Down-on-her-luck doctor Calla Roberts is one crisis short of a total breakdown. She’s seen too much death, destruction, and betrayal to believe in fairy tales, let alone in men who claim to be trustworthy. Which is why Alex Hardy irritates the crap out of her. Even if her career wasn’t in jeopardy—and he wasn’t sexy as sin—she’d never fall for one of his schemes. Maybe. Hotshot attorney Alex Hardy never lies. Mostly. In order to keep the press and his family at arms’ length, he needs Calla to be his fake fiancée. And while the lie goes against everything he stands for, the bigger lie is the one he’s been telling himself—that he’s only pretending to fall for the sultry doctor.
When an actor attempts to discredit Calla and Alex champions her desperate cause, Calla can’t help but wonder if good guys actually exist. But Alex’s lies are slowly unraveling, and it won’t be long before Calla discovers who Alex really is…
“There is a lot of heart in this read!” Review of HOLLYWOOD SCANDAL from @upinthecosmos http://bit.ly/1iRwEAP
“The way these two characters played off of each other was absolutely brilliant.” Review of HOLLYWOOD SCANDAL from Bitten by Romance http://bit.ly/TjduY9
“…a fast-paced read with well-developed characters.” Review of HOLLYWOOD SCANDAL from @GirlandKindle http://bit.ly/1kHRCBU
“I loved the bits of humor… it was a great book.” Review of HOLLYWOOD SCANDAL from @GirlandKindle http://bit.ly/1kHRCBU
Excerpt:
Dr. Calla Roberts stared down at the newspaper in her hands, a frown creasing her forehead. How the heck had the papers gotten these photos? The four published on page one were post-surgical pictures that shouldn’t have gone further than the patient’s file. All of them were images she’d taken, their only use to document the reconstructive surgery she’d performed.
Anger and disgust churned her gut, making her wish she hadn’t eaten lunch. When she got her hands on the scumbag who was leaking photos from Seacliffe Cosmetic Surgery & Spa she was going to… Well, she wasn’t sure what she was going to do. Something not nice, certainly. Humiliating would be good. Publicly humiliating would be better.
She closed the newspaper and threw it on the table in the spa’s employee lounge.
So inadequate.
She picked it up, crumpled it into a ball, dropped it on the floor, jumped on it a few times, and then hurled it into the trash.
Much better.
"Um, Dr. Roberts?”
Calla glanced over her shoulder. Seacliffe’s receptionist, Selena Harris, stood in the doorway.
“Sorry to interrupt your lunch, but Alexander Hardy is here to see you.”
“Alexander Hardy? Mr. Perfect booked an appointment with me?”
Selena winced. “He doesn’t have an appointment.”
He thought she was a hack for what he called pasting permanent lies onto otherwise perfect faces. He made it clear when he called her a glorified makeup artist the day they met. “Why does he want to see me?”
“Something about taking advantage of the downtrodden of LA?” She shrugged. “I’m not really clear on what he meant. He’s sort of ranting.”
“Ranting?” Alex Hardy, the spa’s lawyer on retainer, with offices next door and a nose for trouble, was capable of many things, but ranting? When he spoke it was with perfect diction and deliberate intent. So not a ranter.
Calla had only met the man a couple of times, but the impression he’d made on her was one of sharp intelligence coupled with a strength of will rivaling her own. Which was probably why they’d disagreed vehemently both times they’d spoken to each other.
He also represented the owner of the spa, Helen Ridgeway, on legal matters. That meant Calla had to be polite to him, though there were times when she’d rather poke him in the eye. Or worse.
In her current mood, verbal thrust and parry would be welcome.
“I’ll deal with him, Selena.”
“Thanks, Doctor.” She gave Calla a smile. “I wasn’t sure if I should try to shove him out the door or charge a ten-dollar cover for everyone in the waiting room.”
“Why not both?”
Calla must have looked as vicious as she felt because a frown creased Selena’s face. “Is something else bothering you?”
“Another leak of photos in the paper.”
“Again? I hadn’t heard.”
“I just saw them.” Calla angled her chin at the garbage can.
“Oh, that’s what you were jumping on.”
“I prefer stomping. It makes me feel like I’ve done something productive.”
Selena shook her head. “Helen is going to have a heart attack if this keeps up.”
