Doctor's Secret: A Secret Baby Romance

by K. C. Crowne

  Brother’s best friends. Reverse harem flings.

  And heros that'll do anything for their special ladies.

  Hold on tight -it’s going to be a VERY bumpy ride!

  Over 450 reviews on individual books.

  K.C. Crowne is an International Bestselling Author.

  Book 1: Big Bad Fireman's Baby

  Book 2: Big Bad Firefighter

  Book 3: Big Bad Fire Daddy

  Book 4: Reverse Harem Firefighter Romance, Christmas with Four Firemen

  Download your copy, and enjoy this box set today!Content suitable only for adults ages 18 and up.

  Madeline

  “Ten thousand dollars, Derek? Are you kidding me? Or do you just think I'm too stupid to catch on?”

  My fiancé – or rather, my soon-to-be ex-fiancé – was thousands of miles away in Thailand, and I didn't have be a rocket scientist – or even expend too much brainpower really – to figure out what he spent the money on. My dad's money, of all things.

  Derek always had a thing for “exotic” women as he liked to call them – which was dehumanizing and gross enough on its own. Not only was having to put up with him eyeballing women when I was around bad enough, but then paying for prostitutes – to the tune of several grand a month – while he was engaged to me was just the icing on the cake.

  I'd grown up with Derek, and at one time, I really believed he was the perfect man for me. Once upon a time, I thought he checked all the boxes and was everything I could ever possibly want in my life partner. Of course, that had obviously been nothing more than childhood fantasies.

  The truth turned out to be that I had no idea who he really was. Or at least, I had no idea who the man he'd grown up to be really was. He’d changed over the years and became somebody I didn't recognize, and it made me sad and angry. He had promised me more.

  “Madeline, it's not what you think,” he pleaded.

  His speech was slurred, and he seemed to be having trouble forming his words or keeping a coherent thought. But best of all, in the background, I heard lots of girlish laughter. He was obviously trying not to, but he giggled along with them, as if truly believing he was in the clear, or that I would simply acquiesce to his demands once again.

  It was humiliating that this wasn't the first time I'd caught him with his pants down – metaphorically speaking. It was going to be the last though. I'd had more than enough. I was done being humiliated. Counseling hadn't done a thing. Instead of actually working on our relationship with me, Derek had simply gone and filled a chair there. Oh, he said all the right things about being willing to work through it and all, but that's all it was – words.

  He was convincing though, I'd give him that. I’d believed him every time. But then, Derek could be so convincing, he could probably pass a lie detector test. He had that ability to make anyone believe anything he said. He convinced me that he was reformed and was truly invested in fixing our relationship. The truth though, was that he never had any intention of giving up his desire to sleep with as many women as he could.

  “I'll be home in the morning,” he said.

  “Well, I won't be here,” I replied.

  The penthouse was mine, technically speaking, but we lived there together. In theory, I could have changed all of the locks before he got there, but I really wanted to avoid all of the drama it would cause. We lived in my father's building, after all, and creating that sort of scene just wasn't worth it. I'd stay with a friend, let him buy me out of the place. I didn't need it. I had options.

  “Come on, Madeline,” he said, his voice growing more serious and carried a hard edge to it.

  The giggling in the background stopped but was replaced by the sound of cars. He'd obviously left the club he was at, at least while he was on the phone with me. How considerate of him. “You know I like to have a good time, and I've been stuck here in Thailand for a month,” he whined. “I needed to blow off some steam. You know how it is.”

  “And you don’t see how that’s a slap in the face given that you haven't been interested in blowing off that kind of steam with me in months?” I stammered.

  It took me a while to realize the reason my fiancé wasn't interested in sleeping with me had little to do with how busy or tired he was, and more to do with his lack of interest in me. And goddammit, I deserved better than that. I was Madeline Byers, the daughter of Greg Byers – real estate developer extraordinaire. Having that name and being such a known commodity meant I had to maintain a certain image. After all, my father was a man who’d built up his empire and his name over the course of his lifetime. He was a man who had become beyond wealthy, well-loved at home, and an international celebrity all at the same time. And he’d done it with his own tow hands.

