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

by J. Saman

Maybe that’s just with me, but on the couple of occasions where I asked about his mom or how he was doing with her diagnosis, he clammed up. I know she’s the main reason we’re doing this, but I also feel like he’s partially avoiding her and what’s to come. I want him to feel comfortable opening up to me. He also needs to talk about it. It’s unhealthy to let something as daunting as a sick parent fester.

  He swallows thickly, pain slicing across his face. “That’s one reason. I… Luca and Kaplan are both surgeons at Brigham and Women’s. My dad too. They’ve all made sure my mom is seeing the best breast specialist. The best oncologist at Dana-Farber. It’s just…”

  “She’s your mom,” I finish for him.

  His eyes hold mine. “She’s my mom. What was it like losing your parents?”

  I could tell him her diagnosis doesn’t mean she’s going to die, but he doesn’t need to hear that from me. He’s a doctor. He knows what he’s asking me.

  I lean back in my seat, staring up through the skylight. “It was like someone punched a hole straight through me, ripping out a vital piece of my insides along with it. One that you know will never heal or grow back. It was devastating. My mom was my best friend. My dad and I were close—he’s why I’m obsessed with the Red Sox—but he worked two jobs and I didn’t see him as much. He was closer with Layla. That was the other part of it. I didn’t have time to mourn. They died and I was suddenly an adult. A single parent, forced to move back home and take care of a kindergartener, all the while switching schools and majors and losing a guy I had thought I was in love with. A guy I thought I could rely on. Some nights I didn’t even have the strength or energy to cry. Even breathing or putting one foot in front of the other felt impossible. But I had to be strong for Layla.”

  His hand cups my jaw, and he turns my face to his. “I wish you’d let me hunt down that prick who broke up with you by text after your parents died and kick his ass.”

  “He’s not worth anything. Layla is worth everything.”

  “She’s lucky to have you.”

  “We’re lucky to have each other.”

  “You have me too, you know. I know you think you don’t. That because the ring on your finger isn’t real that the rest of it isn’t. But that’s not the case, Amelia. I like being with you. I like being with Layla.”

  My eyes burn with tears, my nose along with it. He just said everything I needed him to say. We aren’t dating and I’d do right not to think of us in those terms despite the kissing and hand-holding.

  “You have me too,” I tell him. “I know you have your siblings, but I’m here for you.”

  “We’ve got a couple more months that we’re doing this thing, but that doesn’t mean I want to lose you when it’s over.”

  “You won’t,” I promise him.

  He’s likely saying this as a friend and nothing more.

  It would be prudent of me to consider him solely in that way. As a man, I won’t have sex with or grow emotionally attached to because we’re talking about Oliver Fritz here. There is a reason, other than Layla, of course, that I ran out on him before he woke up. That I told him no more kissing and definitely no more sex.

  But despite my head knowing that, his words just flayed me to the bone. There is so much hope building within my heart and I’m having trouble forcing it to listen to my head.

  Truth is, it might already be too late for that.

  I came to his office today for no other reason than to see him. Than to be near him. Now he’s saying I have him and dammit, I want that to be true. This charade just got a whole hell of a lot more complicated and nothing I do will be able to stop that.

  16

  AMELIA

  My foot taps out an uncoordinated beat, my lip getting a workout between my teeth as I sit here in the plush lounge area and wait. And wait. It feels like forever since Layla went into that boardroom and I was instructed to sit. Whether Oliver can coax a full scholarship or not, she has to get into the school first.

  Her grades and entrance exams are exemplary. But let’s be real here. It’s more than that. Despite my status as an alumnus and our father’s as a former employee, they have to like Layla. She has to fit into a certain ideal of what they’re looking for in a Wilchester student.

  I was quiet. I was studious. Layla is sharp-tongued and has zero issues pushing back against authority. This also isn’t just to get her into the school. This is to get her into the gifted student program, which consists of honors classes throughout her four years as well as college credit in her senior year. That will help her get into whatever college she wants if she plays it right.

