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?”

I rear back in surprise. “Excuse me? Cheap?”

“My bad,” she says in apology. “I wasn’t trying to be a jerk, I just meant, since I can still smell you . . . ?”

This takes me by surprise. “You can?”

“Yeah? Am I not supposed to? I figured you needed a stronger dose. I assumed you were taking them so none of the nurses tried to ask you out or something.”

“I’m . . .” It’s been quite a while since something has stunned me, but the idea that Dr. Carter can scent me, even now, definitely does it. There shouldn’t be a nose on this Earth that should be able to smell anything on me but the medical tang of my suppressants. I pay good money every month to make sure of that. “I am on the highest dose deemed safe for my weight of the best suppressants money can buy,” I tell her dazedly. “There is absolutely no way you can still scent me.”

She shrugs. “Smells a bit like pine needles.” She must notice my mouth gaping open, because she adds, “It doesn’t smell bad or anything? Anyway, so how would we pull this off?”

I think some part of me hadn’t expected her to actually consider this; I mean, it’s ludicrous after all, so that could be why I am thrown for a moment as to how to answer her question. I simply hadn’t thought this far ahead when the preposterous idea popped into my head after hearing her plight.

“Right. Convince them. Yes.” I cross my arms, staring at the table as I think it over. “We could . . . tell them we’ve been keeping our relationship a secret.”

“And why would we be doing that?”

“You’re a new physician here,” I say, still thinking. “You’ve been here, what, six months?”

Her eyes narrow. “Over a year now.”

“Right. Sorry. Regardless, it would be a perfectly reasonable line of thought that you might not want to be romantically associated with someone with my position and level of seniority starting out; I assume you wouldn’t want to gain some perceived advantage based on the achievements of your mate. Surely you would want to carve your own way without being tied to a big name. This would be a more than adequate reason to keep our pairing quiet.”

She looks a bit thrown by my assessment of her character, but doesn’t comment.

“And the suppressants? I mean, in theory . . . how would we have been having sex all this time if you’re dosed up?”

I can’t help but frown at her again. “I assure you that the suppressants don’t hinder me in that way at all.”

“Wow, really? Didn’t strike you as the dating type.”

“I’m not.”

“You definitely don’t strike me as the ‘hit it and quit it’ kind of—”

“I don’t think this line of questioning is prudent.”

“Fine, fine.” She’s nodding at the air again, her nose doing that thing once more that definitely must be a habit. I can’t decide if it is annoying or endearing. “So, this whole thing still seems more to your benefit than mine. I mean, I want to get a break from the dating scene, not land a whole-ass fake mate.”

“My scent would keep every shifter within a ten-mile radius from even considering approaching you romantically.”

I watch her eyes widen, the soft pink of her mouth parting in quiet surprise at the certainty in my tone. “How can you be sure?”

“Because no one who scented me on you would dare touch you.”

She looks surprised again, that same part to her mouth, but there’s something else there now. Something that blends with her surprise and looks oddly like curiosity again. I think I can safely assume I am the first alpha she’s ever come across. Not a far-fetched idea, given that I only know one other than myself. I watch the slim line of her throat bob with a swallow, her lips pressing together as she averts her eyes.

“Interesting,” she counters quietly.

I can see the thoughts practically racing in her head, her expression calculating as she appears to consider every possible angle of what I’m offering, or rather, requesting.

“So, what, we just . . . spend our lives in mutually beneficial fake love?”

Now it’s my turn to wrinkle my nose. “Hardly. I just need to buy myself some time to figure things out.”

“Makes sense,” she answers offhandedly, still appearing deep in thought. “So, like, a couple of weeks? A month?”

“I’m not sure,” I tell her honestly. I still don’t know if it’s a good idea to be laying all my cards out for this woman I’ve hardly ever spoken to before today, but at this point, I’m in it now. “I have a job offer in Albuquerque that I am considering. They’ve been headhunting me for a while, and they’ve offered me a chief of staff position. Their opinions on my alpha status are not as dated as those of the board here, and given my perfect record here . . .”

“But if they found out you’ve been lying—”

“I wouldn’t call it a lie,” I argue.

“—that you’ve been purposely omitting your alpha status the entire time you’ve been working here . . .”

I nod solemnly, not ashamed of my omission, since it’s a ridiculous stigma to begin with, finding it a necessary evil. It’s not as if they specifically ask for this clarification during an interview, given that doing so could potentially draw in accusations of discrimination, and it’s this minor detail that has helped ease any guilt I might have had for not mentioning it. “It could potentially paint an unflattering picture of me. Also something I’d rather not leave to chance.”

“So we’re mates till this blows over, and then you disappear, and we fake break up?” She looks contemplative. “Can mated pairs even break up?”

“With difficulty,” I inform her. “It’s an option, to be sure. Or you can continue to use my name to get you out of dates, if you prefer. It doesn’t matter to me. You can spin whatever story you like when I’m gone.”

“How romantic,” she laughs.