“Let’s hope not.” Calla headed out of the lounge and toward the reception area. “I’ll go take care of our lawyer problem.”
Selena followed at a trot. “He’s not really a problem. Helen likes him.”
“Helen isn’t going to tolerate her lawyer turning our waiting area into a place to practice his courtroom drama skills.”
“Oh, one more thing. Jeff MacKay left another message for you. Wants a return phone call.”
Calla snorted. “I’ve already said everything I intend on saying to him. Would you mind calling him back and giving him that message?”
“I used to think he was cute,” the receptionist said with a rueful shake of her head. “But not so much anymore.”
Jeff MacKay, voted the sexiest man in the world by the tabloids, had become persona non grata to Calla. He’d hit a woman with his car and then left the scene without waiting for police or an ambulance.
If bystanders hadn’t taken a bunch of pictures and video of him and his car with its personalized ACTOR plates, he might have gotten away with it. But the photos and video uploaded to the internet clearly showed what happened.
Calla had been called in to Helen’s House, a free clinic run by Helen Ridgeway, to operate on MacKay’s hit-and-run victim, Alicia Deleon, a recent immigrant to the USA from Mexico. Alicia would walk again, but not for several weeks and many hours of physiotherapy.
Jeff MacKay had contacted her shortly after Mrs. Deleon’s surgery to ask how he could help Calla’s professional interests. He claimed to love supporting charitable organizations like Helen’s House. She’d asked him what he wanted in return. He said all he wanted was her friendship.
Ha. She told him her friendship wasn’t for sale and hung up on him.
“I’ve always thought there was something plastic about that man,” Calla said. “Fame isn’t good for everyone.”
She left her office and entered the waiting area. It was airy, decorated in soft colors and comfortable chairs, and had a small coffee bar for the comfort of their patients.
In his mid-thirties, Alex was a tall man, an inch or two over six feet, with the slim, fit build of a swimmer. He moved with the same power and liquid grace of a black panther on the hunt. It was impossible to not watch him cross a room. Her fingers itched to play with the dark hair he let grow a little too long. His face could have been classified as handsome, except for his nose.
It was a bold, slightly crooked blade turning his face into one of compelling character. He must have broken it at some point, but had never had it fixed. In a city known for its drive for perfection, his nose made an interesting statement about him.
And Calla liked that more than she’d care to admit.
At the moment, Alex was chatting animatedly with two aging, daytime soap actresses.
“You need to work on your intensity,” one of them said. “Make sure you use it judiciously. You don’t want to come off like you’re trying too hard.”
“Yes, and enunciate in the correct places. Right now you sound a little like Sylvester Stallone with a cold.”
It seemed she’d missed an interesting performance.
“A cold?” Alex said with a sneer. “I was going for pneumonia.”
“Catastrophic pneumonia?” Calla asked. “The kind that kills in about forty-eight hours?”
“Exactly, Doctor,” Alex said, turning toward her, a wide smile on his face. The expression had her heart rate rising and her feet eager to move closer to him. Something about the man drew her like a magnet to iron.
Another reason to be annoyed with him.
She didn’t want to be attracted to anyone. Attraction led to dating, love, and having your heart broken while the man you trusted with all your heart cleaned out your bank account. Just like last time.
“Thank you for your excellent suggestion,” he said.
Suggestion? “Indeed.” Calla sighed. “You wanted to see me? Or would you prefer to come back tomorrow?”
He grinned like a five-year-old who’d caught his first fish. “Today. We have important matters to discuss.” He made his bow to the two actresses. “Thank you, ladies.”
Alex preceded her to the elegant room she called her office, and she had to force herself to not stare at his taut butt. His slacks were definitely tailored to fit.
She shut the door, sealing herself in a small room with a man who made her feel things she wanted to avoid more than the plague.
He sat in the chair in front of her desk, the oddest expression of anticipation on his face. As if he were preparing to say something that might, or might not, blow up her office. “You’re willing to talk. Excellent.”
“It must be something urgent for you to create such a production,” she said.
“That was not a production. I was warming up.”
“Right.” She slid behind her desk, sat down, and stared at him. “So?”
He stared back, waiting, expectant. “You wanted to talk to me?”
“Indeed.” He leaned forward and she got a whiff of his aftershave. Yum. She sat back deliberately. Sniffing at the man, no matter how much she wanted to, would only get her into the kind of trouble she desperately wanted to avoid.
