by J. Saman
“You’re exaggerating,” Amelia says dismissively, sitting forward again and folding her arms over her chest. “It’s not like that. He’s my boss, Layla. He can call me to discuss a patient.”
Not after hours and not if she’s not on call, he can’t.
“I am not exaggerating.”
“It’s not a thing, Layla. Just drop it. Please.”
“He harasses you?” I grit out. Fuck that. I will hook Dr. Saggingballs on a line and cast his scrotum out to sea for the fish to nibble on painfully slow.
“No,” Amelia says while Layla simultaneously says, “Yes. But he’s in plastics, so he pays her well and her hours are bomb, so she puts up with it,” Layla continues. “I see you wince every time he calls right before you pick up.”
“Layla,” Amelia snaps in a tone that’s demanding she drop it.
“You think because he pays you well and you have decent hours that gives him, your boss, an excuse to make you feel uncomfortable? To call every night and ask what you’re doing in your private time? No. I don’t fucking think so. Not any woman and certainly not mine.”
And I said that aloud. That she’s mine. Even when she’s technically not. Something I’m painfully aware of as the car grows interminably silent. But screw it, I’m not taking it back. Amelia is my fiancée, fake or otherwise, until this thing is over and I will protect her accordingly. I will stake my claim and make my presence known because that’s what a man does for his woman.
I pull up in front of her house and Amelia turns to Layla, handing her the keys. “Can you go on upstairs? I need to talk to Oliver for a minute.”
“You mean I have to miss this and the goodnight kiss?”
“Layla.”
She groans. “I hate missing all the good stuff,” she grumbles under her breath. “Fine. Later, Oliver. Today was the best.”
“’Night, Sprite. Catch ya later.”
And with that, Layla hops out of the car, skipping up the front steps. I watch her go in, making sure the door shuts behind her, and then I swivel back to Amelia who has those gray eyes pinned on me like a vise I don’t mind being strangled with.
“It just came out.”
“That’s not what I’m upset about,” she says. I tilt my head, not buying that for a second, watching as she works her bottom lip with her teeth. “Okay, not entirely. That took me a bit by surprise. I think that’s why for this to work, we need rules.”
“Rules?” I parrot, because that sounds awful. And I’m still hung up on Dr. Saggingballs calling her every night. And asking her out. What a sleazeballs. I’m legit having homicidal thoughts. I want to leave a nasty red hickey on her neck, so he knows. She. Is. Mine. Not his, motherfucker.
I take in the smooth, pale slope of her. So delicate. So pure. So sweet. I bet it wouldn’t take much. Her skin is so fair and so quick to redden and—
“Oliver? Did you hear me?”
I blink, snapping away from her neck. “No. I was thinking about where I can purchase a brand at this hour.”
“A brand?”
“Not for you. At least not that kind. Maybe a prod is what I meant? Something sharp, and hot, and metal that will hurt and burn his flesh.”
She smirks at me, amusement dancing across her pretty features. “It’s not all that Layla says. She likes to exaggerate.”
Yeah, I’m not buying it, sweetheart.
“So Dr. Sleazeballs doesn’t call you every night?”
She huffs out a breath, her smile slipping. “I don’t want to talk about him. I want to talk about us. We need rules, Oliver. My head is spinning like a top and I have no idea which way this will fall.”
Us. That’s all I heard. What is happening to me that I like the way that sounds coming from her lips? It’s her boss. Her damn boss thinking she’s his when she won’t ever be. It’s messing with my head, and I can’t get it under control. I keep picturing some douchetard touching her. Cornering her in the hall…
I growl. Fucking growl. I’m losing my goddamn mind here. I decide to let the conversation of her boss drop. For now. Though I certainly intend on doing my own research on him. I cool my shit, thinking about what she’s saying. Hadn’t I demanded distance and emotional detachment for myself, promising corporal punishment for allowing anything else? She might not be a Nora, but that doesn’t make her safe or me interested beyond what we have going.
Which is why I find myself wisely asking, “What kind of rules?”
“Maybe expectations is the better term? I want to know what I should expect from this. How long do we plan to do this? Like drawing up a contract so lines don’t get blurred.”
I ponder that. How smart that is to do. “I think three months should be enough. At least one to two dates a week, whether in public or at one of our places, is a necessity because people need to know and see we spend time together. Kissing and touching should absolutely be allowed on those dates.”
She squints at me. “I’m not sleeping with you and the kissing has to be kept to a minimum and only when we’re out in public.”
“Don’t burst my bubble, Amelia. The idea of fucking you senseless is what got me through dinner tonight.”
She turns the exact shade of crimson as her lips and hair. “That’s not a good idea.”
And because I’m kinda feeling sour, I ask, “Why? Because you’re afraid of how good it will be, and you’ll never want to stop, or because you’re afraid of how good it will be and eventually we will have to stop?”
She glares at me. Rightfully so. I’m being a dick. Did Layla have to mention that her boss hits on her? Jesus.
“I think you need to wear the ring at all times, especially when you’re at work and we’ll agree not to date or sleep with anyone else.” Because obviously, I’ll kill a motherfucker if he tries.