  Possibly even with a scholarship.

  Which, let’s face it, she needs. I’ll never get out from under the debt I’ve placed myself in when finishing my degree. I’ve pretty much accepted that this is my life and I’ll be in debt, hopefully eventually being able to pay more than the minimum on my loans and credit cards, until I’m about eighty.

  But I don’t want that life for Layla.

  I watched my parents struggle my entire childhood and now Layla watches me struggle, and I’ll do whatever I have to do to break that cycle for her. Even if it means using Oliver as Layla’s steppingstone with school.

  But first, Layla has to charm the pants off the board.

  I don’t remember my interview taking this long. Why is her interview taking this long?

  Unable to sit another second, I get up out of my chair and walk to the large double window, staring out at the immaculate grounds beyond. I had to take a day off work and Layla had to miss a day of school for this, which is why there are kids spilled all over the campus enjoying the beautiful spring day. Their semester is just about over, their school year finishing the end of May.

  What will this place be like for her?

  Will she make friends where I never could? Even now it’s still a hardship for me, though Rina is making a tremendous effort, having me over for a dinner party last night and introducing me to her group of close friends, all of whom I liked immensely. Luckily Layla is far more outgoing than I ever was. She also doesn’t have the horrible glasses and frizzy red curls I did. If being a scholarship kid wasn’t bad enough here, I had the image of Little Orphan Annie’s way nerdier sister.

  And as if my nightmares from the past haven’t quite finished with me yet, the door opens and in walks Christa Foreman. She takes a small step back when she catches me by the window, obviously surprised to find me here. A point she proves when she so politely asks, “What the hell are you doing here?”

  I spin on my heels to face her, straightening my spine. “My sister is here for an interview.”

  Christa rolls her eyes. “Oh, fabulous. Another Atkins scholarship.”

  I tilt my head at her. “What is it you have against scholarship kids?”

  Something flashes across her face. Disgust maybe? Anger? I’m not sure. “I have nothing against scholarship kids. It was you; I had a problem with. You graduated valedictorian and me salutatorian. The only reason I gave the graduation speech is because you declined doing it and I was also the class president. I spent my entire high school career fighting you to be number one because that’s what I had to be and in the end, you won.”

  I shake my head at that. I had no idea I was fighting anyone for anything other than my daily survival. “So that’s why you and your friends were always so nasty to me?”

  She scoffs, folding her arms. “No. We just flat out didn’t like anything about you. The fact that I had to fight you for grades is why I hated you.”

  Jesus. Some people, I swear.

  “Christa, did you go to college?”

  She bristles at that. “Of course, I did. I went to Yale.”

  “And now? What do you do now?”

  “I’m a homemaker most of the time, which is my choice. I also work here three days a week, helping out in the registrar and admissions offices.”

  “And are you happy with your life?”

  She stares at me with co
ld eyes. “I have no doubt my life is a lot better than yours, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

  “Fine.” I hold up my hand in concession. “I won’t even argue that, because there is no point. I think it’s fairly obvious my shit is way more together than yours since I’m not a hateful monster who enjoys preying on others. But what the hell is actually missing from your life that you think I stole by graduating top of our high school class?”

  Blank. The woman’s face is blank. Probably because she has no answer. Sometimes it’s easier to blame someone else for your own problems when they should fall squarely on your shoulders and no one else’s. I get it. Sorta. Maybe not.

  She was part of a gaggle of girls who enjoyed sucker-punching the less fortunate because they could. Because they felt better about themselves for doing so.

  “Well, it seems now you’re about to marry up. Marrying into the Fritz family is about as good as anyone can do. Bravo,” she sneers sardonically, setting whatever she had in her hands on the desk and then folding her arms over her chest. “You must be so pleased with yourself that you’ll never have to be poor again.”

  Is it as miserable to be in her own skin as it appears? Such a sad existence. And actually, for the first time in my life, I think I pity Christa Foreman. I may not have much. I may always be poor. But I’ll never be like her. Contemptuous. Bitter. Hateful. That alone makes me richer than all the Christa Foremans in the world.

