Doctor Scandalous : A Fake Engagement Romance (Boston's Billionaire Bachelors Book 1)

by J. Saman

  Six. Fucking. Months!

  “Jesus, Oliver. I’m so sorry. I never heard anything about that.”

  “That’s because no one knows, so if you wouldn’t mind keeping that to yourself, I’d appreciate it. The last thing I want is for that to hit the press next.”

  She reaches out her hand, touching my arm and giving me a squeeze. “Of course. I’ll never tell anyone. I don’t blame you for not wanting to go in there. It seems we both felt like we had something to prove by showing up tonight.”

  That’s not the reason I came tonight. But Nora is the main reason I didn’t want to go in. I’ve successfully avoided seeing her for years. In truth, I’ve been over her for a long time, just not over what she did to me. Most of my bitterness and resentment is on me. I should never have made those sacrifices for her.

  I gave up pieces of myself I can never get back.

  But Amelia deserves more. She always has, and she never got it. She deserves to have people look at her and treat her with the respect they never did. They owe it to her. Hell, I owe it to her. I don’t want her to leave tonight the way she is now.

  “I only wish it had turned out better for us,” she continues. “But I think my carriage has officially turned back into a pumpkin and I should just cut my losses and head home. Tonight can’t possibly end the way I had envisioned it.”

  Like a bolt of electricity flowing through me, suddenly I’m giddy with an idea that is quite possibly the most ridiculous idea in the history of ideas. Christa nearly swallowed her tongue when she thought Amelia was my date. So maybe everyone else will react the same way if that’s what they see. Bonus for me—I’ll have a hot as hell woman on my arm and maybe Nora will leave me alone.

  More than that, I want to go in there with Amelia. I want to spend more time with her tonight. And if they don’t like it or think less of me for it, well, I don’t give a shit.

  But Amelia being my date isn’t enough. Not with my reputation. They’ll just assume I’m using her, because ever since Nora and I split up… I’ve been somewhat of a player. A fact the media loves to report on. Hell, my face is splashed across the internet every other week, showing me with a different woman each time. Not in the last few months or so, but it’s been the standard of my life since Nora. It’s the way I keep from getting hurt again.

  And the media reporting on it all? Well, that’s the standard of all my brothers’ lives. It comes with being a Fritz and living in Boston. We own this city. We’re royalty. For better or worse, that’s how it is.

  But if Amelia and I really want to make an impact tonight… if I really want to make all those assholes who hurt Amelia choke, and Nora—who still calls me to tell me all her ‘happy’ news—realize that I’ve finally and officially moved on from her… it needs to be more than just people thinking I’m dating Amelia.

  They need to know she’s something special. Believe she’s something special to me.

  My fingers dig back into my pocket, locating that ring. Looking at her… plotting this insane idea… I’m hit with the fact that I know it will change everything. Both for her and for me.

  A deviously crooked smile curls up at the corner of my lips.

  Yeah. I have an idea, alright. And I think I can get Amelia to go for it. It’s only for a few hours anyway. What could go wrong?

  2

  AMELIA

  No matter how many things I checked off my list, nothing could have prepared me for the night ahead. But at the time, it’d given me a moment of false security.

  Long red hair down in thick glossy waves? Check.

  Makeup a bit much for me but completely flawless? Check.

  Black dress a lot too tight, a little too short, and has zero back to it? Check.

  Sexy, sophisticated, confident goddess? Check.

  Well, at least I was until Christa Foreman sunk her talons into me. She knew just where to strike. Exactly how hard. Her and her pack of vultures always had a thing for making me feel like roadkill. Taking me down, especially at my most vulnerable state. In a matter of seconds, I was reduced to that girl again tonight. The one I was in high school.

  The one always too afraid to speak up for herself or fight back.

  I’m so pissed at myself for it too.

  I wasn’t going to come. I left Wilchester Prep ten years ago and never looked back. Hell, I practically sprinted from that place the moment that diploma was in my hand. Then two years later, my life fell apart around me.

