Let's Talk About Sext

by Evie Claire

  She swallowed hard, then held up her hands, putting them an equal distance apart, like the plates of a scale.

  “You’re damn good at life. And, it seems, you’re pretty good at business, too. Now that you’ve decided you want to be.” Phebe lifted one hand slightly higher than the other and looked at it silently, implying it was him. “Me?” She lifted the other hand higher and looked at Brody. “I’m fucking fabulous at making a living.” She smiled with the confidence of a woman who knew herself. “But I suck at making a life.” She frowned and lowered her hands to her sides. “My career defines me because it’s all I have. It doesn’t make me a good person. And it sure as shit doesn’t keep me warm at night.” Phebe shook her head and bit her lip. “You make me want to be better. You make me want a life that’s worth more than a C-Suite. You are everything and the only thing I ever want to keep me warm at night.”

  By the time she finished, the entire restaurant had ground to a halt. Burgers hung mid-bite. Beers mid-sip. These patrons were getting waaaay more than they bargained for. And she wasn’t done yet.

  Taking the linen napkin from her purse, she passed it across the bar top to him. He unfolded its layers, opened it to her Sharpie marks, and looked at it questioningly.

  “What’s this?” He pushed the fabric back across the lacquered surface toward her.

  She leaned over the bar, taking the Sharpie marker that—by the gods of 1980s rom coms—still sat clipped to his shirt collar. Turning back to her napkin, she filled in the spaces of their crossword puzzle. The right way this time. No fours dressed up as eights. No bullshit.

  “What I should have given you the first day we met.” Phebe took the napkin with her number on it and, leaning back across the bar, tucked it into his pocket for safekeeping. “People don’t usually surprise me. You,” she held his gaze, “always have.”

  “Uh…Drew?” Brody called to his trusted employee and pointed to the register.

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  He turned back to Phebe, slowly landing his knuckles on the wooden bar top. He nodded to himself as he slowly left the business side of the bar. She couldn’t see his face over the customers’ heads. Couldn’t read the emotions playing out. Until he made the turn and started her way. His hand rose to his beard, dragging down the sides of it. A move she’d come to both love and loathe. He was thinking. There was still a possibility he’d tell her to go to hell—a small one, but one nonetheless. Phebe found herself pushing the nerves that felt like nails back down her throat. Never had the stakes of a deal been higher. Never had she been more emotionally involved in an outcome. It was torture.

  “Phebe Stark, you are, without a doubt, the most infuriating, stubborn, OCD, type A control freak I have ever met.” Brody didn’t mince words. He hit hard, right at her core. But at least he knew her. All of her. Even the ugly parts. And when the ends of his lips began to twitch, she knew him enough to know exactly where it was going. “And I can’t think of a single person I’d rather do life with. Because, god knows, you are the wake-up call I have needed for years.”

  Phebe leaped into his arms. Not into his lips, just into his arms. He was so beautiful to her in that moment. She wanted it branded in her memory forever. The moment her life actually started. Not her career, but her life. Two things she would never confuse as equals ever again. He held up a single finger, indicating there was more he needed to say before their white flags were finished waving.

  “In the vein of total honesty,” Brody grimaced with what he was about to say, “I take full blame for inappropriately sharing our personal life in public before—a mistake I will never make again.” His eyes went wide with mock horror at the thought. “But tonight, I kinda don’t feel like I should.”

  “What do you mean?” Phebe asked, brow crinkled in confusion.

  Brody nodded down the bar. Phebe followed his gesture. “Only an idiot would’ve interrupted such a beautiful speech,” he offered as his reason.

  Phebe’s wandering eyes stopped short, only to find the amused face of Mr. Joel Stewart, and his wife, sitting at the bar eating a burger. Casually dressed, she would’ve never recognized them.

  “Mr. Stewart.” Phebe’s face fell, but her determination didn’t.

  “Oh, I didn’t hear a thing,” he lied. The entire restaurant had heard everything. “I’m just here for the best burger in town.” He turned back to his plate, but not before giving a conspiratorial nod to Brody. “They’re excellent today, by the way, Brody. Seem to get better every week.”

  Phebe’s mouth fell open. What? Mr. Stewart had never mentioned he ate here. Not that they shared that kind of familiarity, but…but what the hell? Who cared about professionalism at a time like this? She’d shimmied too far out on the limb to climb back. Truth be told, she didn’t want to. Love has a way of reprioritizing a girl’s life when it’s the real thing.

  Instead, she collected herself and offered a small shrug of apology to her boss. Sorry. He wasn’t the most important man in her life anymore. She leaned into Brody, up on her tiptoes, lips pressed against his ear so no one could possibly hear what came next.

  “Does that mean I get your panties tonight?”

  Brody stiffened against her, his grin growing with every passing second. By the time he regained the ability to move, his smile was large enough to get lost in. Forever. Which is exactly what she did, because it was exactly what his next words sounded like. Gently wrapped in arms she’d pay any price to possess, his words found their mark and she regretted nothing.

  “I love you, Phebe Stark.” Brody’s face went slack and serious. A hand on either side of her face, he held her there, letting his admission sink in.