  “As I told Nora at the reunion,” I say, “I’m not marrying Oliver for his money. It’s everything else about him that I want.”

  That’s actually true. It’s not even a lie.

  It really is everything else about Oliver that I want. Because he’s impossible not to want. Or like because I’m definitely doing that despite my best efforts. Okay, fine, I admit it, I more than like him. I’m absolutely fluffer-nutter about the man, as Layla would say.

  Tuesday night he bought groceries and then we cooked together side by side in my tiny kitchen, making pesto chicken pasta and listening to music, drinking wine, and touching each other whenever possible.

  I’ll admit, I haven’t dated anyone in about a hundred years, but it was never like this when I did. Never this fun or easy. Never this sexy or perfect. I had no frame of reference at the time, but the differences between then and now are glaring.

  But that’s Oliver, right? He is all of those things. We swing from heavy and intense to vulnerable and awkward to light and breezy and I’m there for it. For all of it. I don’t want it to end or to stop. I want to believe him when he says he doesn’t want us—whatever the motherfuck this thing is between us—to end when our arrangement does.

  Still, I’m doing my best to keep my distance. To maintain our boundaries. Because, you know, I’m easy prey. I’m lonely, for starters. Oliver is my childhood crush and I’m subject to falling without a net or someone to help take me to the hospital after I’ve broken every freaking part of my body, including my heart. If that even makes sense. I’m a heartsick casualty waiting to happen and as much as I want to give into Oliver in all the ways, I’m scared.

  And for the most part, Oliver is too. Sorta. The man likes to test limits whether he wants to cross them or not, that’s for sure.

  “Right,” Christa snarks. I swear, I almost forgot she was here. Stupid brain. “That’s why—”

  The door bursts open, cutting her off mid-stream. Like we summoned him here, Oliver comes flying in, harried and restless, scanning the room with wild eyes. They finally lock with mine and he smiles a smile that never fails to make my knees weak and my belly flutter.

  He calms as he asks. “Am I late? Did I miss her interview?”

  I shake my head, staring at him, suddenly choked up. He came? “What are you doing here? You have patients.”

  “I wasn’t going to miss Layla’s big interview. I asked her to tell me when it was the other day with the exact time, and I told her I’d come. I take it she didn’t mention that to you?”

  I shake my head again, eating my lip.

  “Hey,” he says, crossing the room and cupping my face, his eyes searching mine. “It’s not a big deal I’m here, right? I just had to shift a few patients around. Why do you look so upset?”

  Shit! Shit, shit, shit. I can’t cry. I can’t cry.

  I sniffle. Swallow hard. Blow out a breath.

  “I’m not upset,” I croak.

  He grins. “You’re upset.”

  “Am not. I’m happy and so terrified I’m about to cry and pee my pants at the same time.”

  He laughs, his lips pressing to the corner of my mouth. Then the tip of my nose. “Good surprise then?” he whispers against me and this time, I nod instead of shaking my head because my head seems to be the only thing capable of moving or reacting other than my tear ducts.

  The sound of someone sharply clearing their throat startles us apart. Oliver whips around, surprised to find Christa there. “Damn, Christa. You scared me. Sorry, I didn’t see you.”

  He really didn’t. He had no idea she was even in here when he approached me and held my face and kissed me. He’s not even here for show. He came for Layla. He came for me.

  Christa glares at the two of us, then spins on her heels, storming out of the room without so much as a word to Oliver.

  “Nice seeing you again, Christa,” I call after her. “We’re a hot beat away from besties, I think,” I finish to Oliver.

  “Wow. You have a snarky side I’m only just starting to learn about.”

  I sigh, sagging into his side. “I don’t really. I’m just living out my teenage dream of talking back for once. That woman really hates my guts.”

  “Lucky us. Imagine if she liked you? I still say we both dodged a bullet getting away from the Christas and the Noras of this world.”

  I laugh at that, giving myself thirty seconds to enjoy the feel of his body against mine, the incredible scent of his cologne before I force myself away. Trust me when I say it’s not easy.