  I'd grown up in the spotlight and was always painfully aware of how I looked. I knew that image was everything, and my image was one I worked hard to craft. I knew how to work the press, how to dress the part, how to convey to the anyone looking that I lived a life of ease and luxury. No one actually knew the real me.

  Even back in college, my every move was scrutinized. People were always looking for a scandal or something to gossip about. That meant that I always had to be vigilant and on my best behavior. I needed to make sure I did nothing to tarnish my father's name or legacy – and of course, to follow in my father's footsteps. Staying with an unappreciative asshole who made me look and feel weak was no longer an option.

  Suddenly, the penthouse felt stifling, and I needed to get out of there. But where would I go? There was no place I could go to be truly alone, even though I wanted nothing more than that. Everywhere in Manhattan, people recognized me on sight. It was hard going anywhere without someone knowing who I was.

  While Derek was out of the country, sleeping with other women, I'd been stuck there, trying to be the picture of young love, domestic bliss, and the prototypical good wife. I was trying to live up to an image others expected of me, rather than being true to myself. It had been that way for as long as I could remember – or at least, as long as I'd know the importance of the Byers name.

  I was done being ‘good’ though. I was tired of trying to live up to the expectations of others and having nothing left for myself. I wanted to have my fun too. I wanted to live my life. I hadn't really dated anyone besides Derek, and I wasn't sure we were really dating. It was more like an arrangement. We were a set up orchestrated by my father in order to give the illusion that we were the perfect couple and the perfect continuation of the Byers legacy – which meant giving him a son to take over his empire.

  Because God forbid he'd let a woman run his company.

  I realized Derek was still on the phone, babbling away. I'd been so caught up in my own head, I'd tuned him out completely. Having had enough of his crap excuses and justifications for being a cheating prick, I ended the call with just two words.

  “I'm done,” I hissed and stabbed the button to disconnect the call.

  I was free. I looked at the phone in my hand, a sense of amazement washing over me and turned it off. For that night – just one night at least – I wasn't going to be Madeline Byers. I was going to be somebody else and live a life not so constrained by my family name. For just one night, I was going to have some fun. On my own terms.

  Determined though I was, I knew I would just have to be very, very careful about how I went about having a night out for myself, doing what I wanted. My name came with certain responsibilities, even if I wanted to blow them off for a night. I had to be careful and not get myself into trouble because I still had a dream of one day running my dad's company and building onto the Byers legacy on my own.

  “Hey, girl,” my best friend Allison answered cheerfully when I called. “What's up?”

  “I caught Derek cheating again,” I said.

  My words came out clipped. Before I would have called Allison bawling like a weak fool, but I was done crying. I resolved to not give that lying, cheating asshat one more ounce of myself. If I were honest with myself
, I’d never really loved him anyway. Letting him go should be easy.

  “Oh Maddy, I'm so sorry,” Allison said.

  I waved my hand absently in the air as I downed the rest of my glass of wine. It was my second glass that evening already, and I had my eye on the rest of the bottle – and maybe another. I was tired of being alone though. I was sick of being stuck in the penthouse that held so many memories for me. Memories with Derek. Memories I wanted to purge in a cleansing fire.

  “I need to get out, Allison. Go to a club. Something,” I said. “I need to get out of this place for a while and let my hair down.”

  Allison paused. “Have you been drinking, Maddy?”

  “A little,” I admitted as I stared at the bottle of wine on my table. “But I don't want to drink alone, Alli. I want to go out. Somewhere. Anywhere. I want to go out like we used to – you know? Before all this bullshit.”

  Allison chuckled. “I'm sorry, sweetie. I wish I could but I'm still in Sydney for another month, finishing up a project here remember?”

