: Chapter 4

as tired as I was when I left work this morning—I don’t sleep very well. I constantly toss and turn throughout the day, my blackout curtains doing nothing for my restlessness. It’s . . . strange, what touching Mackenzie elicited in me, a reaction unlike anything I can remember experiencing before. But then again, I have spent a good part of my adult life avoiding people to the best of my ability to circumvent situations like the one I’ve found myself in.

I rationalize that it’s because it’s been years since I’ve touched someone so familiarly; that’s why my body had reacted the way it had when I embraced her. That’s all. I can’t pretend that it hasn’t been . . . a long while now since I’ve been intimate with anyone, and even when I had been I have always been careful to avoid scenting them. I know what the potency of my scent might do to someone, and I have done my best to avoid the possibility of a partner beginning to cling to me after experiencing it. Which is probably it’s been so long since I’ve touched anyone like I touched Mackenzie. It’s just not worth the trouble, given how hard I’ve worked at keeping my status private.

I think.

The light airiness of her honeysuckle-like scent had simply been a shock to my system, nothing more.

Although none of this explains why I can’t fucking sleep.

By nightfall, my phone ringing at my bedside is the nail in the coffin of my attempts at getting anything close to sleep, and I reach for it blindly as I roll over on my pillow. “Hello?”

“Noah,” a familiar voice says from the other end. “How are you?”

“Paul,” I mumble wearily.

Paul Ackard is about thirty years my senior and, oddly enough, the closest thing I can call to a friend. We still keep in touch fairly often, given the mentor-like relationship we developed during my time working up to the position I hold now. Hell, Paul is the one who put me up for the head of department position when he retired.

I roll my neck, attempting to sit up in bed. “Exhausted, currently.”

“Rough night?”

I laugh dryly. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“I might,” Paul answers. “I know someone turned you in.”

My mouth falls open. “How did you hear about that?”

“I worked at that hospital for twenty-five years, Noah,” Paul chuckles. “I have quite a few friends there.”

I blow out a breath. “You didn’t say anything, did you?”

“Of course not,” he scoffs, sounding mildly offended. “I recommended you for the position regardless of knowing about your designation. Why would I turn around and blab to the board?”

“Right,” I say with a shake of my head. “I’m sorry. I know you wouldn’t do that. It’s just been such a crazy week.”

“I can imagine,” he says kindly. “Which is why I wanted to see how you were dealing with it.”

“Oh, I . . .” I frown, wondering if it’s safe to tell Paul about Mackenzie and our . . . arrangement. I trust Paul, I do, but with everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours, I find myself wary of a lot of things. “I’m managing. They’re not going to fire me, at least.”

“That’s good,” Paul sighs. “I didn’t get the whole story. I was worried. Do you have any ideas who might have done this?”

I swing my legs over the bed, stretching. “Not really. There are so few people that know. I can’t fathom who might have figured it out, with the dosage of suppressants I’ve been on.”

“That’s true,” he agrees. “I’m glad that you’re handling it . . . but, still. I worry about it being out there. You know the fuss Dennis put up when you were promoted over him. He’d love to have something like this over you.” He makes a disgruntled sound. “You don’t think he has something to do with the board finding out, do you?”

I shake my head. “I don’t see how he could. We’ve never spoken outside of work, and he has no connection to any of the people in my life that know. Which is an extremely small circle, mind you.”

“True.” Paul is quiet for a moment, considering. “Still. Be careful.”

There’s a guilt pang in my chest over keeping quiet about Mackenzie, but if nothing else, I tell myself it’s for her safety. That helps, but only a little.

“I will,” I assure him. “It’s going to be fine.”

“Well, keep me updated,” he urges. “I’m happy to help in any way that I can.”

“I appreciate that,” I say honestly.

“Try not to stress about this. They’d be stupid to let you go regardless of your status. You’re the most brilliant interventional cardiologist that hospital has ever seen. Outside of myself, that is.”

This makes me laugh. “Of course.”

“Talk soon, Noah.”

“All right,” I tell him. “Talk soon.”

