A Match Made From Misery

*Denver*

I hadn’t actually expected her to take the proposal seriously. The entire notion is completely unhinged, which is likely why I’m caught entirely off guard when it comes to outlining the specifics. Truthfully, I hadn’t plotted out the finer details when the idea hit me.

“Right. Convincing them.” I cross my arms over my chest, staring down at the scuffed table surface. “We present a unified narrative that we’ve deliberately kept our relationship under wraps.”

“And what’s our bulletproof excuse for keeping it secret?”

“You’re a relatively new attending here. How long has it been—six months?”

Her amber eyes narrow into sharp slits. “Try over a year.”

“Right. Apologies. Regardless, the optics make complete sense. A junior physician wouldn't want to be publicly linked to the head of a department right out of the gate. You’d naturally want to avoid any gossip about preferential treatment or riding on your colleague’s coattails. You’d want to establish your own clinical reputation first. That’s more than enough justification for keeping our bond quiet.”

She looks a bit taken aback by my blunt assessment of her professional pride, but she doesn't say anything.

“Okay, but what about the suppressants?” she asks, leaning back. “Hypothetically speaking... how have we been sleeping together all this time if you’re suppress-dosed to the teeth?”

My brow furrows. “The medication controls scent and aggressive territorial impulses. It doesn't impair performance.”

She lets out a low whistle. “Wow. I didn’t picture you as the active dating type.”

“I’m not.”

“You definitely don’t strike me as the casual hookup type either—”

“I don’t believe dissecting my sex life is relevant to our objective.”

“Fine, fine.” She nods along, her nose doing that light twitching thing again. I still haven't decided if the habit is infuriating or strangely captivating.

“Still, this feels like a massive win for you and a pretty huge commitment for me. I just wanted a temporary pass from bad setup dates, not a full-blown fake mate.”

“My territorial mark on your scent profile would effectively scare off every male shifter that comes close to you.”

Her breath hitches slightly, her soft lips parting. “You’re that sure?”

“No shifter who picks up my scent on you would dare cross that boundary.”

Surprise flickers across her face again, mingled with that same dangerous streak of curiosity. It’s safe to assume I’m the first unsuppressed alpha signature she’s ever encountered up close.

I catch the subtle movement of her throat as she swallows hard and shifts her gaze away.

“Interesting,” she murmurs under her breath. “So what’s the long game? We just live in mutually beneficial fake bliss forever?”

I grimace at the wording. “Hardly. I merely require a strategic buffer.”

“Which means what? A few weeks? A couple of months?”

“Unclear.” I’m already flying further by the seat of my pants than I’ve ever allowed myself to with a woman I barely know, but retreat isn't an option.

"I already have another job offer. Another hospital wants me as Chief of Staff. They don't care that I'm an alpha. And with my record, they'd take me in a heartbeat."

“But if they find out you hid your status here—”

“It wasn't an outright lie.”

“—deliberately omitting your classification the entire time . . .”

I offer a tight nod. “It could create an unfavorable narrative, an issue I intend to avoid.”

“So we play the devoted mated pair until your transition clears, then you vanish into the desert and we stage a dramatic breakup?” She taps her cheek thoughtfully. “Can bonded shifters even break up cleanly?”

“It requires effort, but it’s completely doable. Meanwhile, you can continue using my name as a shield to keep your grandmother off your back long after I’ve departed. It makes no difference to me. Spin whatever narrative suits you once I’m gone.”

“Charming. Truly romantic.”

“This is a transactional arrangement, Dr. Connor. Romance is entirely off the table.”

A brilliant smile breaks across her face, showcasing straight white teeth and deep little dimples that catch my attention a second longer than they should. “Perfect. That’s exactly what I want to hear.”

The knot of tension in my chest eases just a fraction. “So we have an agreement?”

“I get total immunity from terrible dates, plus leverage over the resident Boogeyman of St. Jude’s?”

I blink. “The what?”

“Don’t worry, only half the floor calls you that.” At my deep frown, she chuckles softly. “Okay, maybe slightly more than half.”

“Is that a confirmation, Dr. Connor?”

“Hmm.” She taps her chin, looking entirely too pleased with the leverage she now holds over me. “Honestly? It sounds kind of entertaining.”

“Dr. Connor, I am on a strict clock; we don't have time for—”

“It’s Josie,” she cuts in smoothly. “Everyone at work calls me Josie. I think we’re well past 'Dr. Connor,' considering you’re asking me to let the entire hospital believe we’re intimate on a daily basis.”

My throat tightens. A sudden, unwanted surge of heat flares behind my ribs at the fleeting mental image her words provoke—an image I crush down immediately, keeping my face a mask of absolute stoicism.

"Okay, Josie."

She gives me a crooked smile.

“So . . . do I have your consent?”

“On one condition: you have to meet Gran at least once. If I’m doing this, you have to sell the performance on my end. A formal dinner, convincing anecdotes—the full package. I need her convinced so she buries her matchmaker book for good.”

Displeasure ripples across my face, but I'm not in the mood for an argument. “Fine. I can manage one dinner.”

“All right,” she says, resolve taking hold. “I’m in.”

I hadn’t realized how tightly locked my chest was until the air rushes out in raw relief. I give a single, sharp nod.

The next thing on my list is to identify whichever coward filed that anonymous report.

I may have miscalculated Josie—she’s significantly more pragmatic than her sunny exterior suggests. This arrangement might actually prove manageable.

“So,” she says, her amber eyes sparkling with entirely unearned mischief, “what’s our first move, honey?”

I barely stifle a groan.

On second thought . . . this is going to be hell.