by J. Saman
“I’m sorry, but even if he were willing to do that, which I’m positive he’s not, we’re booking more than seven months out for procedures anyway.”
She’s aghast, and I put my hands on my hips, readying myself for the battle I know is coming when her eyes catch on the diamond perched on my hand. They widen, narrow, then flash up to my face triumphantly.
“I knew I recognized you,” she says. “You’re engaged to Oliver Fritz.”
Ugh. Here we go.
“Yes. I am.” I move for the drawer with the rhinoplasty pamphlet in it, pulling one out for her. “Now, it’s a pretty straightforward procedure—”
“What’s he like? I mean, dreamy is obvious. Rich is another. But wow, I never thought he’d actually get engaged. Let alone get engaged to a nurse, though the papers yesterday didn’t mention that at all. They didn’t even know who you were. I always felt like we’d see him end up with someone like Captiva Shaw or Alessandra Flores. You know, someone hot and young and famous.”
“Uh-huh. So as I was saying—”
“But the two of you looked so in love in those pictures,” she continues without missing a beat. “My friend Val and I totally swooned. Gah, I’m so jealous. You have to tell me everything. How did he propose? Did he buy the ring just for you?”
Mercifully there is a knock on the door and then Dr. Sagginalls pops his head in, eying the patient and then me. “Sorry to interrupt, Amelia, but do you have a minute?”
“Yes, we were just finishing up. I’ll be right out.”
“I’ll be in my office.”
He shuts the door behind him and then I launch into my rhinoplasty speech, handing her the brochure. I do a quick exam, taking some measurements, and documenting how she says she wants her nose to look after the procedure. I escape the room by telling her to look over all the information I’ve given her and if she’s still interested to schedule a pre-op appointment with Dr. Sagginalls for after the baby is delivered.
I exit the room hastily, speed-walk down the hall, turn left, and then sag unceremoniously against the wall, my head back and my eyes closing. My fingers twist the large, heavy stone on my hand as I take a breather. I knew people loved the Fritz boys, but man, I had no clue about their reach. How obsessed and consumed people are with them.
You’d think they were the Red Sox, for Christ’s sake.
Thankfully that was the last appointment of the day and tomorrow we’re in the OR—my favorite. Then again, I don’t typically spend my office days dodging questions about my personal life, my fake fiancé, or my fake engagement. I used to roll as unnoticed as a butterfly in a pack of elephants, which is how I liked it.
But not anymore.
Now I’m as visible as a streaker running across the field at Fenway. My ass is everywhere.
I need to go face Saggingballs—er, I mean Sagginalls. Dammit, Layla!
Prying myself away from the sanctuary of the wall, I turn just in time to plow straight into Kathleen, our receptionist, who is holding a large platter of something that bangs brutally against my chest, impaling me with a sharp jolt. I go flying back, the thrust of the platter giving me an extra push, and whatever she was carrying goes up in the air. My ass hits the floor with a hard thud and what appears to be heart-shaped cookies rain down on me like confetti, smashing onto my prone form, and breaking apart into a crumbly mess.
“Oh, my goodness. Amelia, I’m so sorry.”
“Shit, baby, are you okay?”
That voice. That second voice. I sit up, a factory of cookies falling from my head and onto my lap. I’m slathered in pink and red frosting, chocolate chips smearing into the mix because believe it or not, the cookies are still just a touch warm. The frosting extra soft and the chips ooey-gooey perfection.
Just the way I like them.
Now they’re ruined.
Oliver crouches down, hovering over me. I gaze up at him in total bewilderment. “What on earth just happened?”
“Should I check your pupils?” He’s grinning and that grin could fill a romance novel of swoon specially written just for me.
“Ha. Only I didn’t hit my head.”
“Then maybe I should check your ass? Thoroughly and for medical purposes only, of course.”