  Dammit. That's right. In my tipsy, emotional state, I'd forgotten all about my best friend's latest project. She was a model, living an exciting life in Australia for a few months. After that, it would be off to some other exotic locale for another few months. It was a life I could have had for myself if I'd wanted. I'd wanted to follow in my daddy's footsteps though. I'd wanted to help sustain and build upon a vast empire.

  I'd met Allison back when I was doing some modeling myself a couple of years ago. It had been fun for a little while, but I gave it all up. As much as I wanted to kick myself for it now, I knew we were different people in that regard. I wanted more out of life than to be just a face on the cover of a magazine. I loved fashion and makeup as much as the next woman, but it didn't define me like it did Allison. I needed more out of life. I wanted to be successful and known for more than just my good looks. Good looks were fleeting anyway weren’t they? Other than anomalies like Cindy Crawford and Christie Brinkley, you didn’t see too many models still working after the age of thirty-five.

  Which was why I wanted to take over my dad's company. It was why I worked my ass off to prove myself and show him that he didn't need a son to continue his legacy. Not when he already had the perfect person to do it.

  I sighed. “Yeah, yeah. I forgot for a minute,” I said. “I remember now though.”

  “What if you join me here?” she said. “This weekend, there's a gala with all kinds of celebs, and I think you'd fit right in –”

  Cringing, I muttered, “No thanks. The last thing I need is for the media to ask me all kinds of questions about the wedding. The wedding is cancelled, and I don't want to talk about it. I know it's going to get out eventually, but I just want a few days to enjoy some peace and time to myself.”

  “I understand, girly,” Allison said.

  Her voice fell, and I knew she really wanted to help. “I'll be back next month,” she said. “We can go out all you want then.”

  Thinking about the gala and the crowd of celebrities and the press they inevitably drew made me realize that going out anywhere, with or without Allison, would likely draw all kinds of unwanted attention. I wanted to get out of the penthouse, but I also didn't want to deal with the media frenzy. Being a socialite in Manhattan might sound glamorous, and it was to a certain extent. But it came with all kinds of negatives. When you lived in the kind of fishbowl I grew up in, there were so many restrictions and limitations upon your life – like the inability to get away and be left alone when you needed it most.

  I needed to go someplace where I could get my mind right that wasn’t in the public eye.

  “Do you mind if I stay at your place for a few nights? I expect Derek to come back at any time, and I can't face him,” I said.

  “Of course, sweetie. You have a key, just let yourself in,” Allison said and then muttered to someone in the background before coming back on the line. “Listen, I have to go. I really wish I could be there with you, girl, but you're going to be okay. You're tough and you will get through this. I promise you.”

  “Yeah, I know you're right. I didn't really love the asshole anyway,” I said, putting my glass down on the table. “It's about time I move on, you know? Do my own thing.”

  “Exactly. Be free, Maddy. Be happy. Love ya, girl.”

  Oh, if only it were that easy.

  “Love ya too. Have fun with all those Australian hotties.”

  “You know I am,” she said, chuckling as we got off the phone.

  Be free. God, I yearned for that so much. With every fiber of my heart, mind, and soul, I wanted that. Maybe a few days at Allison's would be enough to get my head on right and get me back on my feet. I hurried off to the bedroom to pack a bag, catching my reflection in the mirror. Even with my hair pulled back in a messy bun, and with no makeup on, I was still recognizable. I'd given up my modeling career, but given that I was a Byers, the media hadn't stopped following me.

  I was convinced that some of those tabloid jerks wanted to see me fail at my career path. I think some of them wanted me to return to posing for magazines and being just a pretty face, rather than trying to run a successful real estate empire. Knowing some out there wanted to see me fall flat on my face, I wasn't about to let them see me at my weakest.

