"I…" Ava's voice caught in her throat again, the words cut short as a tall blonde strutted into view, exuding the same effortless elegance as the man in front of her.
The woman sauntered over, draping herself against him like she belonged there, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek without sparing Ava a glance. She lingered, trailing kisses down his jaw to his lips with an exaggerated smacking sound that made Ava cringe.
When her lips descended toward his throat, the man shifted slightly and cleared his throat, finally drawing attention to Ava's presence.
Ava felt her face flush when the blonde finally noticed her. Like the man, she too was wrapped in a towel—though barely. The fabric was loosely secured, dangerously low, barely containing her cleavage.
The blonde gave her a cursory once-over, then, as if deeming Ava as unimportant as a speck of dust on the windowsill, she returned her attention to the man, wrapping an arm possessively around his waist.
"Grayson, baby," she cooed, planting another lingering kiss on his mouth. "You were taking forever. I had to come check on you."
Grayson didn't react to her display of affection, his icy blue gaze instead drifting back to Ava, lingering on her with a look that made heat rise to her face for an entirely different reason.
Oh, come on. Get a room already! Ava resisted the urge to roll her eyes. And why was she even still here? Her job was done. She should be heading back to the clinic.
But something about Grayson's smirk kept her rooted in place.
The blonde, apparently just noticing her refusal to leave, turned sharply, her perfectly manicured nails digging into Grayson's forearm.
"And who are you supposed to be?" she snapped, eyes narrowing. "His assistant? What are you doing here, kid?"
Kid?
Ava's temper flared. Kid? She was nearly thirty! This woman—who couldn't have been more than twenty-one—had no business calling her that.
Grinding her teeth, Ava lifted her chin, determined to respond with some dignity.
"I'm here—"
"To deliver my Valentine's roses," Grayson interrupted, his smirk widening.
Ava blinked, momentarily thrown off.
The blonde gasped, releasing her grip on him as her face twisted into a mask of betrayal.
"You—" Her voice hit a pitch so high Ava was sure the neighborhood dogs were perking up their ears. "You cheating piece of—"
Oh no.
Ava suddenly understood. Grayson was using her as an excuse to get rid of his clingy lover. The smug expression, the casual tone—it all clicked into place. They weren't married. They were just…playing around. And now, judging by his complete lack of effort to deny the accusation, he was ready to cut her loose.
Oh, you've got to be kidding me.
Heat surged to Ava's face, a mixture of embarrassment and rage. No way was she going to be some pawn in his breakup drama.
Before the blonde could fully launch into her tirade, Ava's hand shot out, shoving the bouquet hard against Grayson's chest.
"Here's your stupid roses!"
Without giving herself time to second-guess, she grabbed both their towels—one in each hand—and yanked.
The towels dropped instantly.
Two naked bodies.
The blonde screamed, scrambling to cover herself.
Grayson let out a deep, startled growl, his hands flying to protect his modesty, his face a mixture of shock and irritation.
Ava didn't wait to admire the view. She spun on her heel and bolted, sprinting down the driveway and into the street like her life depended on it.
She only stopped when she was half a block away, clutching her chest as her heart threatened to burst from both exertion and mortification.
Did she seriously just do that?
The image of their shocked, towel-less bodies popped back into her head, and to her horror, a laugh burst from her lips—one that quickly spiraled into full-blown hysteria. She doubled over, clutching her stomach as uncontrollable giggles shook her body.
It wasn't until her ribs ached and she was gasping for air that she finally managed to pull herself together.
Okay, calm down, Ava. Pull yourself together.
But as her breathing slowed, her mind drifted back to Grayson. Specifically, his… physique.
Stop it. Right now.
But it was too late. Her traitorous brain conjured up the memory of his sculpted chest, those defined muscles, the way his eyes had gleamed with that infuriating mix of confidence and amusement.
Ugh!
This was ridiculous. What was wrong with her? It wasn't like she'd never seen a shirtless man before.
Then again, Grayson Blackwood wasn't just any man.
A fresh wave of heat crawled up her neck, and she pressed her palms to her burning cheeks.
Focus, Ava. Professionalism.
She needed to call Sienna tonight and explain the situation. The clinic might lose a client over this, but honestly? It was better than letting her staff be subjected to Grayson's playboy antics.
She straightened her spine, brushing imaginary dust from her sleeves, determined to put this whole humiliating incident behind her.
But fate, as it turned out, had other plans.
Because Ava's personal doomsday arrived far sooner than expected.
Three days later, while sitting in her clinic reviewing patient files, the receptionist's voice crackled through the intercom.
"Dr. Langley, there's a Mr. Blackwood here requesting a consultation. Should I send him in?"
Ava nearly dropped her coffee.
Grayson Blackwood was here?
Why?
Steeling herself, she took a deep breath and pressed the button.
"Send him in."
The door swung open moments later, and there he stood—just as infuriatingly handsome as before. But this time, he wasn't smirking.
His gaze was sharp, serious, and unmistakably focused on her.
Oh boy.
"Dr. Langley." His voice was smooth, polite, but she didn't miss the undercurrent of tension.
"What brings you here, Mr. Blackwood?" she asked, keeping her tone calm and professional.
He extended a business card across her desk, his fingers brushing hers for a brief moment before he let go.
"I need a second opinion," he said, his gaze never wavering. "And I want yours."
Ava stared at the card, then back at him, her stomach knotting with suspicion.
What was he really playing at?