I sit at the edge of my bed for a moment after hanging up, blinking wearily out the window near my bed at the setting sun that has nearly disappeared past the horizon. I can officially say that sleep is not going to happen.

it’s well after dark when I decide that a day like today deserves a strong drink, nursing a glass of scotch by the hearth of the woodstove in my living room as I lounge in my favorite chair. It’s been about five minutes since I got a text from Mackenzie, and I’ve spent the entirety of that time reading it more than once as I try to decide what to send back. I’m also trying to remember the last time I sent anyone a text that wasn’t work-related or to my mother.

I think for the dozenth time since somehow miraculously pulling off this whole charade that I could not have picked a worse partner in crime, getting the feeling that Mackenzie Carter is absolutely going to make this entire experience an insufferable one. She’s having entirely too much fun with it, that’s for sure. When I see her again, I should stress once more how detrimental this could be to my career if it goes south.

I take a slow sip from my scotch glass, letting my phone drop to my lap as I watch the flames dance behind the closed door of the woodstove. I can’t yet rustle up any ideas as to who might have found me out, or why they would report it to the board; I’m not even sure what someone would have to gain from my being let go, but I have been thinking about it. It’s clear to me that it must be a personal matter, of that I am at least sure, which doesn’t narrow things down, given that the general consensus of me in the hospital is that I am intolerable outside of my work.

I take another sip from my glass, silently cursing my luck. Six years. Six years of managing to keep my secret while employed at the hospital, only to see it all dissipate with one email. More than that, if you count the years of residency and med school where I started really cracking down on keeping it under wraps. Utterly ridiculous.

I sigh as I pick my phone up, knowing that this is my bed now, and I have no choice but to lie in it—a thought that strangely brings me back to Mackenzie Carter. I read her text again, for the seventh time now, downing the rest of my glass before I set it on the side table.

It takes her far less time to answer than it did for me to.

This takes me by surprise. Mostly because, like my texting habits, I can’t remember a time when anyone has worried about me in a way that wasn’t related to work or my mother.

My lips twitch.

I shake my head as I let my phone drop to my lap, covering my mouth for absolutely no reason, given that I am alone in my house.

It’s not as if Mackenzie is here to catch me smiling.

the feeling in my chest is a new one, that’s for sure. Or at the very least, one I can’t remember the last time I’ve experienced. It’s an odd fluttering, like nerves, but for what I can’t pin down. Am I nervous about the agreement I’ve entered into, what it will mean if we can’t pull it off? Or am I nervous to see Mackenzie again, knowing how much of my career rests in her hands?

Either way, I’m watching the door as I hold a table at the little café. I check the clock again, noticing the time, frowning when I realize it’s five minutes past our agreed meeting time. Has she changed her mind? I know I could text her, but part of me worries she actually has, and then where will I be?

I haven’t seen her again in the days since I scented her outside of the hospital—an experience I’ll not soon forget. In fact, I’ve been mostly uncomfortable since the incident, seeing as I stopped taking my suppressants that very night, feeling antsy in a way I don’t ever remember feeling. I’ve been placating myself with the knowledge that it’s most likely unease that comes from our strange partnership. Her texts have helped, at least. Each one has assured me that she hasn’t changed her mind. At least not yet.

I’m saved from my growing worry when the glass door swings open at the entrance of the café, the little bell dinging above it to signal her arrival as she walks through the front door. Oddly enough, I her before I fully recognize her, her scent still clinging to me as much as I’d meant for mine to cling to her. It hasn’t left me since that morning in the bushes, if I’m being honest, and now that she’s nearby, it’s considerably more potent.

I’m not yet sure if that is a good or bad thing.

She wiggles her fingers in a wave when she notices me sitting at a table in the back corner, and I return it as she moves through the crowd toward me. Her thick tresses are piled on top of her head in a messy bun, her face slightly flushed red as if she’d only just finished her workout. She unwraps herself from her heavy coat before she settles across the table from me, revealing neon fabric that covers her from wrist to neck to ankle but the tightness of it still leaves little to the imagination.