  Everything changed.

  My dreams, gone. My heart broken. My life, onto a new plan. A new reality.

  But when that invitation for the reunion showed up, my fourteen-year-old sister not so kindly reminded me that I haven’t had a night out in a long time. And we’re talking a long time. Like so long I wouldn’t be shocked if my vagina was growing cobwebs.

  “It’s a night out, Amelia. You need to take this. Show all those assholes who said you were too poor to amount to anything what you’ve become since high school. A hot babe of a woman. A kick-ass nurse. Show them that they didn’t beat you.”

  She dragged me down to the thrift store and we spent money I don’t have on this dress and these heels—sky high to compensate for my Hobbit stature. Layla did my hair and makeup to painstaking perfection.

  And when I walked in here tonight, I felt good. Like really freaking good. No, I felt fucking amazing.

  I started to let Layla’s words sink in.

  I stepped into a role, one where I’m not the eternal wallflower watching from the sidelines. Where I’m not drowning in so much debt I can’t even keep my head above water. Where I’m not essentially a single parent, raising a teenager. Where it hasn’t been so long since I’ve had sex that if I didn’t occasionally see penises at work, I’d forget what they look like.

  Then Christa Fucking Foreman had to ruin all that in the blink of an eye.

  Now here’s Oliver Fritz, staring at me with those gorgeous green eyes of his, towering over me with his tall, perfectly built body, and smelling like every bit of the sexy god he is.

  I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t on my mind when I agreed to come tonight. A girl never forgets her first crush and much like everyone else we went to school with, he was mine. From about the age of twelve on. But it was always from afar. I’ve known him nearly my whole life without actually knowing him at all.

  Before tonight I think I’ve said maybe two dozen words to him. We had moments. Brief interludes that meant a hell of a lot more to me than they did to him, no doubt. He even touched my shoulders once. I know, right, total swoon and completely pathetic.

  It’s likely why I’ve been staring at him like a mindless fool, stuck in some horror show of spewing every word and thought as they spring to my mind. I think it’s because I’m unable to wrap my head around what he did for me. The fact that he even remembered me. How his hands feel on my body when they touch me.

  How unbelievably hot he is, especially up close.

  And when he stepped in back there, I’ll admit, I had some Cinderella fantasies going on. A few heart palpitations when he wrapped his arm around my waist. A ton of giddy butterflies when he held my hand. But hearing his story about what Nora did to him?

  What a stupid, stupid woman to let someone like Oliver Fritz go.

  I mean, did she not see his smiles? Like the one he’s giving me now. It’s kinda mischievous and a little dirty and possibly a touch flirty? I don’t know about that last one. It’s been too long since a man has flirted with me other than my boss and that doesn’t count as flirting. That’s more leering with overtly suggestive undertones.

  “Amelia, I don’t think you should go home,” Oliver states. “I think you should stay and go into the reunion.”

  I’m already shaking my head at him before he can finish. “If Christa back there is any indication, this won’t get any better for me. Seriously, reliving shitty high school memories while a bunch of women sneer nasty things at me is not how I want to spend my night. I should hav
e known it would be like this. It was stupid of me to think otherwise. My life is not a John Hughes film.”

  “But what if they didn’t sneer nasty things at you? What if they did look at you and speak to you the way they always should have?”

  “Are you going to sprinkle them with anti-bitch pixie dust or something? Because otherwise, I don’t see how anything like that is even remotely possible. I don’t want to go in there, Oliver. I’d rather just go home, take a bath, and eat my weight in chocolate.”

  And now I need to shut up. Again. What is wrong with me? It’s like my brain-to-mouth filter just up and quit at the sight of him.

  Shockingly he doesn’t laugh at me. Instead, he just runs a hand across his jaw, still smiling kind of manically. “What if you didn’t go in there alone?”

