Page 224 of The Doctors Will See You Now

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.

After a week’s worth of stress, mostly because of Stella riding my ass over the fact that I hadn’t been the one to give the personal exclusive on Dr. Erotic’s new relationship with yours truly, I’d managed to write a column I was proud of. One that actually made me smile when I read it versus my normal apathetic meh reaction I gave most of my columns.

And it wasn’t because I thought my writing was shit; it was because I wasn’t passionate about any of it. Until now. Until this column. And I owed it all to one very important person—Scott.

With him on my mind, I grabbed my phone off my desk and typed a quick message to him.

Me: Did you read it? Tell me you read it and loved it! :)

I watched the message box like a hawk, waiting impatiently for text bubbles to appear from his side of the conversation, but it never came. And before I could call him and demand that he stop saving lives and start reading my latest column, an all too familiar voice of doom grabbed my attention.