Chapter 2
Ispend the entire next day second-guessing myself.
What if this is a scam? When I googled him, I found exactly what he claimed.
Successful anesthesiologist in a trauma department at a large hospital in the big city a town over from us.
His socials were locked down, but his sister and his nieces were wide open to the public.
In fact, his niece, who is just a few years younger than me, appears to be an aspiring influencer.
But still, what if Ethan Cross is actually a con artist doctor who lures unsuspecting women to his mansion and.
.. I don't know, harvests their organs to sell on the black market? I’ve seen every episode of Criminal Minds and it wouldn’t be out of the question.
I'm early. I'm always early. It's a people-pleasing thing, according to Emily, who keeps trying to get me to set boundaries and stop overextending myself.
But being early has served me well. It shows I'm reliable. Professional.
And maybe, just maybe, eager.
I press the call button.
"Lily?" Ethan's voice crackles through the speaker.
"Hi. Yes. It's me."
The gate swings open, and I drive through, my stomach doing nervous flips.
This time, when I park, Ethan is already standing in the doorway.
He's dressed more casually than yesterday, wearing jeans that fit him way too well and a navy henley that hugs his shoulders in a way that should be illegal. His very broad and muscular shoulders. When does he have time to work out? Aren’t doctors too busy to spend time on their bodies?
Stop. Stop letting your imagination run wild.
I grab my bag and step out of the car, suddenly hyper-aware of my own outfit.
I changed three times before settling on dark jeans and a soft lavender sweater.
Professional but approachable. Or at least, that's what I was going for. My simple gold heart shaped locket with my sister’s picture.
I almost never remove it. Not since she passed away a few years back in a terrible boating accident.
I reach up and finger it. She gives me strength everyday.
I like to think she is watching over me.
Like right now. In case, you know, Dr. Ethan Cross is a serial killer.
"Right on time," Ethan says, and there's approval in his voice that makes something warm unfurl in my chest.
"I try."
He steps aside to let me in, and I walk into a foyer that's even more impressive than I remembered. High ceilings. Gleaming hardwood floors. A chandelier that probably costs more than my student loans.
"Can I get you something to drink?" he asks. "Coffee? Water?"
"Water would be great. Thank you."
He leads me through the house, and I try not to gawk at everything. The artwork on the walls. The floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a perfectly landscaped backyard. The kitchen that looks like it belongs in a cooking show.
Ethan pulls a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge and hands it to me, along with a glass. I can’t help but smile. It’s the same water I shopped for. I judged him hard as I put it in the cart at the store. The water costs what half of my grocery budget for the week is.
"Thank you," I say again, because apparently that's all I'm capable of saying around him.
"Let's sit." He gestures toward a breakfast nook with a built-in bench and a table that's already covered in notebooks and a laptop.
I slide into the bench, and he sits across from me.
For a moment, we just look at each other. This isn’t awkward. Not at all.
He's even more attractive in the soft evening light. There's a slight shadow of stubble along his jaw, and his eyes are this incredible shade of gray-blue that reminds me of the ocean before a storm.
Focus, Lily.
"So," I say, pulling out my own notebook. "Tell me about your mom and sister."
Ethan leans back, and I watch the way his shoulders shift under the henley.
"My mother's name is Diane. She's turning seventy, as I mentioned. She looks like she’s about fifty, however. She’s a retired nurse.
She raised me and my siblings mostly on her own after my father passed when I was sixteen. "
"I'm sorry," I say softly.
He nods. "She's strong. Stubborn. She loves gardening, old movies, and meddling in my personal life."
I smile. "Sounds like a good mom."
"The best." There's so much warmth in his voice that it makes my chest ache. "My sister is Claire. She's turning forty, a high school English teacher. She's brilliant, sarcastic, and has never met a book she didn't devour in one sitting."
"A reader," I say, perking up. "That's perfect. I can work with that." If I know anything, I know about books.
Ethan watches me with interest. "You sound excited."
"I love books. I'm part of a book club, actually. We read romance novels and drink wine and talk about fictional men who probably don't exist."
His mouth quirks. "Probably?"