She smiles, relieved at that and I don’t know if it’s because she was worried I’m the sort of bastard who would claim to be engaged while still screwing other women or if she likes the idea that I’ll only be with her. Who am I right now?
“Anything else you want to add?” I ask, reaching out and toying with a wisp of her silky red hair before tucking it behind her ear. Her body trembles as my touch slips past the shell of her ear and damn, I want to kiss her. For real. Without an audience. I want to hear her breath hitch right before my lips press to hers because she does that every time. I want to taste the crème brûlée she had for dessert on her tongue and feel her body press against mine.
I want to slip inside her, feel her clench around me while moaning my name. I want her nails raking down my back because she’s just as fucking greedy to claim me as I am to claim her. Her skin, soft, pale, delicious, is mine for the taking.
I can’t stop wanting this woman, even after I’ve already had her.
I clear my throat, forcing my hand to fall away from her just as she shakes off my touch.
She squares her shoulders, creating space between us. “No sex,” she forces. “I already told you that, and I meant it. I’m okay with everything you said, but when we’re not out in public, hands to yourself. This is a business arrangement, and I’d like to treat it as such. Physical intimacy blurs lines.”
I stare into her eyes, tracking their anxious shift. It manages to twist something up inside of me. Something that drags painfully under my skin. I’m with her and it’s like everything inside me short circuits. I forget all the lines I’m not supposed to cross. The words I’m not permitted to say. The thoughts I’m not allowed to have. The way I’m no longer authorized to touch her.
It’s like something else takes over and I’m just along for the ride.
Which is exactly why I right myself.
“You’re worried about getting attached?”
She licks her lips. “Sex confuses things and I have no time or space in my life for that. There is a lot at stake here. For us, yes, but also for Layla and I’m not just talking about school for her. She’s already lost so much.”
And what about you, I thi
nk. How much have you already lost, Amelia? Who looks out for you? I would say that’s me, but that’s not the case. She doesn’t want either of them to get attached. It’s smart. It stings, but it’s smart. I don’t want to get attached to these women either. And I can already see how easy it would be to do that.
Then something occurs to me. “Who hurt you?”
She starts at that, drawing back close to the door, her eyes growing glassy. “How… did Layla say something?”
“No. But I can tell.” It’s like looking into a mirror with that.
“I… Yes, I’ve been hurt. Badly. And as I told you last night, I don’t have one-night stands or even meaningless sex. So please, Oliver, let’s just keep this as simple and easy as we can. The last thing either of us wants is another broken heart.”
I give her a steadying look. “I like you. I like Layla. And I’ll never do anything to hurt either of you. Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do. Three months. Just business. Not a problem.”
***
After a shitty night’s sleep where the past twenty-four hours with Amelia compounded by our conversation slammed through my head on constant repeat, I walk through the doors of Hughes Healthcare for my shift. This is what I need to get my head back on straight. To stop thinking incessantly about Amelia. A shift. Helping patients. Saving lives.
Only I barely make it three steps down the back hall before I’m inundated with a barrage of questions and congratulations, and we never thought you’d ever get engaged flying at me from all sides. My colleagues are worse than the press.
If I wasn’t second-guessing this decision last night after my talk with Amelia, I sure as hell am now. I stop to chat with everyone, ignoring sneers from women I’ve had encounters with in the past and trying not to wince every time a lie exits my mouth. Thankfully my boss and friend, Jonah Hughes, comes to my rescue, slapping a hand on my shoulder and guiding me away from the fray.
“You alright, mate? You’re looking a little sallow.”
“Thanks,” I mutter dryly, following him into his office, where he shuts the door. I’ve worked here through my residency and now that I’m finally finishing in July, Jonah didn’t hesitate to offer me an attending position. Jonah’s wife, Halle, and I are also good friends—were before she even started working here as a nurse practitioner and met Jonah because she is best friends with Rina. It’s all very incestuous, but somehow it works out well. Probably because Halle and Rina’s other friends are among the few nurses I haven’t slept with in this town.
“Love life getting to you then?” He gives me a smug grin. “Oliver Fritz, self-confirmed lifelong bachelor, is finally off the market. Not just that but engaged. I have to admit, I never thought I’d see the day either. Nurses everywhere are in mourning.”
I take a seat, falling back in my chair and rubbing my bleary eyes with my fists.
“Is it true then?” he continues when I don’t take his bait.
I can’t lie to Jonah. As I said, he’s a friend and his wife and Rina are close. “It’s fake,” I admit and then launch into the whole story, forcing his secrecy along with it.
“Christ, Oliver,” he mutters, bewildered. “I understand your position and why you felt the need to do this, but it’s risky as hell. You’re already creating quite the scandal. You’re all over the internet. Pictures of you with this woman are everywhere. Halle was going on about it, teasing how woman-loving Oliver has met his perfect match.”
I groan. “There’s no such thing as a perfect match and it’s not real. Amelia is in on this and it’s only three months until my overly joyous mother is over the hump with her breast cancer and the media has forgotten all about us. We can make it through.”
We have no choice.