  I tilt my head, folding my arms over my chest so I’m not tempted to touch him again. I press further back into the wall. “How do you mean? Like walk in there at the same time?”

  “No. Like walk in there together. As a couple.”

  “Um. I’m not sure I understand.”

  Oliver takes a step into me, slamming my senses with the delicious scent of his cologne, his warmth, his proximity. My neck cranes to meet his green eyes that are swirling with devilry. His hands land on my biceps, his thumbs brushing back and forth as his face dips down, inching in even closer. Goose bumps erupt across my skin as sparks of electricity zap up my spine and through my chest, quickening my heartbeat.

  He licks his lips as if he feels it too before his words tumble out in a rush. “You’re going to think I’m nuts. But I’m not. This makes such good sense; you have no idea. It’s genius really. So genius, we absolutely have to do it just so we can see all their faces.”

  “Oliver, you’re starting to freak me out.”

  “Neither of us wants to go in there alone, right? So what if we don’t? What if we go in there together? As a couple. But not just any couple...” One hand abandons my arm, plunging into his pocket and a second later, he produces a wowzer of a diamond ring that he holds up directly in front of my face. “An engaged couple.”

  “Oh my god. What the hell is going on? Where did you get a freaking diamond ring from?!”

  “It’s the one I never gave Nora. I brought it with me tonight as a reminder.”

  “A reminder of what?”

  He shakes his head dismissively. “It’s not important. But it couldn’t be more perfect that I have it with me. Let’s do this, Amelia. I want to do this. With you. What do you say? Wanna be my fiancée for the night?”

  “Jesus, Oliver. This is too much. You barely know me and you’re going to put that massive thing on my finger that likely costs more than I’ll earn in a lifetime? Why would you do this?” I ask, my eyes playing some sort of intense round of ping-pong, whipping back and forth between the diamond and his eyes.

  His grip on my arm tightens, his handsome features growing more urgent. “Because then nothing and no one can touch you, Amelia. Don’t you see? You will be invincible. No one will dare say anything nasty to you because you’ll be with me. My fiancée. It’s like you said, I was the most popular guy in school. Loved by everyone. For better or worse, let’s use that to our advantage.”

  “Oliver…” I’m at a loss.

  “If you won’t do it for you, then do it for me. If you’re with me, Nora won’t try to rub in the fact that she’s happily married and about to have a kid.”

  “She actually does that?”

  “She does. All the damn time.”

  “Wow. She’s really something.”

  A smile lights up his face. “That’s one word for her. She likes to leave lengthy voice mails since I don’t pick up her calls. I even blocked her, and she changed numbers. What kind of psycho ex does that? With any luck, she’ll avoid me like the plague, and I can get away with a simple head nod or something instead of having to talk to her and dickhead Rob McQueen. Don’t you see? It’s a win-win for us.”

  “It’s a lie, Oliver. All of it.”

  “I know.” He cups my jaw, his eyes intense and laser-focused on mine. “But it’s just for tonight. Just for a few hours or so. You’re still you, Amelia. Beautiful. Smart. Funny. You’re the whole package. You always have been and I...” He puffs out a breath, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before they reopen with steadfast determination. “I’m sorry people were so cruel to you. It was wrong. In truth, if no one saw how incredible you are back in high school, then that’s on them. It’s their loss, not yours. And truly, you have nothing to prove to anyone. But I’d love to see those who were ever mean to you swallow their tongues. And they will. You know they will. You heard Christa before. It’ll be like that.”

  I think I’m impersonating a goldfish. I open my mouth, but no sound comes out.

  “Besides, it could be fun,” he continues. “Our little inside joke and secret. A prank we’re playing on the world. A delicious form of revenge.”

  “I don’t know. It’s…”

  Tempting. It’s tempting, is what it is. For a lot of reasons.

  He’s right. I don’t have to prove myself to anyone. I am very likely a better person for not having those women as friends or in my life. But his words. The things Oliver just said to me. Him wanting to do this for me. The idea of walking in there on his arm.

