Doc Showmance

By Zoe Forward

From USA Today bestselling author Zoe Forward comes a new enemies-to-lovers veterinary RomCom.
 

I would say Dr. Ian Todd is my archenemy. But that would require us acknowledging each other, which we haven't done since we graduated veterinary school.

 

He's famous. As in, he's the world's "Sexiest Veterinarian Alive" with his own wildlife TV show and a string of glamorous girlfriends.

 

I'm infamous as a reality TV emergency veterinarian with a snark mouth, take-no-crap attitude, and zero dating life.

 

When asked to fake a romance with him on TV to boost my ER show's ratings, I want to say no-way, but the extra money will pay off my brother's loan shark debt.  Even though Ian broke my heart, playing his love interest shouldn't be hard, especially if it means getting to watch him squirm.

 

Lines get blurred when the TV setups stop feeling fake. Can I chance this might be real love?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Zoe Forward
• Release date: Jan 9, 2023
• ISBN: 9781733242974

Zoe Forward

Award winning author, Zoe Forward is a hopeless romantic who can’t decide between paranormal and contemporary romance. So, she writes both. Her novels have won numerous awards including the Readers’ Choice Heart of Excellence, Golden Quill, Carolyn Readers Choice Award, and the Booksellers’ Best Award. When she’s not typing at her laptop, she’s tying on a karate belt for her son or cleaning up the newest pet mess from the menagerie that occupies her house. She’s a small animal veterinarian caring for a wide range of furry creatures, although there has been the occasional hermit crab. She’s madly in love with her globe trotting conservation ecologist husband who plans to save all the big cats on the planet, and she’s happiest when he returns to their home.

Book preview

Chapter One

AMBER

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He pooped all over my shirt?

My patient’s owner stretched his flamingo-patterned aloha shirt away from his chest to examine the stain I’d been trying not to stare at for the past few minutes. With a rip, he tore apart the snaps holding his shirt together in a fluid motion that would make any male stripper proud.

Don’t laugh. Do not crack a smile.

I caught the rotund Shih Tzu panting on the exam table between us when he attempted to jump off.

Didn’t need to see the guy’s chest. Most definitely didn’t need to see the yellow tattoo of Pikachu wielding Thor’s hammer around his left nipple. I’m all about some nice ink work, but I had to believe that’d been a drunken dare.

I met the gaze of my bomb-proof fifty-something career veterinary technician, Susan, where she stood at the computer station, ready to type in the details of our conversation. Susan’s face flushed as she compressed her lips tight and ducked her head.

A small noise came from the corner behind me. The cameraman, Martin, failed to hide his smirk. I’d forgotten he’d followed us into this appointment.

Controversy made great TV for the reality show based at this San Diego emergency hospital. All doctors here were required to allow the cameras to follow 30 percent of the time. It was part of our employment contract. The extra money rocked, which was why I tolerated it, but being on camera sucked. I wasn’t a showman in need of attention. The cameras made me hyper alert to details like ensuring I didn’t have food between my teeth. Being cautious about what I said was a lost cause. I have a potty mouth that surfaces at the wrong times.

You’ve been great, Doc Hardin… Amber? Can I call you that? Maybe Dr. Amber? It feels like we have a connection. We’re both doctors, you know. I’m a chiropractor. I work over in South Park. You seem great at what you do. The now half-naked man rotated to give the camera a clear visual of his chest. He had the kind of fluffy blondish hair that looked like he’d jumped in the ocean hours ago and dried it in the sun. Smelled like it, too.

He was preening, actually peacocking, for the flipping camera?

Thanks, I answered distractedly. He’d experienced but a pinch of my veterinary skills. I was so much better than an exam and one lab test to conquer his dog’s diarrhea. I’d never boast about myself. I do critique myself without pity and always give 100 percent. I know when it comes to medicine and surgery, I’m good. Sure, I have an ego and a big mouth. Both get me into a crapload of trouble, which is why my boss has kept me around. Great TV, he says.

Do you know how to get liquid crap out of carpet? He stress-smiled. I’m house sitting for my mom. She’s going to kill me.

Steam cleaner? Based on the poop Doudrop deposited on the exam room floor a few minutes ago, I speculated a powerful stinkage awaited him when he returned home.

The brightness in his eyes changed to something more intimate. He stared at me as if chewing on his next question.

Oh, no.

His hand began a slow path toward where mine rested on the metal exam table.

