of Emily’s auburn hair. “Always a water bottle.”
Emily turned to look at her and winked. A wink that this time around sent a shiver straight through Bette.
8
EMILY
“Uh-uh. Absolutely not,” Tessa said, walking into the bedroom.
Emily, who was standing in front of her full-length mirror, frowning at the outfit she’d thrown on a minute ago, didn’t even turn around when she huffed, “What now?”
“I’m sorry, but there’s no way in hell you’re wearing that outfit to the hospital gala.” Tessa made a face. “It’s perfectly fine if you’re going to work at a bank.” She strolled to the bed and flopped back onto it. “Or I don’t know, a funeral home. But no way is it good enough for the Oakridge Foundation Gala.”
Emily glanced at her reflection. The dress wasn’t bad. It was just…boring. A navy-blue sheath dress that hit just below the knees. The neckline was modest, and the sleeves skimmed the elbow. Paired with simple black pumps and a thin silver bracelet on her wrist, it was exactly what Emily was going for—safe.
“I’m not trying to impress anyone,” Emily said, smoothing her palms over the fabric. “It’s just a gala.”
“Not even Bette Bridge, your physical therapist?” Tessa asked, arching an eyebrow. “Because last I checked, you can’t stop talking about her.” She put on a voice that Emily assumedwas supposed to imitate her—it did not. “Bette hiked the last leg of the Pacific Crest Trail just for fun. Bette can tape a shoulder without even looking.Oh wait, I forgot the best one—Bette caught a falling weight the other day and went right back to work like it was nothing?—”
“Just stop,” Emily huffed, cutting her off.
It wasn’t true. Or maybe it was. Maybe Emily had spoken a little too much about Bette over the last two weeks. She’d gone for three more therapy sessions since the team-building event, arriving on time for each and doing exactly as she was told. Everything had gone smoothly and easily. Not a single hiccup, not a single kinky thought had come barreling into her head again.
Yet, every time Emily felt Bette’s eyes on her—those warm brown ones that seemed to look straight through her, almost like she could see all of Emily’s mess, the self-doubt, the scars, the everything—it made her question herself. Maybe she wasn’t as good at hiding things as she thought. Maybe Bette did see more than she was letting on.
Then there was the matter of Bette’s ring finger
Emily had only noticed it during their last session—the faint tan line, just a ghost of where a ring had once sat. Or maybe it was still sitting there, and she was just taking it off during treatment sessions. Now that Emily had seen it, she couldn’t unsee it. What did it mean? Was Bette married? Divorced? Widowed? She had wanted so badly to ask her during their last session, but couldn’t get herself to utter the words out loud.
Before Emily could dwell on it too much, Tessa sighed dramatically and launched herself off the bed. “I refuse to let you leave this apartment with that outfit.” She was already at Emily’s closet, yanking the doors open before Emily could open her mouth to protest. “Do you own anything that doesn’t make you look like a secretary?” Tessa muttered, tossing rejected itemsover her shoulder. “I mean, what the hell is this?” she pulled out a perfectly decent gray cardigan. “Please tell me this was your grandmother’s and the only reason it’s hanging in your closet is because she died in it, and you want to keep a piece of her with you.”
Emily folded her arms over her chest and frowned. “It was actually quite expensive for your information.”
Tessa didn’t dignify that with a response, instead, she spun back and continued rifling through Emily’s clothes like she was a raccoon in a trashcan.
A few more seconds passed and Emily, who was feeling increasingly more violated, was just about to kick her best friend out of her bedroom when Tessa squealed and spun around, holding up a sleek, emerald green dress. Emily had bought that dress months ago on some impulsive whim when she’d spotted it in a boutique window while grabbing coffee. It was the neckline that had done it. A dangerous plunge that had whispered, “Buy Me.” Which she had, and then promptly shoved it to the back of her closet, because where the hell was she ever going to wear something like that?
Tessa grinned, lifting the hanger higher. “This is the one. This. Is. The. One.”