"I'm holding out hope."
The air between us shifts. Just slightly. But I feel it.
He clears his throat. "Before we dive into planning, I have something for you."
He reaches into a bag beside him and pulls out my book.
The book.
The one with the half-naked man and the very obvious Daddy Dom vibes.
Oh God.
"You forgot this yesterday," Ethan says, sliding it across the table.
My face is on fire. "I didn't forget it. I-I-I took it with me." I realize I’m stammering. But I swear, when he pulled it out of the bag, I grabbed it.
"You took one." He taps the cover. "This was still in the grocery bag."
I want to crawl under the table and die. Of course it was. They were stacked together. The one I’d just finished and the one I was about to start. I wonder what color my face is, I feel it flaming from the inside out. "I'm so sorry. I swear I don't usually—"
"Lily." His voice is calm. Steady. "It's fine. I'm not judging you."
"You're not?"
"No." He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. "Everyone has their preferences. Their interests. There's nothing wrong with knowing what you like."
The way he says it. The way he's looking at me.
I swallow hard. "Right. Of course."
"Have you finished it?"
"The... the book?"
"Yes."
"I, um. No. I finished the one before it. The first one you found. This is the sequel."
"And?" There's a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Did you enjoy the first one?"
This is a test. It has to be. He's seeing if I'll squirm. If I'll get flustered and change the subject.
But something in me straightens. Maybe it's the way he's looking at me. Maybe it's the fact that I've spent the last twenty-four hours thinking about him in ways I absolutely should not be thinking about a client. Maybe it’s because I want to know what he’ll say or do next.
"I did," I say, meeting his gaze. "It was well-written. The characters had depth. And the dynamic between them was... compelling."
"Compelling."
"Yes."
He doesn't break eye contact. "What did you find compelling about it?"
My pulse is racing. I should not be talking about a Daddy Dom book with a client.
Especially not a sexy older client, one that looks like he’d fit the description.
I should not answer his questions. What I should do is change the subject, bring it back around to the party and the gifts.
Instead? I answer the man. "About the book or the relationship they built? "
"Both."
"It’s written by one of my favorite authors.
When she writes, she puts her entire heart into each story.
I loved the small town vibes but also the way her characters always find the person they need most. The trust the two develop together, and the way her Daddy really saw her.
It’s like in these relationships, the Daddy can see past what the little shows the world, her outside persona and see through to what she really craves.
A safe space where she can be vulnerable and let everything go. "
Ethan's expression doesn't change, but something flickers in his eyes. Something that gives me butterflies in my stomach.
"That's a very mature observation," he says quietly.
"I'm twenty-six. I'm allowed to have mature observations."
"Twenty-six." He says it like he's tasting the number. "I'm forty-two."
"I know." I found that out when I Googled him. Please don’t ask how I know.
"Does that bother you?"
"Should it?"
"Some people would say yes."
I lift my chin. "I'm not some people. Besides, why would your age bother me? I’m just an employee hired to do a job."
The corner of his mouth lifts. Just barely. But I see it.
"No," he says. "You're not."
What does that mean? The moment stretches between us, taut and electric.
Then Ethan sits back, and the spell breaks.
"We should talk about the scope of the job," he says, his voice back to business. "I need gifts for my mother and sister. Something meaningful. Personal. Not generic department store nonsense."
I nod, grabbing my pen. "Okay. Let's start with your mom. You said she loves gardening?"
"She does. She has a whole section of her backyard dedicated to roses."
"Does she have a favorite flower?"
"Roses. White ones, specifically."
I jot that down. "And movies. You mentioned old movies. Like classic Hollywood?"
"Anything from the forties and fifties. She watches Casablanca at least once a month."
"Romantic," I say with a smile.
"She'd say it's about the cinematography." He's smiling now, too. A real smile that transforms his whole face. "But yes. She's a romantic at heart."
"Is there anything else you can tell me?"
"She comes from a large Irish Catholic family. Family means everything to her. I’m the oldest of five children, and the only one to not settle down and give her grandchildren."
I scribble more notes, my mind already spinning with ideas. "What about your sister? Besides books, what else does she love?"