He was about to ask me out. This happened from time to time. I’d offered him a solution to resolve his biggest problem and worked with Susan to clean up his dog’s bum so he’d go home smelling like roses. Maybe not roses. More of a synthetic baby powder smell, but it was heavenly in comparison to where the dog’s aroma started.

He must’ve realized I was about his age, single, and… Who was I kidding? This guy didn’t care about me. He wanted his five minutes in the TV spotlight. He wanted to be on next week’s show.

I was selling myself short. Maybe he thought I was hot. I had solid curves in my hips and butt—not talking Kardashian-large, but solid curves—and my hair sported varying colors. Right now, it was red mixed with blonde over my base of light brown. I was on the edgier side that put many guys off. Edgier, meaning the hoop in one side of my nose, a few extra ear piercings, and many colorful tattoos. My Spanish heritage granted me a perma-tan that many here in California wished for but had to work hard to maintain.

Moments before he forced me to step back to ensure my hand stayed well out of reach, his dog ripped a fart. My eyes watered as the smell waged war inside my nostrils.

I laughed and waved my hand in front of my nose. You poor thing, Doudrop. We need your meds to kick in fast.

He grabbed the little dog off the table to pull her in for a hug. I bit back a reminder not to squeeze her too tight or things might come out the back end that he didn’t want on his bare skin. Mom named her for a WWE lady wrestler, you know.

The name works for her. I cleared my throat and offered what I hoped came off as a professional smile before asking in my hard tone, Any other questions about Doudrop’s care? I think she should be blow-out free by tomorrow.

You love animals, right? It’s why you do this?

Yep. I was a veterinarian so, of course, I loved animals—the furry, the hairless, the ones with chronic skin allergies who were always combatting some form of stink, the drooly, and those who showed love by sitting on my toes. In this job, animals played a big role. In reality, it was about far more than the patient. It was 80 percent about the person who came with the pet—like my half naked client demo-ing his chest for the camera. Also, it was 4 percent about food. People food. As in food to fill up my complaining stomach. As if on cue, my stomach grumbled to remind me I’d missed lunch to take care of this dog’s blowout diarrhea.

You want to get coffee one day this week? I’m fascinated by your job. Love to talk about it more. He seemed to angle his hold on Doudrop to make sure I still had a full visual of Pikachu over his left pec.

Ugh. Not saved by his dog’s gas.

I don’t date clients. Hell, I don’t date in general. It’s not that I dislike men or sex. I like both. I simply don’t have the patience or energy necessary to cultivate what most men of my age, closing in on their thirties, might be looking for. My focus for the next eight months was to finish this residency and pass my board exam. No distractions allowed.

I’m flattered, but I’m seeing someone. Liar.

I promise not to bring Doudrop along until she’s gas-free. He held the little dog away from him when she ripped another toot. Good Lord, Doudrop. My car is going to smell like a porta potty. He met my gaze again. You sure you don’t want to get together? He glanced at my ring finger with obvious purpose as if to suggest whomever I was dating didn’t value me. Or maybe my imagination read into the look.

Why did I even care?

So what if I was almost thirty and still single?

I had to shut this down before he pulled more colorful drama to ensure this made it onto the show. I’m going to have my receptionist get you checked out in here. Call me if the diarrhea isn’t better in forty-eight hours.

As I exited, he called out, So that’s a no on us getting coffee?

I didn’t reply. My heart pounded and my mind filled with worst-case-scenario images of how the TV editors would twist all this to put it on TV. Edit here, cut there, and then everything both of us said got distorted so far from reality that it became fiction.

Susan put a hand on my shoulder outside the exam room. The woman was professional to a tee, but a wide grin broke on her face. Lordy, Doc. I’ve never…in twenty-five years… A chortle broke free. Never seen a grown man rip his shirt off like he was Magic Mike during an appointment. Then to have the balls to ask you out?

Shit does that to people.

She shook her head, still smiling. Good one.

Did you see the tattoo? I asked. Guess you couldn’t miss it. I tried not to look. Tried so hard, but using the nipple as Pikachu’s eyeball? I do love good ink work, but… I sensed the camera nearby and clamped my mouth shut against finishing since something not nice was about to come out. Something guaranteed to make prime time TV. I parked myself in front of a computer to type up my plan for the Shih Tzu’s diarrhea.

