Page 140 of The Doctors Will See You Now

I wasn’t thinking of running for office or anything—don’t worry. They’d fucking crucify me in a court of public opinion. But as the guy in charge of saving lives at St. Luke’s Hospital, I wouldn’t mind a little fucking help from the law doing it. At the very least, finding a way to avoid having it work against me.

And, as I sat here tonight with Bippity, Boppity, and Bimbo Barbie, I’d never felt my sacrifice was greater. Hopefully, Pamela was witty enough to give me a little verbal sparring as conversational foreplay at the very least.

I wasn’t actually planning on sleeping with Pam to get to the mayor, just spending a little time making her feel good—emotionally—by tending to her ego and flirting the line with inappropriate in an effort to secure an ally on the inside. My morals and boundaries are mostly questionable, but I usually start out with the best of intentions.

Flirting in the name of public health isn’t a crime, is it?

While Brenna blew in my ear like a gnat, I watched Pam weave through the crowd on her way to the dance floor, separating from the women she’d come with and making coy glances at any and all eligible men around her.

She was primed, in search of male company, and ready to give in to the first guy who showed her interest. Now was the time to make my move.

Up and off of the sofa, I winked at my company and gestured to the dance floor. One of them made a move to follow me, but I shook my head.

No, no, sweetheart. You stay here. Scotty’s got some work to do.

Pam had short, dark, cropped hair and a dress a size too tight to be sophisticated, and I lasered in on my target and prowled. I had to give myself a short mental pep talk to dial up the charm. Normally, this was the epitome of my scene. Flashing lights, writhing, dancing bodies, too tight clothes, and women who were more than willing to loosen their inhibitions.

But tonight didn’t feel the same, and I wasn’t sure if it was the game, the long chase, or the fact that no one seemed as interesting as Bleeding Woman anymore. Which, to be honest, probably had a lot to do with the challenge she presented.

Nonetheless, I shook off any and all uncertainty and tapped Pamela on the shoulder. As much of a flirt as I was, I had a rule of thumb about physical contact.

Never touch a woman with any form of intimacy until she consents—and no one can consent through the back of their head.

But as soon as she turned around and surveyed me, it was a different story. I was up to her standards, possibly even exceeded them, and she made her interest more than a little visible by plumping up her lips and thrusting her chest forward to garner attention.

“Hi,” I greeted, leaning in to the shell of her ear to tackle a multisensory approach. She shivered as the air from my hot mouth made contact with her clammy, post-dance-exertion skin.

“Hi,” she purred back, kicking her hips slowly back and forth to the building beat of the club remix of “Believer” by Imagine Dragons.

I held out a hand in an offer to shake, but she rejected polite pretense, grabbing it and placing it on her swaying hip. I smiled. This might be even easier than I thought.

“I’m Scott.”

She smiled and pushed her body into mine, forcing me to move to the same sexy beat. “Pamela.”

“Hi, Pamela.”

“Hi, Scott.”

Internally, I laughed. It was really fucking sad how ridiculous these conversations actually were.

“You look familiar,” she said. A twinge of discomfort flared in my stomach before I tamped it down. I wasn’t sure if being known as Dr. Erotic of reality show stardom would be a good thing or a bad thing as far as getting a meeting with the mayor was concerned.

“Oh, yeah?” I asked, unwilling to offer up any unnecessary information. “Been to the hospital lately?”

“That’s it!” she chirped, snapping her fingers right in my face. Here we go. “You’re that doctor that Harlow Paige wrote the article about.”

Okay. There were at least two things in that statement that weren’t at all what I was expecting.

Article? I was thinking TV show.

And who the hell was Harlow Paige?

“Huh?” I asked eloquently. Really, I was doing a stellar job executing my plan so far.

“Harlow Paige at Gossip. She just wrote an article about you. Dr. Erotic, right?”

“Yeah,” I admitted, not recognizing one word about the article, but I was completely familiar with the nickname.