I blush like the love child of a tomato and a beet because Kathleen is definitely within earshot, and she definitely heard that. A point she proves by giggling under her breath. Kathleen is about sixty, though she looks more like thirty-six thanks to the ridiculous discount she gets on her treatments and injections. If Kathleen were capable of showing facial emotions and reactions such as humor or embarrassment, I’m sure she would be doing so right now.
“At least some of the frosting matches my hair.” I stare down at my scrubs. “I look like something out of a Valentine’s Day massacre.” I laugh lightly. Pink and red frosting are smeared everywhere.
“But a delicious one. Here.”
Oliver grabs one of the cookie pieces from my chest and pops it into his mouth. Then he takes another and offers it to me. I open automatically, allowing him to feed me while I build up to asking what the hell he’s doing here and why I’m now covered in a tray of what appear to be custom-made cookies.
I chew on the cookie, and I’m hit with an explosion of flavors that trigger a million lost memories. “My favorite.”
His grin grows into an all-encompassing smile as he leans in and licks the corner of my lips. A hot swoosh of sugar-rushed butterflies launches hellfire through my body.
“Chocolate,” he explains. “And they were meant to be your favorite. Chocolate chip cookies with frosting, but now both you and the carpet are wearing more than are edible.”
“You brought me cookies?”
“Chocolate chip and frosted, the best of both worlds.”
I gawk at him. Eyes wide, mouth open. How did he know? That’s exactly what my mother used to say whenever we’d bake them together. We’d stand in our tiny kitchen, drinking milk and eating this exact type of cookie, and I would tell her everything. I had no friends. She was it. The best listener ever. Never an ounce of judgment in sight.
Emotion clogs high up in my throat, practically suffocating me as it builds, filling my eyes with unshed tears. I cup his face in my hand, staring into his eyes. “How?”
“Layla,” he whispers so only I can hear. “I needed to know your favorite. She told me the story about your mom, and it was such a good story I had to do it. I was hoping these would make you smile.”
A strangled sound hiccups past my lungs.
Is he for real?
Does he have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve had any form of positive male attention? How long my heart has been starved of someone doing something thoughtful just for me? I could have worn the same pair of panties daily for years and no one other than myself would have known. Suddenly this man is all up in my business, making waves and splashing the hell out of me until I’m soaked in his ocean.
“Oh, baby.” He cups my face in his hands, his eyes searching mine from inches away. “Don’t be mad. I couldn’t get you any old cookies. Not after she told me that.” Now he places a peck on my cheek. He’s completely misreading my emotions. Pulling back, his voice grows louder. “I figured now that we’re officially out in the open with our relationship, I could spoil you. Only it seems to have backfired.”
No. No, it didn’t.
“I’m not mad.” I’m swooning. Hard. “I just can’t believe you did this.” For me.
Because fake pretenses or not, he still went to the trouble of getting me these cookies.
Kathleen makes some sort of simpering sound, obviously falling for it all.
I can’t decide if I want to kiss him or throttle him. On the one hand, he did his research. Then he went and had these made specially for me, taking the trouble to hand-deliver them. On the other hand, the fucker is playing a card I don’t like—the showing up and lying in my workplace one after hitting my emotional trigger button. He’s giving off the illusion that wha
t he’s doing is real when it’s not.
It nearly makes me hate him. And love him. Bastard.
Doesn’t he know what he’s doing to me? What game he’s playing with my heart? With my life? “Oliver—” I want to ask if it’s real. I need to know if he did this, stole a memory of my favorite cookies, of a special time with my mother, for show. Or if he genuinely, truly did this for me. Only I never get the chance as my words are cut off.
“What’s all the commotion?” Dr. Sagginalls comes bustling out of his office, marching down the hall. “Jesus, this is a mess. Amelia, what happened?”
Now Oliver pops up, grabbing my hand and helping me to do the same. The carpet is absolutely ruined. It will have to be professionally cleaned and I cringe thinking about the cost of that.
“It’s my fault,” Oliver says. “I wanted to do something special for Amelia and this happened.” He gestures to me and then the rug. “My apologies. I’ll happily pay to have your carpets cleaned.” Oliver extends his hand at Sagginalls who eyes him like he’s a leaking implant. “Oliver Fritz. Amelia’s fiancé. It’s nice to meet you finally. She’s spoken so highly of you.”