Right now, I worked day shifts at the clinic. Most people think of veterinary emergency work as overnights only. Night shifts had done bad things to my endocrine system as I discovered my first year out, during my internship. I went into an adrenal crisis that landed me in the hospital from the mixture of lack of sun, stress, and strictly nocturnal schedule. The San Diego Animal Emergency Hospital in Pacific Beach stays open 24-7 with at least two to three vets on duty at all times. The hospital manager agreed to put me on day shifts until I finished my residency.

Technically, most considered me a baby vet still, being only three years out of school, but working exclusively emergency medicine accelerated my learning curve. I’d become a rock star. I knew it. The staff knew it. They gave me the hard cases, especially those that needed emergency surgery—the fractures, bloats, bleeding spleens, and foreign body ingestions.

From the corner of my eye, I detected movement. I couldn’t help but sweep my gaze in the direction of long, toned legs in jeans and cowboy boots.

Dr. Ian Todd?

What was Mr. Internet Sensation Veterinarian-Model who had his own TV show where he traveled the world to spotlight endangered species’ veterinary care doing here? My heart rate accelerated to the point its pounding hurt my ribcage. A mishmash of emotion pinged inside my head until I couldn’t think straight. Trickles of sweat slithered down my back.

Ian was like a bottle of Macallan with biceps. He took early five o’clock shadows and low voices to a whole new level of sexy—not that I viewed him that way. That’s what other women said. Not me.

Okay, maybe me too. But I’d never say it out loud.

Amber. His intonation of my name hadn’t been a hi-how-are-you nor a great-to-see-you. More of a fatalistic oh-crap-it’s-Amber tone.

What are you doing here? I snapped. We’d parted ways for what I’d hoped had been forever when we graduated from vet school. Never seeing this man again remained one of my top lifetime goals.

His face split with the ever-ready wide smile that was his go-to in almost all situations. Couldn’t read jack shit when he grinned like a sports commentator about to interview the top team player post-game.

Seven years ago, when we were both students at UC Davis vet school, he’d had side careers in TV ad acting and lady slaying. As in, he went through one-nighters with women the way most men did T-shirts.

Not me. We’d never had a one-night stand. I might’ve crushed on him a lot our first two years of vet school, especially during our long hours as lab partners, and then studying together in the library or the coffeehouse. We had something special beyond the fact we pushed each other to be better. Until he instigated the most embarrassing moment of my life. Valentine’s Day of my second year in school, Ian went down on one knee outside class. He declared he thought he was falling for me and offered me a bouquet of roses. My jaw might’ve hit the floor. Having seen the video recording, I stuttered a bunch of nonsense. Then I heard giggling in the bushes nearby.

Someone jumped out and yelled, Gotcha!

Surprise. I was on candid camera.

I’d been the victim of a cheesy prank for some online vlog show. Everyone in class saw me behaving like a smitten idiot. Ian hit number one on my shit list.

Did he apologize? He tried, but not right after it happened. Not the next day. Not even the next week. Months later, when we had to work on a presentation he tried, but my ears were deaf to his words.

Neither the lazy way he rested his six-foot frame against the counter, staring at me with that half smirk, nor the heavily muscled arms and chest he must spend hours a day working on caught my attention.

It was his blazing gray eyes entirely zoomed in on me that made me pause. I’d never forgotten how intense the color was, but today it caught me off guard.

Then there was everything else.

Ugh.

The angles of his cheeks and chin, and the long dark lashes—all of it made girls act stupid. They propelled him into international stardom as the sexiest vet alive. He’d made sexiest man lists in magazines for the past few years. Sure, I looked at the gossip rags. I even eavesdropped when staff members raved about his deep voice during his internet videos. In real life, he was just as tall and just as sexy. Damn him. If he had a best feature, it was those eyes.

So? Why’re you here? I didn’t want to deal with the nervous jitters and instant grumpiness this man triggered. Because I didn’t want to recognize how magnetic and attractive he still was. Are you doing a zoo episode in San Diego and thought you’d crash my show to boost your ratings?

There’s an offer on the table for me to come on staff here for a while. He crossed his arms and folded a hand into each armpit.

Say what?

You’re bullshitting me, right?

It wasn’t that I doubted Ian’s ability to handle emergency medicine. This man might be a pretty boy who could become a supermodel if he applied himself, but he was also wicked smart. As in, I’d gone head-to-head with him in one-upmanship encounters in vet school. I hadn’t ranked number one in my class—and neither had he—but we’d been top ten.

