I nod. “Yes, but . . . think about it. A picture buys you, what? A week? Two, at most? My cooperation could buy you much longer than that. Months, even, if it suits you.”
“But I’m trying to snag a fake boyfriend to avoid mating,” she says with distaste. “Not exactly looking to saddle myself with the real-life personification of Oscar the Grouch to avoid more bad dates.” She has the good grace to look slightly apologetic. “Sorry. No offense.”
“None taken,” I tell her truthfully. “Trust me, I’m not interested in biting you.”
Her nose wrinkles as if she’s offended, which seems to contradict her earlier objection, or perhaps it is some general offense. I can’t be sure. “Well, me either,” she huffs. “From you or anyone else.”
“Then I think we stand to benefit each other well,” I tell her. “I don’t need to bite you to pull this off.” She still looks unsure, and I scrub a hand down my face, sighing. “There is . . . something about me that I have put a great deal of effort into keeping hidden. Something that would threaten my position here, and I find myself suddenly . . . exposed.”
“What, did you maul a hiker or something in a rut?”
I press my lips together in a frown. “Hardly. I am the picture of control.”
“Clearly,” she deadpans.
I think she might be poking fun at my expense, but I overlook it, given that her refusal could cost me my job. “There are . . . hindrances, for people like me. Ridiculous archaic notions that might have kept me from advancing to the position I hold now, and because of that . . . I might have failed to inform the board of my status when I was hired on.”
“What status? A shifter? There are plenty of shifters working here, me included.”
My nostrils flare, the idea of my carefully guarded secret crumbling to pieces making me all the more irritated. “Not like me.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I’m . . . an alpha.”
She narrows her eyes at me as if I might be teasing her, but then I see the suspicion fade as she seems to study me, no doubt looking for signs of the fabled Big Bad Wolf behavior that is so often associated with my designation. Alphas are rare, to be sure, and perhaps that is why there are so many outlandish notions associated with the status. In another time, it would mean that I was destined to lead a pack, to carry on a clan . . . but in our more modernized society, it simply means that I am a little stronger, a little faster, a little . . . more than the average shifter.
Which might be why there are so many stigmas tied to the label.
She’s still regarding me carefully, but she doesn’t look at all put off by the idea of what I am. There is even something in her expression almost . . . curious? It’s very different from how I expected her to react. In the past I have been met with wariness and sidelong glances when people discovered what I am, which is why I decided in college it would serve me to do my very best to keep anyone from finding out. And yet here I am, spilling my guts to a coworker I barely know in hopes that she might be the answer I’m looking for.
“You don’t . . . Hm.” Her nose wrinkles again—it seems to be a habit of hers—like she’s thinking. “Actually, you know what? I could see that. Now that you mention it. It explains your sparkling personality.”
I narrow my eyes. “Most of the rumors surrounding alphas are grossly overexaggerated.”
“I heard you made a CNA cry once.”
“Also grossly overexaggerated.”
“I don’t know, my friend Priya in Anesthesiology swears people saw the poor girl running out of the room with—”
“Listen, I’m actually pressed for time. The point is, I have managed to successfully do my job here for years now without going into any fits of uncontrollable rage or without biting orderlies or whatever other stories people tell one another to keep people like me from entering high-pressure professions—and a damned anonymous tip shouldn’t be the thing that takes it all away from me.”
Her eyes widen. “Someone turned you in?”
“It would appear so.”
I still have the slight urge to rip something in half when I think about it, but I assume that wouldn’t help my case in the slightest.
“So what does having a mate have to do with it?”
“It is a widely accepted theory that mated alpha shifters are considerably more . . . docile than those that are unmated. Ridiculously, it’s believed to be a free pass in our line of work. An unmated alpha might only be destined to be someone’s hired security or prized fighting champion—but a mated one isn’t looked at twice.”
“I wonder why.”
“Some silly notion about fated pairs and filling what the other lacks, or something like that.”
“So biting me is supposed to be your Xanax, basically.”
“For lack of better verbiage, yes.”
“Yuck,” she says, looking genuinely put off by the idea. “Sounds like the board has been talking to my gran.”
“I can’t tell if you’re leaning any particular way on this, Dr. Carter.”
She crosses her arms then, leaning back in her chair and giving me a sly smile that tells me she’s likely about to be intolerable. “So, the Big Bad Wolf of Cardiology needs my help.” She nods idly to herself, looking away from me as if considering it. “This is kind of cool, actually. Have you ever asked anyone for help before? Am I robbing you of your rigid virtues right now?”
I frown. “Hysterical.”
“I’m sorry,” she laughs. “It’s not funny, I know. You’re totally right that you shouldn’t even be worrying about this in the first place, given that you’re, like, amazing at your job—” I feel my eyebrows raise at the compliment, as well as her agreement about how ignorant this entire situation is, but she holds out a hand to keep me from commenting. “Don’t get excited, you’re still kind of a dick, mostly. No offense.”
My lips press into a line. I guess I should have anticipated that. “None taken, I guess.”
“But still. It’s a bullshit stigma.” Her expression softens. “I get why you’re so upset. Are they threatening to let you go over it?”
I’m not sure that she can actually grasp how upsetting this is, but I can appreciate her commiseration. I raise my shoulders high enough to be called a shrug, grinding my teeth. “I’m not sure. I was only told that I would need to meet with the board to discuss my status as an unmated alpha. The tone of the memo did not instill confidence. It’s not something I’m willing to leave to chance, given all the time I’ve put in here.”
“Hm.”
The seconds tick by on the nearby wall clock, and I know each one brings me closer to the meeting that could rob me of everything I’ve worked for, and now it seems by some strange twist of fate—everything boils down to this tiny blond physician who might actually be enjoying my suffering. I’m not sure what to even make of it.
“So,” she says finally. “Tell me what this would look like. How do we convince people that we’re mated”—she makes a face as she says the word, like it’s hard for her to get out—“when we never speak to each other, and you smell like cheap suppressants?”