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Morgan

Two Weeks Later

"Did Mrs. Foster really need to bring in her perfectly healthy cat for the fifth time this month?" I ask, updating charts while Amanda inventories supplies.

"She's lonely." Amanda sighs. "And Boris does put on a good show of being sick."

"Oscar-worthy performance today. The way he—"

The bell over the door chimes.

“We’re closed for lunch!” Amanda calls out.

“I’m here to see Dr. Bailey.”

That voice. My head snaps up.

I open the door. Fucking Max Dalton. And fucking Stanley Puck.

No, I take that back. Just fucking Max Dalton.

My brain short-circuits for a full second before I manage to blink.

He stands on the threshold like a centerfold come to life—dark jeans and a fitted charcoal Henley that hugs his chest and biceps like it’s been personally blessed by sin. Damn it, he has the body of a Greek statue who discovered protein powder.

Stanley sits perfectly at his heel, both of them still rocking those damn matching sunglasses they probably never take off.

Okay. He took them off when—

“Afternoon,” he says, like this is normal. “May I come in?”

I step aside, and they strut in—the damn dog somehow matching his effortless swagger—like they’re dropping a rap album titled We the Dogs Yo Mama Warned Ya ’Bout.

God—even his calves are cocky.

"Holy shit," Amanda whispers. "Is that—"

"What are you doing here?" I cut her off.

"Looking for the best vet in Tennessee." He grins. " The Bark Side ? Had to be you."

"How did you—"

"There aren't many clinics between Nashville and the Smokies. And only one with a Star Wars pun."

Amanda's eyes dart between us. "I should go check on... something."

"The skunk's enclosure temperature," I supply automatically.

"Right! The skunk. Marty. Who's very particular about... humidity. And Chanel No. 5."

I'm going to kill her.

"Nice place," Max says once we're alone. Stanley investigates a cat bed while he looks around. "Cozy."

"Why are you here?"

" America's Top Team Show ."

"What about it?"

"I'm entering. Solo division." He leans against the counter. "But there's also a partners category."

"And?"

"And it's got a bigger prize. Double, actually."

My heart kicks. Double means...

"One hundred thousand," he says, watching my face. "Split between partners."

"Partners?"

"Two handlers, two dogs. Working together."

"You want us to partner?"

"Think about it. Your precision, my showmanship. We'd be unstoppable."

"No."

"Morgan—"

"You don't need the money." I grab a file, needing to move. "This is just another PR stunt for you."

"It's not what you think."

"Really? Because social media says otherwise."

"Those headlines—"

"Save it." I start to walk away. "I'm not interested in being your next conquest."

"The partners don't have to be romantic," he says quickly. "But... it helps."

I stop. "What helps?"

"The audience votes count for thirty percent. They love a good story." He steps closer. "Imagine: NHL star and small-town vet, falling in love through their dogs..."

"You're insane."

"I'm practical. You need money for your mobile clinic. I need..." He pauses. "Partners have to train together for six weeks. That's all. Then we split the prize and go our separate ways."

"And let me guess—we pretend to be a couple?"

"Engaged, actually. More compelling narrative."

I actually laugh. "You're serious."

"Dead serious." His voice drops. "Look, enter the solo division too. That's fifty grand if you win. But with the partners division..." He shrugs. "Even if you lose solo, you'd still have enough for your van. Fifty grand.”

I blink.

“I did my homework,” he says. “Just trying to help you get it without burning out in the solo round.”

"Okay, fifty each. If we win partners."

"Please." That cocky grin returns. "Have you seen us?"

"I've seen enough."

"Think about it." He heads for the door, then turns. "Oh, and Morgan? Those tabloid stories? They're not the whole picture."

"Never are, are they?"

Stanley gives me one last look that feels judgmental before following him out.

I wait until his ridiculous sports car disappears before texting Amanda.

Me: Coast clear. Stop hiding.

She appears instantly. "Spill. Everything. Now."

I tell her his proposal.

"You said no?" She looks horrified. "To six weeks with that ? Are you insane?"

"He's a player, Amanda."

"He's your ticket to the mobile clinic." She grabs my shoulders. "Think about it. Two chances at the money instead of one. Plus free publicity for the clinic."

"By pretending to be engaged to a stranger?"

"A hot stranger who clearly likes you."

"He likes winning."

"Then win with him!" She shakes me slightly. "What's the worst that could happen?"

I could fall for him for real.

"Fine." I pull out my phone. "But I'm doing this for the clinic."

Me: Deal. But we need ground rules.

His reply is instant.

Max: Name them.

I stare at the screen, wondering what I'm getting myself into.

Me: Tomorrow, 7am

Me: Bring coffee. And leave the sunglasses at home.

Max: Yes ma'am. ??

Max : I’ll have Stanley’s trainer scope out a spot in town and adapt it for us.

Me : Stanley’s trainer? Are you referring to yourself in third person now?

Max : Long story. I’ll explain tomorrow.

Max : I’ll text you the address once I lock it down.

"I'm going to regret this," I tell Amanda.

She just grins. "Or thank me at your real wedding."

"I hate you."

"You love me." She heads for the back. "Now, about that skunk..."

"There is no skunk and you know it."

"Yup."

I look down at my phone, at that stupid heart emoji.

Six weeks.

What could possibly go wrong?