Jonah looks like he’s sucking on a lemon. “Right.” And that, right with his posh accent, tells me he’s not buying anything I’m saying. “Ironic she’s a nurse, yeah?” he teases. “Considering those are the woman you typically go for.”
“Har. Har.” Though for the first time today, I’m smiling. Nurses aren’t the only women I go for, just the ones I tend to sleep with most often because they’re the ones I meet and see on a daily basis. But speaking of… I sit up, dropping my elbows onto my thighs and leaning in Jonah’s direction. “Hey, do you know Dr. Mike Sagginalls?”
“Sure. Brilliant plastic surgeon. We occasionally send him some of our pro bono cleft pallet cases.”
That catches me by surprise. “We do?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“That’s who Amelia works for.”
And instantly Jonah’s curious expression falls as he shuffles papers around his desk that don’t need shuffling. “Oh.”
“What does ‘oh’ mean?” I press. He looks down, picking a non-existent piece of lint from his scrubs. “Jonah?” I press.
“He has a reputation with his nurses, is all,” he tells me, still on that lint. “Similar to yours though, I’ve heard things that make you sound like a saint in comparison.”
My jaw clenches, and I swear, between last night and today, I can feel the enamel on my teeth wearing thin. “What do you mean by that?”
Jonah shakes his head, finally meeting my eyes. “Nothing really. It’s mostly old gossip.”
“Stop being a cagey bastard and tell me.”
Jonah sighs, leaning back in his office chair, tossing his arm back behind his head. “He’s a ruthless flirt and philanderer. Very arrogant. He was married for a bit but had so many affairs his wife eventually left him. I haven’t had much contact with his office other than the sporadic email here or there that I send directly to him about a patient. But he had a reputation for hiring young, pretty nurses to work for him, promising them the moon and stars to get them to sleep with him. Then he grows bored and forces the woman out, either paying her off or making her miserable at work until she quit. But like I said, that gossip is mostly old. It’s likely nothing to do with your bird.”
“Shit.”
“How long has your Amelia been working there?”
I ignore the point about him twice referring to her as mine. “Few years, I think. She hasn’t slept with him. At least that’s not the impression I’ve gotten, but it sounds like he tries very hard to change that.”
“Hmmm. Well, then it seems she can handle herself if she’s been working with him that long.”
“Would you want Halle working for him?” I challenge.
He smirks at me. “You mean Halle, the woman I’m actually married to?” I give him a dirty look and he chuckles. “No. Of course not, but obviously Amelia’s getting on well without help. And anyway, is it your place to interfere?”
I think about that. “Probably not.” I have no business interfering with her job. With her livelihood that she seems to desperately need. She’s essentially a single parent and I can already see she doesn’t have much. Plus, effectively our business arrangement, as she called it, will be over in a few months. There is no more kissing. No more touching. No more flirting.
At least in private.
She made that damn clear last night.
Still, I can’t stand the thought of that asshole treating her like that. Cannot. Fucking. Stand. It. I can’t sit idly by and do nothing. I just can’t.
“Then you best let it go.”
“Not possible. But I don’t have to interfere to make my presence known or felt.”
A grin springs to my lips, already knowing my idea will piss Amelia off something fierce. Jonah is right. She is more than capable of handling herself. But seeing the fire in her eyes at what I plan to do might be half the reward. She may not want me to blur the lines between us, but it seems I already can’t help myself.
11
AMELIA
It’s exactly what I feared would happen.
“You look familiar to me. Why do you look familiar to me?” the woman who is three months pregnant and in for an initial rhinoplasty (nose job) consult asks with a tilt of her head as she studies me.
“
I must have one of those faces,” I deadpan, knowing damn well it’s because she saw me in the tabloids. Please don’t remember where you know me from, lady. “I’ve been getting that all day.” At this point, I at least have a sense of humor about it. She’s my tenth consult of the day—I see all new patients regardless of what they’re coming here for—and every single one that I saw recognized me within a matter of minutes.
At first, it annoyed me. Especially with the subsequent line of questions that had nothing to do with why the patient was seeing me and everything to do with Oliver. Now I just take it for what it is, Oliver Fritz engagement hysteria. I even got a call from Boston Magazine asking to do an exclusive photoshoot and interview about our engagement.
Thankfully I missed their call, but they left all the details in their message.
I feel like it’s one thing to know something and another to see it and live it and that’s what’s happening now. I knew the Fritzes were a big deal in this city. I knew the tabloids and media love to follow them—hanging on their tragedies and swooning over their love lives. I just had no idea the storm would be this big and continue to grow.
“No,” she continues. “I definitely know you.”
I’m giving her another minute before she connects the dots.
“As I was saying, we will have to wait until you’ve delivered the baby before we can perform a rhinoplasty.”
Suddenly she’s back to business. “But I want my new nose for my pregnancy photo shoot.”
“I understand that, but the anesthesia is not good for the fetus, not to mention the procedure itself can be taxing on the body. Dr. Sagginalls has a very firm policy with this.”
She huffs, folding her arms over her chest, nonplussed. “And he can’t make an exception?”
You’d think the whole not good for the fetus line would have thwarted her, but no, it didn’t, and it rarely ever does. The patients who come in here are used to always getting their way under every circumstance.