"Coffee. She's a snob about it. Only drinks single-origin, ethically sourced beans."
"A woman after my own heart."
"She also collects first editions. Mostly classic literature. Austen, Bronte, that sort of thing."
My eyes widen. "First editions? Like, actual first editions?"
"Yes."
"That's... wow. Okay. I can work with that."
Ethan watches me scribble notes, and I can feel his gaze on me. It's not uncomfortable. It's the opposite, actually. It's like he's genuinely interested in what I'm thinking.
"What else do I need to know?" I ask, glancing up.
"The party is this Saturday. Six o'clock. My mother is expecting a small family dinner, but I'm planning something bigger. Nothing ostentatious, but I want it to feel special."
"How many people?"
"Twenty, maybe twenty-five."
I nod. "Doable. Do you have a caterer?"
"Not yet."
"Flowers?"
"No."
"Decorations?"
"Lily." He's smiling again. "I have nothing. That's why I hired you."
Right. Of course. "You know you could find a party planner to do all this for you."
"I know. A few coworkers said the same. Turns out, they are all booked. I guess I should have looked into this a couple months ago." He looks sheepish. "I’m willing to pay more for the short notice I’ve given you."
"More? That will not be necessary. It just so happens that I love a good party." I flip to a fresh page. "Let's make a list."
We spend the next hour going over every detail. The guest list. The menu. The color scheme. Ethan is surprisingly opinionated about some things, how he wants white roses and soft lighting, and completely hands-off about others.
"I trust your judgment," he says when I ask about table settings.
"You don't even know me."
"I know enough."
There's something in the way he says it. Something that makes me feel seen.
Noticed.
Important.
By the time we finish, my notebook is full, and my water glass is empty.
"This is a lot," I admit, flipping through the pages.
"But it's doable. I'll need to start tomorrow if we're going to pull this off by Saturday." Luckily, I’ve been working only on shopping apps for the last couple of months and can pick and choose when and if I want to shop. If I’d had another job? A nine to five? I’d be screwed.
"Whatever you need," Ethan says. "I'll make sure you have access to everything. Credit cards, contacts for catering and anything else you need, my schedule."
"Your schedule?"
"In case you need to reach me. Or if you need my opinion on something."
"Right. Of course."
He stands, and I follow suit, suddenly aware of how close we're standing.
"Thank you, Lily," he says, and his voice is softer now. Almost gentle. "I know this is a lot to take on."
"It's fine. I'm excited, actually."
"Good." He walks me to the door, and I'm hyper-aware of his presence beside me. "I'll transfer half the payment tonight. The rest when the job is done."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to." He opens the door for me. "You're trusting me. The least I can do is show you I'm serious."
I step outside, the cool evening air hitting my flushed skin.
"Ethan?"
He looks at me, and God, those eyes.
"Thank you," I say. "For giving me this opportunity."
"Thank you for saying yes."
We stand there for a moment, just looking at each other.
Then I turn and walk to my car before I do something stupid like ask him if he's ever considered starring in his own romance novel. As I drive away, I glance in the rearview mirror. He's still standing in the doorway, watching me.
And I'm smiling like an idiot again.
My phone buzzes the second I'm out of the gate.
Chloe: Emergency meeting. Tomorrow night. 7 pm.
Lily: What's the emergency?
Madison: You. Obviously.
Maya: We need details about Doctor Mansion.
Amber: Please tell me you got his number.
Holly: Better yet, did you get a signed NDA? Because this sounds like it could get SPICY.
I bite my lip, trying not to laugh.
Lily: It's a job. A professional job.
Chloe: Sure, Lil.
Emily: Lily, honey. We love you. But you're terrible at lying.
Lily: I'm not lying!
Madison: Then why are you blushing?
Lily: YOU CAN'T EVEN SEE ME!
Holly: We don't need to. We know you.
I toss my phone into my bag and focus on driving.
But my mind is already racing ahead.
To tomorrow. To the party. To Ethan.
To the way he looked at me when I admitted I liked the book.
Compelling, I'd said.
And God help me, I meant it.