“It’s Mack,” she interrupts. “Everyone calls me Mack. I think we’re past ‘Dr. Carter,’ given that you’re asking me to allow everyone to think I let you sleep with me on a regular basis.”
I feel my throat go dry, her crassness doing something entirely different than what it should. Something hot flares in my chest at the brief flash of images that crop up from her crude joke that I absolutely don’t have time or need for, and I quickly shove them down as I keep my expression blank.
“Mack? Your name is Mack?”
“Eh . . . I mean, technically it’s Mackenzie, but no one calls me that except my gran.”
“I think I prefer Mackenzie.”
“Somehow this doesn’t surprise me,” she chuckles. “Fine. Whatever. I don’t care what you call me.”
“So . . . is that a yes?”
“You have to meet my gran at some point. If I do this, you’re going to really sell it on my end. I’m talking about family dinner, anecdotes—the whole nine yards. I don’t want my gran pulling out her little black book for a good while.”
I’m sure my displeasure toward the idea is written all over my face, but I see little other choice. “Fine. I can . . . do dinner.”
I wait as she stares back at me, every second settling heavily on my skin like a weighted blanket. Finally, she takes in one long breath before she blows it out, her expression telling me that she might be as surprised by her answer as I am.
“Yeah,” she says, sounding only half-sure. “I’ll do it.”
I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding my breath until the air rushes past my lips in relief. I nod slowly, checking the time on the wall as I prepare to lay down my plan that can hardly be called anything other than “on the fly,” and praying that it will be enough to buy me the time I need to sort out this mess. Maybe even find the bastard who sold me out and make them regret it. I think to myself that I might have misjudged Dr. Cart—or rather, Mackenzie—finding her to be far more reasonable than I had previously thought. This could even be a fairly pain-free process.
“So,” she says with more amusement than I think is necessary. “What’s the plan, hubby?”
I have to stifle a groan.
On second thought . . .
3
Mackenzie
“Why don’t you explain this to me like I’m five,” Parker says, dumbfounded.
I pause from unwrapping my candy bar, unsure of how I can elaborate any more than I already have. “What part aren’t you getting?”
My best friend of sixteen years sits in his little cubicle in the IT room down in the basement level, looking at me as if I’m barking at him rather than speaking. It’s actually funny, since he’s seen me shift dozens of times over the course of our friendship. Not that Parker is laughing. In fact, his usual pale cheeks are colored with a tinge of scarlet that I’m well aware comes from anxiety. It makes his freckles stand out more, which I am also well aware annoys him.
“I don’t know,” he says exasperatedly, running his fingers through his bright red hair. “Maybe the part where you told the hospital board that Noah fucking Taylor is your secret mate?”
Ah, right. That part.
I mean, to be fair, I’m still having a hard time believing I actually went through with it. When Noah explained his predicament to me, it sounded like the plot of a K-drama or something. I’m pretty sure I read this entire scenario in a synopsis while scrolling through Netflix a few weeks ago. If I weren’t almost one hundred percent sure that Noah has never told a joke in his entire life, I might have even bet that the entire thing was a prank. And yet, here I am, unwrapping a Twix while perched on Parker’s desk, having gained myself one very surly mate, at least as far as the hospital administration is concerned.
“Keep your voice down,” I hiss. “Someone could walk by.”
“Oh, and then I’d be an accomplice, would I?”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic.”
“How exactly did you manage to convince the board that this whole thing isn’t total bullshit? Which it is, by the way. You know that, right?”
I’m still having trouble with that part myself. I was only about thirty percent confident that Noah would be able to pull this little stunt off, half agreeing just so I could get a good seat for the show . . . but damn. The guy knows how to command a room. Must be an alpha thing.
I pull one of the chocolate bars from the wrapper, shrugging. “Turns out, when Noah talks, people listen. Who knew.”
“Are we playing some sort of game I’m unaware of where you give me as little details as humanly possible until I spontaneously combust?”
I reach out and boop his nose. “Are you pouting? You’re so cute when you’re flustered.”
“I’m gonna need more details, Mack. You’re killing me.”
I wave him off. “He had this whole spiel about how we’d been keeping our relationship a secret so I could bolster my reputation based on my own merit or something. Honestly, it was pretty convincing. He even had them apologizing for invading our privacy by the end of it. It was honestly amazing.”
“And they actually bought that?”
Another shrug. “I guess so, since we signed a disclosure.”
“Jesus, Mack. Have you even thought about what your—can you please stop?”
I pull the candy bar from my mouth. “What?”
“Stop scraping the toppings off with your teeth.” He grimaces. “It’s disgusting.”
“But the cookie is my favorite part. You know that.”
“It doesn’t make it any more of a pretty process to watch. Plus, I don’t want your icky chocolate fingers all over my desk.”
“Did you just say ‘icky’?”
“I swear to all that’s holy, I will boot you out of my cube.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I return to what I was doing. “They should sell the cookies by themselves then.”
“Whatever. What about Moira? You think your gran is going to buy that you’re suddenly mated?”
“Just dating,” I clarify.
“What?”
“We’re mated here, but dating with Gran.”
It’s a subtle distinction, but an important one.
Parker snorts. “Oh, so now you’ve got multifaceted deceptions going on? Whipping ourselves up a tomfoolery tiramisu, are we?”
“You’re ridiculous. It’s going to be fine,” I assure him. “Just think. A nice long stretch of not having to pretend to give a damn about some guy’s fantasy football league.”
“I would say that’s a victory—except now you have to spend time with Noah fucking Taylor.”
“I don’t think that’s his actual middle name.”
“Are you sure?” Parker throws up his hands. “How would you know? You lumped yourself in with his little conspiracy plot without knowing a thing about him!”
“I didn’t have a lot of options.”
“Why didn’t you ask me?”
“Because we’ve been friends since middle school?”
“Haven’t you ever read friends to lovers?”
“Have you read friends to lovers?”
“I am not going to justify my literature choices to you.”
“Literotica, you mean.”
“It’s romance, you jock. It’s nice.”
“Why are you reading romance? Things with Hot Yoga Guy not working out?”
“Hot Yoga Guy is just fine, thank you very much. We’re having dinner this weekend.”
“Mm. I wonder what he looks like out of spandex.”