The Fake Mate(55)

It’s embarrassing, how quickly I snatch it up, even more embarrassing how a flicker of disappointment passes through me when I notice it isn’t Mackenzie calling. I really need to get a grip.

Who is calling, however, is effectively sobering.

“Hello, Mother.”

I hear her click her tongue. “Don’t you ‘Mother’ me. Why haven’t you called?”

“I’ve been busy,” I say evenly, my earlier giddiness dissipating. “You know how things are here.”

“Apparently,” she says in that tone that I know means I’m about to get scolded. “They’re even so busy that you couldn’t find time to tell your mother you’re mated?”

Shit.

Mary Anne Taylor is a lot of things, but most of all, the woman is resourceful. I should have known better than to think I could keep this from her until it blew over.

“Listen. About that—”

“And I had to hear it from Regina, of all people. That horrible woman from my crochet club. Apparently, she heard it from her daughter Jessica.”

That name vaguely rings a bell, although I can’t pin down from where.

“Look, it isn’t what you think.”

“How can it not be what I think? How could you get mated without telling us? You didn’t even tell us you were dating anyone. Your poor mother didn’t get to meet her daughter-in-law before you went and—”

“I’m not actually mated,” I sigh.

“—could be the mother of my future grandchildren, and I’ve never even—Wait. What?”

“I’m not mated,” I repeat more firmly.

“Then why is the entire hospital apparently buzzing about you and some woman you’ve been secretly seeing?”

I scrub a hand down my face. “It’s complicated.”

“You think you got all those brains from your father?” She snorts. “Try me.”

“Fuck,” I groan.

“Language.”

“It’s the board,” I say defeatedly. “They found out.”

She immediately discerns my meaning. “Oh no. How? You’ve been so careful.”

“An ‘anonymous tip,’ apparently. It’s utter bullshit.”

“Language,” she stresses. “Were you reprimanded?”

“Well . . .”

“My goodness,” she huffs. “After all that work you’ve done. And the Albuquerque job is on the line! Is that going to be affected now that you—”

“I didn’t get any formal sort of reprimand,” I tell her. “I didn’t get anything more than a slap on the wrist, really.” I hesitate a moment, knowing that I’m about to open a can of worms. “It was all thanks to Mackenzie.”

“Mackenzie?”

“The, ah, mate you heard about.”

“But you said you weren’t actually mated.”

“I’m not.”

“But there’s a woman named Mackenzie.”

“There is.”

“And you’re not mated?”

“No.”

“But people think you are.”

“Correct.”

My mother is quiet for a moment, and I feel a little like a boy again, waiting for her to yell at me for breaking her favorite vase.

“Tell me everything,” she says calmly.

My mother listens quietly as I recount everything that’s happened in the last couple of weeks—only cutting in to ask clarifying questions as she lets me explain how Mackenzie and I got wrapped up in our arrangement and how it benefits us both. I pointedly leave out our recent sex addendum, as Mackenzie calls it; that’s a level I haven’t even really figured out myself yet, after all.

“So, you’re pretending to be mated to this woman.”

“Or dating her, where her grandmother is concerned.”

“Oh boy.”

“I know what you’re going to say,” I sigh.

She makes a disgruntled sound. “No, you don’t. Despite that fancy doctor brain of yours—you don’t know everything.”

“Fine,” I grumble. “Then say whatever it is you’re going to say.”

“What is she like?”

This takes me by surprise. It’s definitely not what I expected my mother to follow up with. “You mean, Mackenzie?”

“No, I mean Regina at the crochet club,” she scoffs. “Of course I mean Mackenzie.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I’m curious what sort of woman throws herself into such an intricate ruse to help out my son. Especially since she apparently barely knew him before all this.”

“I don’t know.” I frown down at my desk, thinking. “She’s . . . funny? And competent. Everyone here seems to love her. I mean, I’m not really sure why she even agreed to this in the first place. She’s very pretty, after all. I find it incredibly hard to believe that she needs help in the dating department. I guess I should just be grateful that she—What are you giggling about?”

“Oh, honey,” she laughs. “How much do you like this woman?”

“What?” I make a face. “It’s not like that. We’re helping each other.”