The real reason I didn’t want him here? I didn’t know if I could keep myself from ripping him a new asshole every time I saw him out of protective instinct to avoid admitting I found him hot. No time for distractions. Especially not Ian Todd.

Susan moved into my peripheral vision with a new chart in hand. I hissed at him, Think twice, Dillweed. Here, you can’t lose your shirt or wiggle your ass to fix a problem. You actually have to use your brain and have skills.

I think we established in the past my skills are way better than yours. He winked at me. Fucking winked. Flattered that you think it’s a spectacular ass.

I didn’t say that. I rolled my eyes. The smartass worked its way up my throat, but Susan handed me the chart.

As I reviewed the notes for my next patient’s crisis at a computer terminal ten feet away from Ian, I watched my show’s producer-director—she worked in both roles—move in next to him and whisper something behind her hand.

Ian caught me staring at him. His eyebrows slowly rose. He grinned.

He was coming on staff. No doubt. Not with the way the producer’s speculative gaze narrowed on me.

Shit.

I would not allow my issues with Ian Todd to become prime time drama that derailed my life.

Chapter Two

IAN

The plan is for you two to have a romance. It’s all camera bullshit, but we need it to increase our show’s ratings. Marianna Rinkov, the executive producer of the veterinary ER show had sidled in close. She pushed her reading glasses onto the top of her head, into her sleek shoulder-length black hair. This woman was a manipulative snake with the compassion of a grapefruit. I’d experienced her my-way-or-nothing tactics when she directed three episodes of my Vet in the Wild TV show.

I glanced around to confirm no employees were within hearing range. Only Amber kept me in her peripheral vision. I said low, "You want me to fake date her?"

She’s not that bad. You’ve got to admit she’s got an edgy look to her that’s kind of cool.

It’s not that she’s unattractive. Faking it with her was going to be all kinds of complicated. Those whiskey-colored eyes of hers jerked to me. Scheming glittered in their depths as if plotting how best to make me suffer. I hadn’t felt this level of excitement jitters while under a woman’s perusal in years. I wasn’t a masochist. I also wasn’t argumentative, but with her? We could be at each other’s throats in seconds. I’d forgotten how much fun it was.

The Amber I used to know kept me on my toes. I never knew if she was going to snipe at me or give me her nice side for a few seconds when forced to be collaborative. Either way, she challenged me to stay a step ahead.

The fact she hadn’t forgotten my nickname, Dillweed, thrilled me. Whenever I heard the word, which wasn’t often, it made me think of her and smile.

Marianna chuckled. She’s a bit…uh, difficult. I’ll grant you that.

Difficult? She’s a terrier who’ll bite first and ask questions later.

I couldn’t quite process the fact the woman I’d been drawn to years ago in vet school, before everything went to crap and we degenerated into constant arguing, was even more beautiful than before. If only she hadn’t been in the wrong place at the wrong time when I agreed to do that stupid Valentine’s Day video. Everything might’ve been different. Would I have worked up the courage to ask her out? Yes. I’d almost been there. She was a lot to handle back then, even before she became furious at me for existing in her space.

You think you can pull off regular medicine in a place like this without making an ass of yourself or getting sued?

Not a problem. I’d done day practice for a while when just out of school. Emergency medicine, however, was a whole different league. Only seeing patients at their worst with death on the line 50 percent of the time induced a high level of adrenaline. I liked it.

Medical and surgical challenges didn’t scare me.

You know her, Marianna stated. Not a question. Please tell me you didn’t screw it up by sleeping with her at some point in the past.

We were never like that. I swallowed, unwilling to give Marianna the ammunition she sought or to let her know the historical shitfest that raged between us. We went to the same vet school. Can’t say we got along.

Perfect. I’ll ready your contract. We’ll pay you twice your normal per month, plus the hospital pays you on commission. We’ll pay your housing while in the area. Try not to make an ass of yourself. Or, actually, do. She grinned. That’d make great TV. You’ll sign a contract to exclusively be into her until Christmas, but no one other than you, me, the hospital director, and her will know it’s fake. You can’t publicly date other women during these few months.

I can’t do this. Not with Amber. She’s⁠—

Sure, she’s a pit bull, which is why this is going to be so great. You’re eye candy, and she’s drama. Bonus if she hates your guts. Marianna lowered her voice. You can go find women to hook up with on the side. I remember back when I directed a few episodes of your show you had a need to scratch that itch a lot. Just keep it quiet and out of the media.