“I’m curious about what you’re selling.”
The question was so strange it distracted her from her daytime fantasies of wallowing in his scent while nibbling on his neck. “Selling?”
“And where you’re getting it, because I can tell you right now, the law looks harshly at doctors who are also drug dealers.”
Wait. What?
When an actor attempts to discredit Calla and Alex champions her desperate cause, Calla can’t help but wonder if good guys actually exist. But Alex’s lies are slowly unraveling, and it won’t be long before Calla discovers who Alex really is…
“There is a lot of heart in this read!” Review of HOLLYWOOD SCANDAL from @upinthecosmos http://bit.ly/1iRwEAP
“The way these two characters played off of each other was absolutely brilliant.” Review of HOLLYWOOD SCANDAL from Bitten by Romance http://bit.ly/TjduY9
“…a fast-paced read with well-developed characters.” Review of HOLLYWOOD SCANDAL from @GirlandKindle http://bit.ly/1kHRCBU
“I loved the bits of humor… it was a great book.” Review of HOLLYWOOD SCANDAL from @GirlandKindle http://bit.ly/1kHRCBU
Excerpt:
Dr. Calla Roberts stared down at the newspaper in her hands, a frown creasing her forehead. How the heck had the papers gotten these photos? The four published on page one were post-surgical pictures that shouldn’t have gone further than the patient’s file. All of them were images she’d taken, their only use to document the reconstructive surgery she’d performed.
Anger and disgust churned her gut, making her wish she hadn’t eaten lunch. When she got her hands on the scumbag who was leaking photos from Seacliffe Cosmetic Surgery & Spa she was going to… Well, she wasn’t sure what she was going to do. Something not nice, certainly. Humiliating would be good. Publicly humiliating would be better.
She closed the newspaper and threw it on the table in the spa’s employee lounge.
So inadequate.
She picked it up, crumpled it into a ball, dropped it on the floor, jumped on it a few times, and then hurled it into the trash.
Much better.
"Um, Dr. Roberts?”
Calla glanced over her shoulder. Seacliffe’s receptionist, Selena Harris, stood in the doorway.
“Sorry to interrupt your lunch, but Alexander Hardy is here to see you.”
“Alexander Hardy? Mr. Perfect booked an appointment with me?”
Selena winced. “He doesn’t have an appointment.”
He thought she was a hack for what he called pasting permanent lies onto otherwise perfect faces. He made it clear when he called her a glorified makeup artist the day they met. “Why does he want to see me?”
“Something about taking advantage of the downtrodden of LA?” She shrugged. “I’m not really clear on what he meant. He’s sort of ranting.”
“Ranting?” Alex Hardy, the spa’s lawyer on retainer, with offices next door and a nose for trouble, was capable of many things, but ranting? When he spoke it was with perfect diction and deliberate intent. So not a ranter.
Calla had only met the man a couple of times, but the impression he’d made on her was one of sharp intelligence coupled with a strength of will rivaling her own. Which was probably why they’d disagreed vehemently both times they’d spoken to each other.
He also represented the owner of the spa, Helen Ridgeway, on legal matters. That meant Calla had to be polite to him, though there were times when she’d rather poke him in the eye. Or worse.
In her current mood, verbal thrust and parry would be welcome.
“I’ll deal with him, Selena.”
“Thanks, Doctor.” She gave Calla a smile. “I wasn’t sure if I should try to shove him out the door or charge a ten-dollar cover for everyone in the waiting room.”
“Why not both?”
Calla must have looked as vicious as she felt because a frown creased Selena’s face. “Is something else bothering you?”
“Another leak of photos in the paper.”
“Again? I hadn’t heard.”
“I just saw them.” Calla angled her chin at the garbage can.
“Oh, that’s what you were jumping on.”
“I prefer stomping. It makes me feel like I’ve done something productive.”
Selena shook her head. “Helen is going to have a heart attack if this keeps up.”
“Let’s hope not.” Calla headed out of the lounge and toward the reception area. “I’ll go take care of our lawyer problem.”
Selena followed at a trot. “He’s not really a problem. Helen likes him.”
“Helen isn’t going to tolerate her lawyer turning our waiting area into a place to practice his courtroom drama skills.”
“Oh, one more thing. Jeff MacKay left another message for you. Wants a return phone call.”
