Bebe hadn’t stuck around to ask. Unfortunately, what she had done was let out a stunned gasp a split second before spinning around to bolt from the lounge. Of course, because fate had a twisted sense of humour, she’d collided with the doorframe—ooffing so loudly, everyone in the hallway looked at her—and then bounced into the other side of the doorframe, hitting her hip so hard she’d let out an equally loud “shit!”
If Dr Murphy hadn’t noticed her when she’d walked in, he sure as hell would have noticed her running out.
Which was problematic to the extreme, because Dr Erik Murphy was not one to irritate. He was notorious for demanding only exemplary behaviour from those who worked with him, or even those who worked near him. She’d heard he’d once reprimanded an intern for wearing a shirt a shade of green he found displeasing. Reduced the poor guy to tears, apparently.
Chewing on the inside of her mouth, Bebe pinched her thumbnail and fidgeted on the plastic cafeteria seat. An hour had passed since she’d walked in on Murphy. Sixty minutes of sheer psychological torture.
What were the chances being busted getting a blow job in the specialists’ private lounge was more irritating to him than a green shirt?
Damn it, she needed this job. Treading water in an angry ocean of student debt wasn’t fun, and she couldn’t bring herself to ask her big brother—her only living relative—for help, no matter how tired her legs were getting. Lincoln was dealing with his own life—or rather, the fall-out from his very dangerous previous occupation—and the last thing she wanted was to pile more stress on top of him.
Which was why she hadn’t mentioned a word about her tight financial situation to Niki, either. When your best friend was also your brother’s significant other, you had to pick and choose what you told her.
If only she’d knocked on the door first before going inside. The doctor she’d been sent to deliver a message to hadn’t even been in there.
Still, couldn’t Murphy have kept his libido in check until he was no longer on the premises? Seriously, what kind of moron had oral sex in the middle of the night?
“Bebe, are you listening to me?”
Okay, so that was probably when most people had oral sex, but not in the work environment. Clearly Dr Murphy didn’t think the normal conventions of society applied to him. Why would he? He was incredibly successful and incredibly sexy, and in Bebe’s experience, incredibly successful, incredibly sexy people didn’t behave like normal people.
Incredibly sexy is an understatement. Freaking make-your-ovaries-explode sexy, more like it.
True. Dr Murphy had been her go-to sexual fantasy since she’d seen him striding through the staff cafeteria on her second day at Central Perth. She’d even done the whole throws-her-against-the-wall-and-ravishes-her-while-everyone-watches—
“For the love of God, Bebe. I’m talking to you!”
Something hard nudged her foot under the cafeteria table, and she startled. “What?”
The woman sitting opposite her frowned. “What’s going on? You look flustered.”
Ha. Another understatement.
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