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“Oh,” Gemma pointed her fork at me. “I see that. You’re holding back. I knew this was juicer than a fake dating scheme. Come on.”

Gemma had been circling in on this all week. It had been three days since I’d gotten irresponsibly drunk and passed out on the couch of a guy who, by all accounts, should have detested me. And it had been three days since the unsettling realization that I found him maddeningly attractive. It had also been three days since I’d closed a car door on him and ran away from any more cheek-burning, leg-squirming interactions with Dr. Reed. Supposedly, I was going on a date with him tonight, but I was so overwhelmed at the idea, that I’d more or less ignored the fact.

I popped a pretzel in my mouth. “Fine. He said,” I paused to chew, “that I’m his type.”

“Oh my God.” Gemma closed her eyes like she was reveling in the stream of a hot shower after a long day. “Oh my fucking God. You’re getting laid. It’s finally happening.”

“What do you mean ‘finally?’ I’ve been—I mean I’m not a—Jesus, Gemma. I’ve had sex before.”

“It’s the stumbling for me,” she joked with a crooked grin. “The way you trip all over the word ‘fuck’ just gets me every time.”

“I say fuck,” I muttered.

“But you don’tfuck,” she amended ruthlessly. “Not since, what, last year? The year before that?”

“Probably,” I mumbled. I thought back to the last time Vaughn and I had hooked up. Before he’d ditched me and left me penniless, jobless, and heartbroken.

Admittedly, sex had never been Vaughn’s forte. He didn’t enjoy it as much as I did, and he usually participated with some reluctance. We hadn’t hooked up for weeks before he’d left, anyway.

“Regardless, I’m sorry to let you down, but I’m not getting laid. Dr. Reed and I have a mutually beneficial arrangement that ends after his awards ceremony. And honestly,” I barged on after Gemma opened her mouth to argue, “I’m only doing it because he saved my ass in that bar. I don’t know what I would have done, but I don’t think it would have helped my job if Scarlet had realized I was wasted. Also, I really don’t think it would have been safe. So.” I straightened my back and gave her a steely look. “I’m not getting laid. The relationship is not real. Be cool.”

“You be cool,” Gemma shot back, still grinning. “Because it’s cool to get laid by hot doctors who rescue you from lecherous men in bars.”

I tipped my head back in exasperation. “There were no lecherous men.”

“That you know of,” Gemma said with a twirl of her fork. “Bet you Chinese dinner that you get laid. If I’m right, you pay.”

“Okay,” I laughed derisively. “Sure. And when we part ways with my nether regions drier than British humor, then you’rebuying me extra rangoons.”

“Uh huh,” Gemma grinned, popping some pot pie in her mouth. “Sure thing.”

My phone rang at my desk, so I put my bag of snack mix aside and answered. “Hello, this is Dr. Coldwell.”

“Hey, Dr. Coldwell,” Olivia said brightly. “I have your husband here. He’s hoping you’re not busy with a client.”

“My husband?” I asked a little too incredulously.

Gemma made an oval with her mouth and coughed out a laugh. “Well, that was fucking fast.”

I waved her away. “Uh, eh, yeah.”

Olivia hesitated. “Sorry… yes you’re with a client?”

“No, I’m not with a client,” I replied quickly. Wait, did that mean he wanted to see me? Now? I looked down at my black and white polka dot blouse that had yellow egg from my breakfast on my boob and wrinkles because I didn’t own an ironing board. I hadn’t been planning onseeingany other humans today. “I mean yes. I have a cl—”

“She’s on lunch,” Gemma shouted loud enough to be heard. “Send him back!”

“Wonderful,” Olivia said with dripping, syrupy enthusiasm.

“Fuck you,”I mouthed over the receiver. To Olivia, I said, “Thanks.”

Gemma laughed, low and full of snarky glee. “Here comes yourhubby.” She popped out of her seat and grabbed her pie and drink from my desk. “I’ll just give the two of you some privacy.”

“No, Gemma.” I stood fast, only to get abruptly jerked back down. I looked down in confusion and found the ribbon from the bow that hung from my collar caught in the desk drawer. I tugged on it. “Gemma,” I hissed.

“Hey, Dr. Ruth’s husband,” Gemma said cheerfully as she headed down the hallway.

I looked up again and found the tall, toned man in question already leaning against the door frame. He waved to Gemma. “Bye, Gemma.”