Page 301 of The Doctors Will See You Now

“This is so fucking dirty!”

“Uh-oh…” Scott whispered, and my eyes went wide.

“What?”

“Nothing…” He paused and then a shocked gasp left his lips. “Oh God, that doesn’t look good…”

Holy hell.

“Jesus Christ! I’ll go on a date with you!” I yelled into the phone. “Just go help that man!”

“Fantastic,” he responded immediately. “Tomorrow night at seven.”

“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Where do you want to eat?”

“Oh. My. God!” I shouted in exasperation. “I’m hanging up. Go save that guy’s life.”

“Am I done?” a voice whispered in the background, and Scott responded back to whoever it was with ease. “Yep. Thanks, Cal.”

And miraculously, the earlier panic and chaos completely disappeared from the background.

“Wait a minute…” My jaw dropped in shock. “What’s going on, Scott?”

The line stayed quiet.

“Scott.”

“Yeah, Harlow?”

“You owe me, dude.” The voice was in the background again, and just like before, Scott responded to him, “Eighteen holes next weekend? I’ll buy?”

“Hell yeah,” the voice agreed.

That motherfucker.

I pulled the phone away from my ear and sent a FaceTime video request Scott’s way.

Within seconds, his handsome face filled my screen.

“Miss me that much?” he asked with a sexy smirk.

“Where’s the emergency?” I questioned while my eyes scrutinized his current location. There was no hustle and bustle, no nothing. Just a fridge and a microwave sitting behind him.

The jerk had been sitting in a goddamn break room the whole time.

“Oh. My. God. Did you have someone pretend to be dying just so I would agree to a date with you?” I questioned, and he nodded without shame.

“See you tomorrow night, Harlow,” he said, and I flipped him the bird before hanging up the phone.

Too bad, after I’d hung up the phone, my entire fucking face was smiling.

“Oh no,” she groaned as I opened the door to the Slipper Room, a little place I’d been a couple of times on the Lower East Side, and ushered Harlow inside.

It’d only taken eighteen offers and blackmail in the form of a fake dying man, but she’d finally agreed to a date with me. She wasn’t exactly calling it a date, but I was, and obviously, as she was a gossip columnist, I was more in touch with reality. Right?

It said something about her, though, that she hadn’t backed out of the date after she knew I’d coerced her into it under false pretenses.