  She was a grown woman, yet never in her life had Phebe actually felt the truth in those words. Now she felt it in every part of her being. She inhaled quickly. In the best kind of way—shocked, but also recognizing she would rather be oxygen-deprived for the foreseeable future, because…hello…make-up kisses.

  They were slow at first. There were people present after all. But the thing is, when you breach a dam that’s been building up for way too long, you can’t simply stop the flow because someone might see. She could feel their stares. She knew it was the most unprofessional thing she’d ever done—making out with someone in front of her boss—but she didn’t give a damn. Not anymore. Brody’s lips had a way of doing that to a girl. Until he decided to be the adult in the situation and pulled away.

  “I think we should go find that pool table,” he whispered into the space he created.

  “But I thought you got rid of it,” Phebe breathed against his lips, drunk on kisses.

  “What can I say? Love made a liar out of me,” he admitted sheepishly.

  Wordlessly, she nodded, and drunk as she was on his kiss, she followed in his wake like a rag doll. They were near the hallway that led to the back when a voice rose above the cheers of the crowd. Cheers for the Cocktail-esque love scene they’d just enacted.

  “I’ll see you Monday morning, then, Miss Stark,” Joel Stewart playfully called above the noise. His wife clasping her hands at her chest and positively brimming with joy.

  “Maybe,” Phebe answered without looking.

  Or maybe she’d take a personal day. Old Phebe had never done that before. But she’d also never had a reason to stay in bed all day.

  New Phebe? She damn sure did.

  Five letters. Starts with a B and ends with a Y.

  To all the Loves that inspire me daily (and don’t complain when it’s mac ’n’ cheese for dinner…again)—it’s all for you.

  Acknowledgments

  To the superfans who keep wanting more—your kind words and emails can truly turn the absolute worst day into roses. Thank you for supporting me on this crazy ride.

  To Sarah Younger, for believing in this series from the very beginning.

&n
bsp; To Junessa Viloria and the entire Loveswept team, who whipped this book into shape. You guys have been a dream to work with.

  BY EVIE CLAIRE

  Let’s Talk About Sext

  PHOTO: © JEREMY HARWELL OF HARWELL PHOTOGRAPHY

  EVIE CLAIRE lives in Athens, Georgia, with her husband and two young daughters. Her other loves include Bulletproof coffee, red wine, yoga pants, and broody romance heroes—she once owned a pony named Darcy.

  Want to connect with Evie Claire?

  evieclaire.com

  Twitter: @ItsEvieClaire

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  Read on for an exciting look at

  I Wanna Sext You Up

  by Evie Claire

  Available from Loveswept

  Chapter 1

  It wasn’t an easy position Lorie found herself in.

  In order to slow the bleed of ever-dwindling insurance reimbursements, doctors had to see more and more patients every day. In order to increase their patient loads, they had to add hours to their day some way. And if most physicians were honest, they didn’t see much value in the typical drug rep that walked into their office.

  Which left it up to Lorie to find her own way to be an asset instead of a time suck to the physicians she called on. There were about a million hurdles in her path—zero money budgeted for lunches, increasingly difficult restrictions made by different offices, gatekeeper receptionists who saw it as their sole mission to keep their doctors on track—translation: no drug reps allowed past the waiting room.

  Still, Lorie saw it as a challenge, not a roadblock. She sold insulin, something type 1 diabetes patients couldn’t survive without. And watching a childhood friend suffer with the condition made her acutely aware of their needs. It was one reason why the job offer had seemed like fate. That, and it got her the heck out of Social Circle, Georgia.

  Dr. Saam Sherazi, whose office Lorie currently sat in front of, was the latest hurdle she was lacing up her heels for. He was new. Without a doubt the most unfriendly man she’d ever met. Lorie’s smile was award-winning—literally, from nearly every pageant she’d ever entered. And while most everyone returned the favor when she pulled out her wide, toothy, ex–pageant princess smile, he was solid ice. Prescription vouchers, patient education, CME credits for him…nothing she’d tried to date had managed to unfreeze him.

  She hoped an extra-dirty chai latte—something she’d had to Google—would finally make an inroad with Dr. Sam. And not that it mattered, but she was buying it out of her own pocket. She didn’t have the budget and certainly couldn’t expense the drink. But that was of little consequence if she finally got around to learning what made the man tick.

  And she needed to know what made him tick. He’d written nearly twenty-five prescriptions for her competitor last week alone. The new sales potential was staggering. Needing a bolster, she fired off a text to her coworker, Quinn Martin.

  LORIE: Pray for me. Meeting with Dr. Sherazi in 5.

  QUINN: . If anyone can crack that man, you can!!

  Yes. She absolutely could. And would. She took a deep breath, grabbed her stuff, and decided today was the day she made Dr. Sherazi her number one fan.

  His staff already loved her. She’d been calling on the large family practice ever since she’d started, and his partner, Dr. Dukes, was one of her favorites. Maybe that’s why it was so annoying to her that the new doctor didn’t care for her. Everyone in the building loved it when she walked in. Hell, they couldn’t wait to talk to her. Everyone but Dr. Sherazi. That is about to change, she thought to herself, imagining the first beats of “Eye of the Tiger” energizing each step she made toward the building’s front door.