Like a peacock, he perks up at that. “Mike Sagginalls.”
“I’m shocked we haven’t met before. My friend, Jonah Hughes, informed me you do pro bono cleft palates for our babies sometimes.”
“You work for Jonah?”
“I do. And at MGH in one of the family medicine practices because I’m a glutton for punishment, otherwise known as a resident. At least until July. Again, I’m sorry about the cookies. I just missed my girl, you know, so I wanted to surprise her with her favorite treat. Make it known that I was thinking about her.”
He winks at Dr. Sagginalls and then turns my face, kissing me soundly on the lips. Hard. My hands hit his biceps and I push back, digging my nails into his flesh when he doesn’t relent. Finally, he releases me, a shit-eating grin sprawling lazily across his lips.
Wanker. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
He turns back to Dr. Sagginalls. “I’m a lucky man, wouldn’t you say?”
Oh, hell. Oliver, what the absolute fuck?
Sagginalls straightens his spine, glaring at Oliver. “Amelia never mentioned you or the fact that she was engaged. I read about it like everyone else. I wasn’t sure I believed it. Especially when she recently told me she wasn’t dating anyone.”
Oliver laughs like isn’t that just the funniest thing ever. His steadfast gaze holds. “Well, obviously she is. Amelia doesn’t like to mix her personal life with her professional life as I’m sure you can understand. She wanted to hide me like her dirty secret when all I’ve wanted to do is shout about her from the rooftops. But now that my girl has my ring on her finger, I assume there will be no more confusion about her dating status or who she is with during her private, afterwork, time.”
I stomp on Oliver’s foot. He pinches my hip. I dig my nails into his arm. He presses me tighter against him. My gaze threatens blood and mutiny. He smiles at me like the sexiest devil there ever was.
“No,” Sagginalls remarks, though his tone is biting. “No, of course not. We’re all so happy for Amelia.”
Yeah. He doesn’t sound happy at all and I have to wonder if I’ll end up paying a price because of it. Even though I repeatedly told him I wasn’t dating, had no plans to, nor would I ever consider dating my boss. Because that is fucking true. He had stopped asking me out after I made that clear.
But as Layla said, that didn’t stop his calls or questions.
Maybe I should be relieved about what Oliver is doing. Maybe I should appreciate his weird form of staking a claim. But he didn’t ask. He barged into my work, made a show of it, and is now challenging my boss in a very alpha male display of she’s mine, back the fuck off.
If Oliver gets fired from his job, he can find another one. Or hell, he doesn’t even have to work. He’s a billionaire, for Christ’s sake. If I get fired and struggle to find another job—since I’ve only ever worked in plastic surgery—then Layla and I will starve and lose our home.
Not exactly an even playing field.
“I’ll make sure the carpet is cleaned up before your first patient on Wednesday since I know you’re in the OR tomorrow.”
With that, Oliver takes my hand, brushing me past the mess on the floor, a stunned Kathleen, and an angry Dr. Sagginalls. I grab my purse and follow after Oliver, dazed, confused, and terrified as hell.
Especially when we hit the outside air and Oliver says, “I’m so pissed you didn’t get your cookies. But at least now he knows to listen when you tell him to leave you the fuck alone.”
I glare.
He grins.
“I don’t regret it,” he informs me. “I know you’re likely furious with me. But you’re hot as fuck when you look at me like that.”
“That’s my job, Oliver. Don’t you understand what you just did?”
He twists us around on the sidewalk, walking me back toward the side of the building before getting right up in my face. “Yes. I know exactly what I did. I made it clear that he has no business getting into yours. He’s the type of man who abuses his power because he can. That makes him a first-rate piece of shit asshole. The type who gives all men a bad rap. He knows you need this job, so he holds it over your head. He has a reputation for shit like that, Amelia, and I wasn’t going to sit around and let that continue. He won’t listen to you because men like him don’t think women are capable of saying no and meaning it, but he will listen to me.”