I stopped hooking up with random women long ago. A few messy episodes left a bad taste in my mouth.

This won’t work.

I watched Amber undo her ponytail. All that red-streaked dirty-blonde hair cascaded down her back for a moment before she redid it into a messy bun. Her technician said something and pointed at a screen. A small smile lit up Amber’s face. So much strength in her jaw. Intelligence and stubbornness etched into her features as she read. The tiny hoop in her left nostril caught the light and glittered.

Just from her smile, my fascination shot up. I couldn’t identify if it was dread or excitement that licked down my spine. I wanted to know who Amber had become. Who was this badass ready to go to extremes for her patients? At least, the few episodes I’d watched of her ER show featured her fighting for her patients.

I didn’t want a fake TV dating scenario with her. I wished for a do-over, a chance to go back to that awful, stupid day and change what I’d done. I wanted something real, not a scripted farce. Sure, anything with Amber would be an uphill battle.

Her wide gaze found mine as if her sixth sense alerted her I was watching. The challenge in her gaze, the slight drawing in of her eyebrows… I recognized that as her pre-battle face.

Eagerness shot through my stomach. Bring it on, Goth Girl.

I hadn’t thought of the nickname I’d given her in years. She’d earned it from her love of wearing all black and odd Celtic pendants back in school.

You’re going to pretend to like her and make it believable.

Why do you need this setup to work? I asked. Marianna’s desperation made no sense.

The network needs my gift to create kickass reality TV and breathe life into this ER show. Look what I did for your little show. When I took the helm, yours was a yawn fest. The network wasn’t sure about me bringing you on to do this. They don’t particularly care if your little wildlife show continues because they haven’t seen season two when I took over.

The woman was nuts. I’d filmed important, thought-provoking, safe episodes before she showed up. She’d locked me inside a cage in the back of a rickety Cambodian van without warning me the sedated tiger’s drugs were wearing off. It tried to attack me. Then she made me handle a Venezuelan forest pit viper to examine its injured eye. The snake’s strike missed my face by millimeters. Nightmares still haunt me about the snake. I could’ve died. Twice.

She said, We’re going to up the drama here. Once they see I can deliver, they’ll green light you for more seasons with me directing. Can you imagine the things we can come up with? If they don’t like what we do here, they’re canning both of us.

I don’t know. I had zero desire to continue working with her on my show. She’d probably plan to throw me into a malfunctioning shark cage next.

Her lips flattened and she hissed low, If you don’t do this, I’ll release the shit from Colombia to the world. You’ll never work in TV, film, or the veterinary world again. You’ll be forced to tuck your tail and run back to Daddy, begging for a chance to join the family business.

Blood roared in my ears as I slammed my teeth together. I’d rather rot in poverty than beg for anything from my father. You wouldn’t dare.

Suck it up, buttercup, and pull out your best Romeo. If you fuck up my career, I’m destroying yours. Marianna cackled, a disturbing noise that raised goose bumps down my arms, before she moseyed away.

I could probably pretend to like, even fake date, a woman, but not Amber. In the past, she’d ferreted out all my hot buttons, the ones that made me instantly cranky.

I hadn’t meant to hurt her when I pretended for that video in school. Things flew out of control when my roommate jumped out screaming, Gotcha! Just kidding. The rest of our class saw the video online. Back then, I considered Amber everything a woman should be: hot, brainy, and a smartass. I should’ve handled it differently. I should’ve stood up for her and said no to going through with the prank. I should’ve told her I’d meant what I said when I got down on my knee to offer her flowers. But I’d been a stubborn, immature jerk who was too concerned about what other people thought rather than fighting to keep the only thing in my life that I’d wanted. The only thing that meant something. Her.

Once Marianna left, I strolled toward Amber, waiting until her assistant moved away to murmur, Guess you’re in on this crazy plan?

What plan?

They didn’t tell you yet? Hot damn. I knew before her. Only she brought out this childish side of me.

Stop grinning like a know-it-all, she snapped. What plan?

"I’m going to be sticking around for a while on your show. You and me get to be costars. Special costars."

She blinked at me.

Countdown to her comprehending in five, four, three, two…

Her eyes narrowed. "By special, you better mean you attempting to outdo my medicine or trying to have a more complicated case than me. If you plan to try anything special on