  “Lorie!” the receptionist welcomed her with a warm smile. “Dr. Dukes will be so happy to see you.”

  “I’m here to see Dr. Sherazi today,” Lorie said, taking a pen to sign the log the office kept for drug reps. “I set up an appointment last time I was here.”

  The receptionist’s eyes rolled ever so slightly. “Good luck. He’s in a mood today.”

  “Is he always in a mood?” Lorie leaned over the front desk conspiratorially, whispering to keep the conversation between them.

  She sighed, pursing her lips as she thought about how to answer. “He’s just…antisocial, maybe? But amazingly, our younger patients love him.”

  “Well, hopefully he’ll love this enough to spread a little of that love my way.” Lorie raised the coffee cup in her hand and nodded with a smile. Then realizing what she’d actually said, she shook her head. “No, I didn’t mean love me. I meant love my products.” Why did she always feel so awkward when she made references to her love life? A hot flush crept up her neck. The receptionist fixed her in a playful sideways glance.

  “Are you dating anyone?”

  “Like I have time for that.”

  “I’m surprised to hear that. If he were thirty years younger, Dr. Dukes would have married you by now.”

  “Ha! Dr. Dukes is a favorite. But he’s taken and I have a strict rule against workplace romance.”

  “Oh, come on, Lorie. Lots of couples meet through work. A good-looking thing like you? I bet the doctors go crazy when you come walking in.” She was being kind, Lorie knew that. But it wasn’t what she needed to hear before her meeting with Dr. Sherazi.

  Damp heat rushed up Lorie’s neck. All her life she’d been judged for her looks. As a teenager in pageants it’d been a great thing. Even in college, her blond hair and big brown eyes had assured she never went unnoticed.

  But now, in the working world where she wanted to be judged on her merit instead of how she filled out a business suit, it was far from appreciated. Every morning she tied her hair into a low ponytail and used only the slightest whisper of makeup. Powder, mascara, and lip gloss. That was it. She didn’t own a business suit with a skirt and usually opted for flats over heels.

  And still her looks were a constant conversation starter. Never mind that she’d been up since six A.M. analyzing Dr. Sherazi’s prescribing habits and researching the hospital he’d done his fellowship years at in an effort to find talking points for their meeting. None of that seemed to matter to some people when the topic of her perpetual singleness was so much more fascinating. But there was nothing to do about that—except prove them all wrong.

  “I’m focusing on me right now.” Lorie winked good-naturedly at the lady. It was the response she always used when people pried. People like her mother and this well-meaning receptionist. If they wanted the truth about why she was she still single, there were about a million people in her hometown who would gladly fill anyone in on the scandalous heartbreak in her past. The only person she cared to rehash the topic with was her therapist. And his lips were sealed.

  “Dr. Sherazi’s office is at the end of the hall. I’ll tell his nurse you’re here.”

  Lorie sighed inwardly, feeling for all the world like a fat fish that had slipped off the line. Why was that? Why did she feel like her lacking love life was somehow disappointing a lady she only casually knew? Was it the earlier conversation with her mother? She never should have taken that call. Voicemail was a thing for a reason. She walked through the open office door and closed it slightly behind her. The peace and quiet was welcome.

  Still, she was unsettled.

  On autopilot, like she’d done a hundred times before, Lorie set the coffee cups down and went to work pulling stuff from her work bag. Only she was so distracted replaying the conversation in her mind, she wasn’t paying attention as she ripped open a box of insulin samples.

  “Darn it!” she hissed through her teeth, sucking at a paper cut that sliced right through her cuticle. That
one would hurt for days. And it only reinforced that the morning was turning into a cluster of epic proportions. Where had it decided to jump track again? Oh yeah, just about the Grady Curve, with the help of her dear mother. Shaking her head, she arranged the samples on his desk, pinched the cut to stop the blood flow, and looked for a distraction.

  Elevator music piped through a speaker in the ceiling. The kind of lyricless easy listening that made you think you knew the song but then never could quite place it. Music—singing, actually—was Lorie’s pageant talent all those years ago. And for someone who loved to sing, not being able to place a melody was maddening. Further proof that the morning was out to get her.

  “I Will Always Love You”? No, that wasn’t it. She shook her head and tried to think of something else.

  Dr. Sherazi’s office was sparse, like the bachelor pads of the few guys she’d dated since moving to Atlanta. It was her opinion that in addition to needing another five years of maturity before being dateable, the guys her age were also still kids in need of a mother. And while she very much wanted kids one day, she certainly didn’t want to date one.

  But speaking of kids, who were the adorable little ones beaming at her from Dr. Sherazi’s desk? Two little girls, eyes dark as night yet sparkly as stars, smiled at her from a hand-painted Popsicle-stick frame. Next to them, an older couple—the man exotically dark like Dr. Sherazi and the woman a petite blonde with pulsating blue eyes—stood arm in arm in front of what was probably the Grand Canyon. His parents, maybe? But who were the kids? His? She hadn’t known he was married.