“Sorry,” she tells me as she sits. “Session started late. Instructor got stuck in traffic.” She pushes one honeyed tendril from her forehead, tucking it behind her ear. “I should have texted you to let you know.”

“It’s fine,” I tell her, pointedly not looking at her outfit. It’s very tight. Is this standard yoga wear? “I haven’t been here long.”

It’s a lie, but she doesn’t have to know that.

“So . . .” She leans on her elbows. “How are you? Still freaking out?”

“I haven’t freaked out.”

Her lips twitch. “Literally all of your texts have felt like you were checking to make sure I hadn’t changed my mind.”

“Well . . . I can’t say that I haven’t worried that you might.”

She waves me off. “Stop your fretting. I’m not going to ditch you, promise.” She leans in closer then, looking serious. “So, what’s our plan?”

It takes me a second to register the question, since her leaning in only worsens the potency of her scent, which clouds between us. Why have I never noticed it before all of this?

“Our plan,” I answer distractedly. “Right.”

I think idly.

She presses a hand to her stomach then as she cranes her neck, sniffing the air. “Shit. I’m hungry. Do you mind if I grab something first?”

“Oh, that’s fine. I . . . let me. I’ll get it.”

She looks at me strangely. “You don’t have to.”

“It’s the least I can do,” I insist. “Since we’re supposed to be on a date.”

Her cheeks flush, but barely, her eyes widening. “Oh yeah. I guess that’s true.” Her expression returns to normal, and she leans back in her seat with a smile. “Never thought I’d be on a lunch date with scary old Noah Taylor. Can’t pass up the opportunity.”

I frown. “Old?”

“It’s an expression. Don’t get all pissy.” Her nose wrinkles. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Thirty-six.”

“Oh, that’s not so bad. I guess that kills my plan of settling down with a drastically older man for money,” she says flippantly.

I shake my head. “Are the jokes part of the deal, or do you intend to let up on them at some point?”

“To be determined. You kind of make it easy.”

Not sure what she means by that, but okay.

“What do you want to eat?”

“Get me the soup of the day.”

“Don’t you want to know what it is?”

She shakes her head. “Nope. It’s soup. I’ll like it.”

“Okay?” I slide out of my chair, pulling my gaze away from the length of her throat when she lifts her arms above her head in a stretch. “Anything else?”

“They have a good copycat pink drink here. Can you get me one of those too?”

I make a face. “Pink drink?”

“Just ask. They’ll know what it is.”

I nod. “All right then.”

Ordering her soup is easy enough, but the look the waitress gives me when I ask for Mackenzie’s “copycat pink drink”—that I could have done without. I bring it all back to the table and set it in front of Mackenzie, who looks delighted until she notices I haven’t gotten anything for myself.

“You’re not going to eat?”

I shake my head. “I ate at home.”

“I think you’re behind on the concept of a date.”

“That’s an understatement,” I tell her truthfully.

She smiles around the straw of her drink. “Oh, right. I forgot who I’m talking to.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, not sure why, really. “This is new for me.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s fine. All my dates in the last good while have been unwanted, so I’m not that much better off. Don’t worry about it.”

“Have they really been so bad that you would agree to something like this?” She looks at me with one raised brow as she opens the lid of her soup container, so I add, “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Awful,” she says. “I’m talking real bottom of the barrel stuff here. My last date? He asked me if it was true that shifters had a form.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Like”—she grimaces, remembering—“he wanted to know if I could keep the ears and tail if we were to . . . you know . . .”

It only takes me a second. “Gross.”

She laughs, taking a careful slurp from her spoon before humming in content. “Beef and barley. Yum.”

I’m still curious as to what her story might be, but I get the sense she doesn’t want to elaborate, since . . . Well, she doesn’t.

“So,” she says instead. “What do I need to know about you? Give me your top five most important Noah facts.”

“Top five?”

“I’m sure you have at least five.”

I frown at the table. “I’ve been an interventional cardiologist for the last three years.”

“No kidding?” She gasps softly, but even I can tell she’s being facetious. “Not doctor stuff, dummy. Give me some actual facts. Stuff a mate would know.”

