Page 262 of The Doctors Will See You Now

“Twelve hundred,” he countered.

“Eleven hundred and that’s my final offer,” I stated firmly. “And you should know that I still have three messages from Raoul. He appears to have also been at Club Indigo last night…”

He groaned. “I detest that guy. He’s rude.”

“He’s paparazzi,” I interjected. “You know, just like you.”

He laughed. “You drive a hard bargain, mademoiselle.”

“I’ve learned over the years, Claude,” I explained, and he knew exactly what I was talking about. When I first started working for Gossip, I’d once paid Claude two thousand for a single photo. Obviously, this money never came directly from my pocket, only my employer’s business account, but still, I’d paid it, and my boss had all but strangled me.

“Okay,” he said on a sigh. “We have a deal. Cut the check, and I’ll send the photos over.”

“Full files, please,” I added. “No less than 1080hp in quality.”

“You got it, mademoiselle.”

“Merci, Claude.”

“De rein. Au revoir, Harlow.”

“Au revoir.” I hung up the call and hopped onto the subway.

While I waited for my stop, I fired off a quick email to Gossip’s accounting department, letting them know they needed to send one of New York’s paparazzi sharks eleven hundred dollars for five photos. It sounded like a lot of money, but in the grand scheme of things in the entertainment and media industry, it was mere peanuts. Some celebrity photos could go for millions. Snag a shot of a celebrity’s baby or catch an athlete in a compromising position with someone who wasn’t his wife or girlfriend? Gold mine.

An hour later, I was sitting inside my office and had just finished up the mundane task of replying to hundreds of waiting emails when a new one from Claude landed prettily in my inbox. One click was all it took to open Pandora’s box of compromising images—a very handsome physician with his arms wrapped around not one, but two beautiful women. They were tucked away in the VIP corner of Club Indigo and appeared to be very cozy. Not to mention the other pictures of Dr. Shepard dancing with a mystery woman, and then, later that night, leaving the club hand in hand with her.

Yep. Claude had given me the exact shots I needed.

And now, I had two options. I could either make up my own assumptions or try to find out the scoop from the source…

Definitely talk to the source. I didn’t know why, but I really wanted to enjoy a phone conversation with Dr. Erotic himself.

After a few quick calls to my various connections in the city, I had Scott Shepherd’s direct cell number in my hands.

And three rings later, his voice in my ear.

“Dr. Shepard.”

“Hello, Scott,” I greeted. “How are you doing on this beautiful Monday morning?”

“Uh…who is this?”

“My name is Harlow Paige, and I write—”

He cut me off. “That Gossip column,” he said and I smiled. He’d been paying attention, it seemed. “I know who you are, Miss Paige, but what I’d like to know is why are you calling me?”

“I have a few unanswered questions.”

“According to what I’ve heard, you write about me like you know it all.”

I grinned into the empty space of my office and tried not to let his fast-talking ways get me off track.

“Well, now I have more.”

“And you think I have the answers?”

He had the fucking answers, all right. Whether or not he gave them to me was another thing entirely.