  “I made the call already,” Oliver says to my back as I walk back to the window. “If she gets admitted, it’s full boat including her tablet, laptop, books, uniforms. Everything for all four years. And since we both know she’ll get in, it’s as good as done.”

  I gasp. “What? How?” That’s definitely not part of any scholarship I’ve heard of.

  “I have connections. Let’s just say that.”

  My insides quiver as my hand meets the glass pane. “Thank you, Oliver. I… thank you.”

  My eyes close, a tear finally leaking out. But that’s it. Only that one is allowed to escape. My heart is attempting to explode from my chest and jump into his, while I do everything I can to hold it back. To compartmentalize. To resist just a little longer.

  “Am I allowed to take you ladies to lunch after this?”

  “I’m positive Layla will insist on it.”

  I can practically hear him smile. “Good, because I have a surprise for her that you might not be so jazzed about.”

  “What’s that?”

  Before he can answer, the door opens for the third time, only now Layla has returned along with two of the people she interviewed with. She has a triumphant gleam to her eyes and my breath quickens. Oliver goes straight over and shakes their hands, thanking them for their time. I do the same, nearly sagging with relief when they tell Layla they’ll see her soon. They tell me they’ll be in touch with their final decision shortly and that’s that.

  We’re excused.

  But the moment the three of us hit the path that leads to the parking lot, Layla lets out a loud squeal. “I totally rocked it. No joke. I’m in for sure.”

  Layla does another squeal, launching herself into my arms, and I wrap mine around her, holding her tight. “They haven’t fully accepted you yet, but I’m so proud of you. So, so proud. Mom and Dad would be too.”

  She squeezes me harder with that. “Thank you for this.”

  I still haven’t told her that Oliver is helping to get her a full scholar
ship instead of a partial. But she’s the one who got herself here. Not me. Not Oliver. “You did this, Layla. It was all you.”

  Oliver joins us, hugging us both, telling Layla that she’s kick-ass. She’s going to fall in love with him too. She already talks to him like a big brother. Calls and texts him, obviously. I’d say her love for him is something she’ll outgrow, but Oliver Fritz isn’t a someone you get over or grow past.

  Once he’s in, he’s in. That’s it.

  I wipe at my eyes and Layla does the same, both of us smiling stupidly at each other. “When you get your admissions letter, we’ll celebrate. I’ll splurge on ice cream sundaes at that place you like.”

  Layla lets out a whoop, fist pounding into the air.

  “But first, how about a ride on Frosty?”

  “What? Are you for real?” Layla asks Oliver, eyes wide. I should have known. This is what he meant when he said I wouldn’t be so jazzed. I love Oliver’s family. I love his mom. His dad is cold to me, but whatever. I don’t fault him for that. But I hate lying to them if I can avoid it and going there means I can’t avoid it. But Layla deserves a treat, so I’ll keep my mouth shut and smile my way through it.

  “I told my mom where I was headed today, and she invited you to come over after for lunch and a ride.”

  “She has her surgery tomorrow,” I say. “Is she sure she wants company?”

  Oliver takes my hand, helping me into his car since Layla and I took the bus here. “I think that’s exactly why she wants company.”

  I suppose she needs the distraction Layla presents. I had already taken today off and couldn’t arrange for tomorrow because tomorrow is an OR day. But lucky for me, Mrs. Fritz, who makes me call her Octavia, is having her surgery at Brigham, which is where we have our surgeries scheduled tomorrow. I’ll be able to pop over and see Oliver and his family on my lunch break. I haven’t mentioned it yet because I’m worried I won’t get the time if our surgery runs late.

  Plus, he hasn’t exactly asked me to come.

  Yet I can’t help wanting to be there for him. The way he is for me. The way he was here today for Layla. It’s a little bit dangerous. But despite my crush—because juvenile or not, I will not call it by any other name—I like to imagine that Oliver and I have become friends. That he genuinely cares about me and about Layla.