It’d been a week since Harlow and I were splashed across the front page of every gossip column in Manhattan as an item—except for hers—and a week and one day since we’d told each other we were in love. Obviously, it hadn’t taken a ton of research for the paparazzi at the municipal event to find out who Harlow was. And to say her boss was unhappy that Harlow hadn’t broken an exclusive on her own fucking relationship was an understatement.
And, maybe even more obviously—and simultaneously surprisingly—I was deliriously happy. Me. Happy. In a relationship. Go figure.
Harlow’s boss had given her until today to come up with something just as juicy as the story of us—or better—or else.
I’d been trying to gently encourage the “or else” option, making it clear that I’d be a resource at her disposal should she decide to make another go of medical school.
It was easy for the lines to blur, though, being a doctor myself. So I was trying not to push her in any one direction without knowing it was what she truly wanted.
I’d watched her struggle to come up with something good enough to keep her job all week, and she’d texted me late last night from her apartment to tell me she’d finally come up with something.
I didn’t know what it was, but knowing how stressed she’d been about it, and how good whatever she’d come up with had to be, I’d set an alert on my phone to go off as soon as her column posted.
Today in the ER had been absolutely fucking crazy with three pedestrian accidents and a stab wound, but that didn’t stop me from checking to make sure the volume on my phone was turned on every chance I got.
Still on. Still nothing.
I was just putting the phone back in my pocket when the alert sounded so loudly I jumped and dropped it.
“Shit!” I cursed, picking my phone back up from the harsh hospital tile quickly and flipping it over to inspect the screen for cracks. A small one ran the entire line of the center, but I could still read all the words on the screen, and everything seemed to be in working condition, so I decided to deal with it later.
Quickly, I clicked the link in the alert that took me straight to Harlow’s page on Gossip’s website. A little thrill ran through me at the sight of my name.
Dr. Erotic or Dr. Hypnotic?
I didn’t really understand the title, but Harlow had been under a lot of pressure with this one, so I decided not to hold it against her too much when I teased her later.
Scrolling down quickly to the meat of the story, I let myself fall into the article with a twinge of intimate pride coursing through me.
Dr. Scott Shepard isn’t new to the Gossip scene, and hardly anything about him is new news.
But you should all know by now, I’ve got the inside scoop on all of the details.
I smiled in excitement. I hoped she painted me as a sex god. Or, as I considered it, maybe I wanted her to say I was lame.
It might solve some of my overenthusiastic problems with outside interest. Cough, Pam, Cough.
They. Are. Horrifying.
He may seem like a charming guy next door, but illusion is a powerful thing.
Entitled and used to getting what he wants, Dr. Erotic is every female’s worst nightmare.
The closer you get, the more he reveals, and if your answer isn’t yes, that won’t stop him.
Look out, ladies. If you don’t give Dr. Erotic what he wants when he asks for it, he might just take it.
What the fuck? She basically implied I’m a sex offender.
Frantic, I read on, scrolling painfully through pages and pages of a bitter diatribe about how awful I was in every sense of the word. Not only was I lacking in character and trustworthiness, she spoke candidly and expressly about my propensity not to take no as an answer when it came to women and my insatiable sexual desires, as she put it. And, as if that weren’t horrifying enough, pointed details accused me of insurance fraud and malpractice, absolutely crucifying everything I’d built as a physician.
Oh shit. Oh Jesus Christ, why would she do this to me? Why would she make this shit up? For what? A fucking byline?
I’d actually been expecting something about us, her little decree of don’t be mad at me for using you shamelessly last night seeming playful and harmless but telling all the same.
I’d thought maybe she’d finally broken some details about our sex life, the real inside scoop on Dr. Erotic’s erotic moves.
But not this. Never this.
This would fucking ruin me.
“Scott?” Deb said hesitantly from the end of the hall as I stood there shaking my head in disbelief.
“Not now, Deb,” I said as gently as I could for a guy literally coming apart at the seams. I just assumed she left me to my agony until she called my name again—this time from a lot closer.
“Scott,” she murmured in a barely there whisper.
I lifted my eyes to hers, but they didn’t stay there long. Two security guards stood behind her. Good news spreads fast, I see.
“The board wants to see you,” she said sympathetically. I could barely even swallow my saliva without throwing up as I succumbed to my fate.
Just like that, I knew it was over. I was going to lose everything I’d ever had, ever wanted, ever needed, in one fell swoop.
The job and the girl, both a mutilated mess.
I might have been the doctor, but this blood was on Harlow’s hands.