  No, the only way I'd get out of my penthouse unhindered and unrecognized – the only way I was going to be free – would be to change up my look a bit. I needed to do something to myself that made it easier for me to blend in with regular folks. It would be interesting to finally be treated like a normal human being while walking down the street. To experience that, I knew I'd have to make some changes to my appearance.

  I put in a quick call to my assistant, Julia.

  “You sure?” she asked me. I pictured her cringing as she spoke.

  “Yes, you heard me,” I said. “Please pick everything up and bring it over to Allison's. I'll text you the address now. And please, Julia, don't talk to my father about this? In fact, don't mention this to anybody.”

  “Of course,” she said.

  I knew I could trust Julia with everything in my life. I paid her not just to run my errands, but to keep my secrets as well. It was more than just that though. I'd hired her because she was like an old friend to me, someone I instinctively knew I could trust to keep my confidences. I cared for Julia and wanted to believe that if the money ever ran out and I was flat broke, Julia and I would remain friends, even if I didn't employ her as my PA.

  After hanging up the phone, I finished packing my bags. Nothing too obvious – I didn't want to start the rumor mill grinding with stories about me moving out or the whole trouble in paradise storyline that was a go-to for any celebrity couple. No, if I did move out of the penthouse, I'd have to be subtler about it. Discretion was the key. But for now, I was only going to be gone for a few days, and I wanted to bring as little as possible with me.

  After all, I was going under the radar here. No designer clothes. No expensive makeup routine. I would just be Maddy, a normal girl, for a few days. And normal girls didn't need all the makeup and clothes I usually did. It was a little bit exciting, to be honest – the thought of being a normal girl with a normal life. I was looking forward to it.

  My phone buzzed just as I was finishing up with my bag. It was coming from Derek – a text message because he couldn't even be bothered to call. Not that I would have answered. Hell, maybe he knew that already and decided a text was the safer route.

  Just one message from my now ex-fiancé.

  At the airport now, flying home. We'll talk when I get there.

  “No, Derek, we won't,” I said to myself. “I'm done talking to you.”

  Jax

  Slamming my locker shut, I cursed to myself. This fucking job was going to kill me one day. Not literally – though it might eventually do that too. It wasn't the physical danger I feared, though there was an element to that, of course. No, it was the fact that this job was mentally draining me more and
more every day.

  Finn was beside me, and offered a friendly, supportive pat on the back. “Think of all the ones we save. Focus on them instead, man.”

  “I dunno if I can do it anymore,” I said.

  Every night when I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, all I saw were the ones we'd lost. Charred and broken bodies. People who had depended on us to save their lives, to get to them in time. Gone. Their faces spooled through my head like a highlight reel from hell playing on an endless loop.

  No, it wasn't always our fault. It very rarely was because of something we did or didn't do – but it sure as hell felt like it. I personally felt like a failure every time we lost someone. It never failed to hit me hard and simply add to the reel of faces that spun through my head most every single night.

  “I'm not sure how it doesn't break you,” I muttered, staring down at the ground.

  “Who says it doesn't?” Finn said.

  We shared a knowing look that only firefighters could understand – that shared pain of loss. Our job was rewarding as fuck most days, but the lows were really damn low. Too low at times. There were times I felt like I was at rock bottom and didn't know how I was going to pull myself out of it again.

  I always did though. I managed to get back on my feet and get back into the fight. It was just getting harder for me to do it. Bit by bit, day by day, it was getting tougher to get back up off the mat.

  “A couple of the guys are going out for a beer,” Finn said. “Join us. Unwind a bit.”

  “Not tonight,” I said.

  “Come on, you need to let yourself relax, man,” he said.

  He was right, but it felt wrong to go out and grab a beer after someone died. It almost felt like a celebration and that didn't quite sit right with me. I only wanted to celebrate the wins, not the losses. No, it felt better to go home and mope, to drinking alone inside my apartment and wallow in my own misery as I tried to forget about the day. If I watched enough television, sometimes I could forget – albeit, briefly – until I went to bed that night. That hour or two was bliss though.