Page 184 of The Doctors Will See You Now

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.

What it said, I wasn’t sure, but whatever it was seemed positive. But I guessed the evening was still young. I’d have to be on the lookout for poisoned offerings.

Somebody let me know if you see an apple in her purse.

The lights of the Slipper Room were a rosy red, and a completely mischievous glow enveloped the place as soon as you stepped inside. The only thing in front of us was a lone, tall set of stairs leading to the unknown.

“This is a sex club, isn’t it?” Harlow asked, apropos of nothing.

I coughed a startled bark of laughter and gave her hip an affectionate squeeze. “Not quite.”

The truth was, as soon as I’d picked her up in a cab from the corner of 42nd and Fifth Avenue a little over forty minutes ago—she’d been adamant that I not know where she actually lived—I’d been wishing a sex club was what I’d planned for the evening. A night in at my place. An overnight at a hotel. Fucking anything that would lead to being able to remove the tiny black skirt she’d donned so I could see what lay underneath it.

Good Christ, the amount of skin her legs had out to play made her look two feet taller than she actually was.

Her nose wrinkled, and her eyes turned down at the corners. I had a feeling she was shooting for plain disbelief, but her features betrayed her. Disappointment lived under the surface. I had to laugh. “A letdown, huh?”

“No!” she snapped. My waning laughter renewed.

“Okay, Harlow. Whatever you say,” I relented, guiding her toward the stairs, putting my hand to her back, and leaning in to whisper in her ear. “Don’t worry. I’ll punish your pussy later.”

She tripped, a simple misstep due to clumsiness, I’d have thought—if it weren’t for the timing.

I smirked to myself and moved my hands to her hips to steady her. “Would you like that, Low? Do you want to be punished?”

She shivered and tightened her hold on the railing. I’d been hoping to make her trip again, but the tremor would have to do. I’d lost the element of surprise, after all.

We walked in silence up the rest of the stairs until we reached the front desk and handed over the tickets I’d pre-purchased online.

“What is this place?” she asked again, albeit in different words.

“It’s a variety club,” I explained, pushing her deeper into the room so that she could see the stage. I felt a little bad, like I was always pushing her places, but honestly, half the time she moved like her feet were encased in cement.

It was frustrating. Of course, the hell of it was, it was also alluring, so different from the eager bounce of most women I spent my time with.

Complicated. That word had never sounded so good until Harlow.