I blow out a breath. It’s true. Everything he just said is true, and I know it. I need this job so I don’t push back with him as hard as I would anyone else. He does have that power over me. Welcome to the unfortunate world of being a woman. Of being a woman with limited fucking options.
I tell him no and he ‘respects’ that, but obviously, he doesn’t mean it.
“Tell me if it weren’t for Layla that you wouldn’t have left him years ago.”
I lick my lips. “I can’t.” Behind that truth, I feel both weak and strong. Weak because I stay. Strong because I endure.
“Then again, I’m not sorry and I have no regrets.”
“Were the cookies all for show?”
“No. The cookies were for you. Everything else was for him.”
A relief I have no right to feel hits me like a bullet to the chest. So, I do what any woman at risk of losing herself would do. I narrow my gaze. “That wasn’t fighting fair. I’m trying to keep this uncomplicated.”
“I like complicated.”
“I’m starting to learn that about you.” I sigh. “Oliver. Those cookies. They’re…”
“All over you? Yes. But it only makes you more edible.” He winks and I can’t stop my laugh as it bubbles out of me. Damn him. He makes it impossible not to adore him.
“I’m not going to punish you the way you’d like me to.”
His forehead meets mine, his nose brushing back and forth, tickling my own. “Shame. But I’m more into delivering the punishments than accepting them. Just for reference.”
“Oliver.”
He squeezes my hips. “How about dinner? Takeout for you and Layla? She likes Italian, right? I figure I owe her for the cookie tip. I know just the place. We can pick it up on our way back to your house.”
Staring into his green eyes, so close, marveling at the way he looks at me like I’m something so real and precious to him. This man is going to own my heart. He’ll never know it either. He’ll just be him, going about his life not understanding how impossible it is not to fall for him.
If I wasn’t sure before, I’m damn positive now. I have to safeguard my heart, or he’ll break me apart.
“What are you doing?” To me, I don’t tack on.
He shrugs and judging by his expression, I’m not sure if he even knows. “Evidently, I’m a jealous, possessive bastard. Who knew? Certainly not me, but here it is. I also desperately want to have dinner with you and Layla tonight. We can call this
date one for the week if that makes you feel better about it.”
He’s so adorably hopeful. His green eyes piercing mine, his smile almost boyish.
I should argue this. But suddenly, my heart no longer has that particular fight left in me. Maybe it’s the cookies. Maybe it’s because he stood up for me when no one in my life ever has. Maybe it’s the fact that despite knowing I need to safeguard myself; I can’t help but be lured by his charm. Whatever the reason, I know one thing for sure.
When it comes to Oliver Fritz, I have no idea how I’ll make it through these few months with my heart intact. Especially when it’s already starting to crumble like those cookies.
12
OLIVER
All this week it’s been a game. A trick of the mind. When to call Amelia. When not to call her. When to text—and what to say—and when not to text. When to think about her and when not to think about her. When to see her and touch her and when to hold back. Never in my life have I put so much damn thought into my actions with a woman as I have this week.
It might be easier if Amelia wasn’t so resistant, and I wasn’t so persistent.
We make a weird pair like that.
I keep telling myself to back off. To listen to Amelia and keep my distance. And yet I can’t seem to stop myself from doing the complete and total opposite. I might not do relationships, nor do I even want any of this to be real, but I’ve also never held myself back from someone I’ve wanted either.
And I think at this point it’s pretty damn obvious, I want Amelia.
Even if it’s just her body. The fact that I absolutely fucking love hanging out with her and Layla is a bonus. An extra special treat to all this. It’s not like I actually want Amelia for something else. Something more.
After the cookie incident, I bought her and Layla an Italian feast. I wanted to make sure they’d have plenty of leftovers because I know money is tight for them. I overheard Layla tell my mom at dinner that typically she and Amelia eat light, just sandwiches or pasta for dinner and that Layla gets free lunch through the school she attends.