I have to think about that. Are there actually any noteworthy facts that one might deem ? “Um . . . I completed my specialization residency here. Under the former department head, Dr. Ackard. He’s the one who recommended me to take his place. We’re still friends, actually.”

“This is still doctor stuff, Noah,” she laughs. “Although, you having an actual friend is definitely top secret information.”

I give her a helpless look. She must sense my struggle, because she tosses me a bone.

“What about your parents?” She licks a bit of broth from her spoon, and my eyes catch the movement of her tongue, distracting me for a second. “They live here?”

I nod dumbly. “Yes. They live uptown.”

“Fancy,” she notes. “Are they as grumpy as you? Or are you some sort of anomaly?”

“They’re . . . normal. I guess. Quiet. They like golf and brunch. Not much to tell there. Yours?”

“Don’t have them,” she says casually. “My gran and grandpa raised me. Since I was about twelve.”

“Why?”

Her brow knits. “It’s not going to come up on a test or anything.”

“I’m curious.”

And I am, strangely.

She looks wary of telling me, but after a minute and another bite of her soup, she shrugs, relenting. “My mom died when I was little. Car accident. My dad was never okay after that. They were mates, you know? Like, one of those fairy-tale romances. The whole nine yards.” She looks away from me then, her eyes distant. “When she was gone . . . he just sort of fell apart.”

“Did something happen to him?”

She pauses, her spoon resting against her bowl as her lips tug down. “I think I reminded him of her. I think it got too hard to look at me. Probably why he took off.”

I’m not sure how to process this, feeling a sharp tug of sympathy in my chest but not knowing what to do with it or how to even begin to express it. “I’m . . . very sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She waves me off, returning her attention to her food. “It’s ancient history.”

“Still. It had to have been a hard thing to experience as a kid.”

Mackenzie shrugs. “I barely remember them now. Just goes to show you that mating is overrated. I’ll stick to being an aficionado of all things pretend mate.”

“You did say you were an old pro,” I remind her flatly.

“Exactly,” she says with a grin. She waves her spoon at me again. “Seriously. It’s not a big thing. My grandparents are great. Well, except for the whole blind date nonsense. But that’s all Gran. She thinks I need to ‘settle down’ to be happy or something.” She cleans her spoon again with her mouth, eyes studying my face, and again I can’t pretend to miss the motion of her tongue against the plastic. “She’s going to be over the moon about you.”

“Sounds like a lot of pressure,” I mutter.

“Nah. You’re a doctor. You’re a shifter. She’s already planning our wedding, and she’s never even met you.”

“Again, a lot of pressure.”

“Don’t worry,” she laughs. “When you run off to Albuquerque, I’ll make sure to talk proper shit about you.”

“Fair.”

She polishes off her soup, making a satisfied sound before she drops the plastic spoon into the bowl and pushes it away. “That was great. Thanks.”

“Soup seems like a pretty cheap payment for the favor you’re doing me.”

“It’s a down payment,” she says seriously. “Expect much bigger requests going forward.”

My mouth quirks. “Of course.”

“Oh my God, did you almost smile just now?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh, good. I was afraid you might hurt yourself.”

“Is your coat the same color as your hair?”

Mackenzie looks as surprised by the question as I am to have suddenly asked it. I’m not even sure why I did, it’s just that I’ve been curious ever since she walked in here.

She blinks. “What?”

“Sorry. I just . . . that’s something I would know, right?”

“Oh. Yeah. I guess.” She nods airily. “It is. Same color. Was that your way of asking if this is my natural hair color?”

“I . . . No? I was just curious. It’s a nice color.”

It is, really. With the sun streaming in from the wide windows of the café, the wheat-like shade of her hair seems to catch the light in a way that makes it appear almost golden. Even as I think these things, I find myself wondering where the train of thought is coming from.

She pulls out her phone, distracting me from this line of thought, concentrating on the screen as she ignores me to tap something out there. “Sorry,” she says. “I wanted to make a note of your first compliment. Who knows when you’ll give me another?”

“You’re determined not to make this easy, aren’t you?”