Calla snorted. “I’ve already said everything I intend on saying to him. Would you mind calling him back and giving him that message?”
“I used to think he was cute,” the receptionist said with a rueful shake of her head. “But not so much anymore.”
Jeff MacKay, voted the sexiest man in the world by the tabloids, had become persona non grata to Calla. He’d hit a woman with his car and then left the scene without waiting for police or an ambulance.
If bystanders hadn’t taken a bunch of pictures and video of him and his car with its personalized ACTOR plates, he might have gotten away with it. But the photos and video uploaded to the internet clearly showed what happened.
Calla had been called in to Helen’s House, a free clinic run by Helen Ridgeway, to operate on MacKay’s hit-and-run victim, Alicia Deleon, a recent immigrant to the USA from Mexico. Alicia would walk again, but not for several weeks and many hours of physiotherapy.
Jeff MacKay had contacted her shortly after Mrs. Deleon’s surgery to ask how he could help Calla’s professional interests. He claimed to love supporting charitable organizations like Helen’s House. She’d asked him what he wanted in return. He said all he wanted was her friendship.
Ha. She told him her friendship wasn’t for sale and hung up on him.
“I’ve always thought there was something plastic about that man,” Calla said. “Fame isn’t good for everyone.”
She left her office and entered the waiting area. It was airy, decorated in soft colors and comfortable chairs, and had a small coffee bar for the comfort of their patients.
In his mid-thirties, Alex was a tall man, an inch or two over six feet, with the slim, fit build of a swimmer. He moved with the same power and liquid grace of a black panther on the hunt. It was impossible to not watch him cross a room. Her fingers itched to play with the dark hair he let grow a little too long. His face could have been classified as handsome, except for his nose.
It was a bold, slightly crooked blade turning his face into one of compelling character. He must have broken it at some point, but had never had it fixed. In a city known for its drive for perfection, his nose made an interesting statement about him.
And Calla liked that more than she’d care to admit.
At the moment, Alex was chatting animatedly with two aging, daytime soap actresses.
“You need to work on your intensity,” one of them said. “Make sure you use it judiciously. You don’t want to come off like you’re trying too hard.”
“Yes, and enunciate in the correct places. Right now you sound a little like Sylvester Stallone with a cold.”
It seemed she’d missed an interesting performance.
“A cold?” Alex said with a sneer. “I was going for pneumonia.”
“Catastrophic pneumonia?” Calla asked. “The kind that kills in about forty-eight hours?”
“Exactly, Doctor,” Alex said, turning toward her, a wide smile on his face. The expression had her heart rate rising and her feet eager to move closer to him. Something about the man drew her like a magnet to iron.
Another reason to be annoyed with him.
She didn’t want to be attracted to anyone. Attraction led to dating, love, and having your heart broken while the man you trusted with all your heart cleaned out your bank account. Just like last time.
“Thank you for your excellent suggestion,” he said.
Suggestion? “Indeed.” Calla sighed. “You wanted to see me? Or would you prefer to come back tomorrow?”
He grinned like a five-year-old who’d caught his first fish. “Today. We have important matters to discuss.” He made his bow to the two actresses. “Thank you, ladies.”
Alex preceded her to the elegant room she called her office, and she had to force herself to not stare at his taut butt. His slacks were definitely tailored to fit.
She shut the door, sealing herself in a small room with a man who made her feel things she wanted to avoid more than the plague.
He sat in the chair in front of her desk, the oddest expression of anticipation on his face. As if he were preparing to say something that might, or might not, blow up her office. “You’re willing to talk. Excellent.”
“It must be something urgent for you to create such a production,” she said.
“That was not a production. I was warming up.”
“Right.” She slid behind her desk, sat down, and stared at him. “So?”
He stared back, waiting, expectant. “You wanted to talk to me?”
“Indeed.” He leaned forward and she got a whiff of his aftershave. Yum. She sat back deliberately. Sniffing at the man, no matter how much she wanted to, would only get her into the kind of trouble she desperately wanted to avoid.
“I’m curious about what you’re selling.”
The question was so strange it distracted her from her daytime fantasies of wallowing in his scent while nibbling on his neck. “Selling?”
“And where you’re getting it, because I can tell you right now, the law looks harshly at doctors who are also drug dealers.”
Wait. What?