  Even if just for tonight…

  Tonight, a night I was supposed to come out of my shell. To remember what fun feels like. To be reminded, even if just for a short while, that I’m still young and there’s more to life than what mine is presently comprised of.

  “Say yes, Amelia. Please do this with me.”

  Say yes? How does a woman ever say no to him? Especially when he stares at them like that?

  Before I can answer, Oliver drops down onto one knee, that mammoth diamond raised in the air. “Amelia, I-don’t-know-your-middle-name Atkins, will you make me the happiest man on the planet and agree to be my fake fiancée?”

  An incredulous laugh bursts from my chest, but also—and I know this is stupid—I start to get choked up. Because no one has ever proposed to me, fake or otherwise. And they sure as hell haven’t stared up into my eyes the way he’s staring into mine. Like he means it. Like it’s somehow sincere even when we both know it’s anything but.

  My hand hits my chest as I try to suck in air. My face is heating up by the second and something about that makes an irresistible smile spring to Oliver’s lips.

  “God, you’re sweet,” he says. “Come on. Don’t leave a man hanging on one knee.”

  Oh hell. It’s only for tonight. Just a few hours, like he said. What’s the worst that could happen?

  My teeth dig into my bottom as I try to contain my almost giddy smile. “Yes, Oliver. I’ll be your fake fiancée.”

  His eyes sparkle as he slides the ring onto my fourth finger and all I can do is stare dumbly down at it. It’s cold, heavy, foreign. But so beautiful it looks like it was made just for me. “It fits.”

  “Perfectly, I’d say.”

  He stands up, taking my hand and drawing my knuckles up to his lips. With his eyes on mine, he kisses each one, lingering on the finger holding his diamond. My knees just about buckle at the feel of his lips on my skin, and I have no idea what’s happening here. I am not this woman. The one who breaks all the rules and flies by the seat of her pants and receives fake proposals from gorgeous billionaire playboys.

  It makes me seriously wonder if I passed out and hit my head and now I’m in a coma. Or dead, even. In either case, right now, I don’t care. I’ll take it. This is fairy tale, fantasy caliber shit right here. But for real, who suggests something as hair brained as getting fake engaged to get through a reunion? Oliver Fritz, apparently. I swear, only he can pull something like this off. His charm knows no bounds.

  Oliver takes the hand he was just kissing and loops it through his elbow, twisting until he’s beside me. “Are you ready to do this, future Mrs. Fritz?”

  Oh god. What the hell am I doing? A sud
den rush of nervous doubt bolts through me. “Everyone’s going to know this is fake.”

  “No way. Only Grace and her fiancé will, and they won’t say anything. I don’t exactly talk to anyone else from high school all that often.”

  “Except you’re Oliver Fritz. Everyone knows you. The media stalks you and your family like you’re a Kardashian. I’m sure everyone in there follows you on social media. Your face and dating life are very public and obviously no one has photographed us together before.”

  He shrugs like it’s not a big deal. “We’ll just tell them we’ve kept a low profile. That we only recently met again, but we knew instantly it was right.”

  “Everyone is going to think I’m a gold-digger.”

  “Nah. They’ll know you’re head over heels in love with me.”

  I get a wink and a cocky smirk and just like that, I’m out of time as he throws the doors to the ballroom hosting our ten-year high school reunion open. At the exact moment when one song ends, and another is about to begin making the sound of the heavy door closing behind us sound like cymbals crashing through the room.

  All eyes swivel in our direction and if I thought my heart was racing before, I was wrong. Every single woman in here is glaring at me and trust me when I say, that is not just my imagination.

  “Have you ever seen the movie Carrie?” I murmur, trying not to fidget or chew on my lip or, God forbid, look down. “You know the prom scene?”

  He laughs. I don’t.

  “No one is dousing you in blood.”

  I’m not so sure about that.

  “If they do, you have my permission to go all Carrie on their asses. Hell, I’ll even help you do it.”