She shrugs, smiling as she puts her phone away. “Where would the fun in that be?”

“Mhm.”

“So you didn’t finish telling me your five facts.”

“I’m still trying to think of them, to be honest.”

“What’s your favorite food?”

I have to think about it. “Steak?”

“How do you eat it?”

“Medium rare.”

Another nose wrinkle for my trouble. “Ew. Do you have to go so wolfy with it?”

“It tastes better.” I cross my arms against my chest. “What’s yours?”

“Soup,” she informs me without any hesitation.

“Any particular one?”

“Nope.” She shrugs. “If it’s in soup form, I’ll eat it.”

“That’s . . . interesting.”

She looks at me curiously. “Is coat the same color as your hair?”

“I . . . maybe a little darker? It’s been a while since I shifted. The suppressants stave off the need to.”

“That’s how you end up mauling a hiker,” she tuts.

I roll my eyes. “Hardly. When was the last time shifted?”

Her nose wrinkles, drawing my eye. “Mm. Not since my last heat cycle. I went to one of those heat spas outside of town. They have a lot of woods around the place.”

It hadn’t occurred to me, the implications of my question—because of course she shifted during her heat. The hormone spikes make it incredibly uncomfortable not to. I wish this had come to mind I opened my mouth. Now I’m unwittingly thinking about Mackenzie’s heat cycle. Which is not at appropriate.

“Did you stop taking your suppressants, by the way?”

“I did.” It’s not something I’m particularly happy about either. “For the last couple of days now.”

“How long do you think it will take for them to fully get out of your system?”

I don’t tell her that they’re already making a good go of it, if the potency of her scent is any indication. “I don’t know exactly, to be honest. I haven’t been off of them since my teen years. Why?”

Her expression is unreadable, but her nostrils flare ever so slightly in an inhale. “Just curious.”

“Cat will be out of the bag then,” I grouse. “Everyone at the hospital will know.”

Mackenzie’s mouth splits into a grin. “They’re going to be even more afraid of you than they were before.”

“I’m glad you find the idea so amusing.”

“I’m trying to decide what rumors I can start about you. Would you prefer people thinking you once played bass in an all-shifter heavy metal band or that you belong to a secret alpha biker gang?”

“Is there a third option that involves me being an interventional cardiologist and nothing else?”

She blows a raspberry. “You’re no fun.”

“Are we actually going to be able to pull this off?”

She must notice my uncertainty then, her amusement dissipating as she gives me a more serious expression. “I won’t screw things up, I promise.”

I think back to our conversation after we spoke to the board; she had promised something similar then, despite how remarkably easy the board had accepted our ruse. Almost as if they had just been desperate to not have to be put in the position to deal with the alternative. Her promises are unnecessary, I think, given that she could have told me to fuck off instead of agreeing to help me in the first place, but I can’t lie and say her dedication doesn’t put me at ease.

“Okay,” I say, taking her at her word. “When will I be expected to perform for your grandmother?”

“She wants me to bring you to dinner soon,” Mackenzie says with a grimace. “She’s wasting absolutely no time. I think I can hold her off for another week or so, at least. Hopefully that will give us a bit more time to prepare.”

I don’t tell her that I’m fairly certain that all the time in the world would not be enough to prepare us for this ridiculous situation, assuming it would be unhelpful.

“Do you work tomorrow?”

She nods. “Day shift. You?”

“I have two consultations in the morning and then a bypass at three.”

She bites her lip. “How long do you think it will take for the rest of the staff to hear about us?”

She doesn’t necessarily look worried when she asks, but I can tell that underneath her jokes and her quips, Mackenzie is at least considering what our lie will mean for our lives at the hospital. I can already imagine the rumor mill, an ER physician barely out of her residency being the secret mate of the biggest ass of Denver General (yes, I’m aware of my reputation), the hottest gossip ever to circulate. It’s going to make for an interesting workday, that’s for sure. I can already feel my quiet existence slipping right through my fingers.

I chuff out a laugh, albeit a dry one, shaking my head. “Trust me,” I tell her. “They already know.”