“Alfie, please. Is your face okay? Is your girlfriend taking good care of you and playing nurse?” Christ, not an image that I need of Mia. I already have trouble focusing when she wears those shoes she loves and the pencil skirts and silky blouses, but a sexy nurse uniform whilst she leans over to take my temperature? I’d be a dead man.
I shake the image as Mia holds out her phone for me to observe multiple headlines that come up on her quick search.
Dr. Angel Saves Woman From Flasher.
Dr. Angel and Secret Girlfriend Fight Crime.
Dr. Angel has a Secret Lover Who Tackles Criminals.
Technically, I’m the one who tackled him. Thankfully, there is no mention of the wedgie incident or the fact that Mia works for me—oh, no, wait, here it is. Fuck my life. Everyone is going to know. Everyone is going to think that I manipulated her into bed and took advantage of her. She’s a goddamn grad student, and I couldn’t just correct the police officer by saying, no officer, she’s not my girlfriend; she’s my employee. But of course, the most primal part of me had to stake my claim because I didn’t want him to keep looking at her like he would happily let her wedgie him if she requested it. No, I had to let him assume we were together to prevent him awkwardly asking her out after she had just experienced something traumatic. She was shaken up. She was crying. Although it turned out that was just pretend.
I glance back to Mia, whose bottom lip is caught between her teeth. She’s concerned with how I’m going to react because I’m a grumpy, self-serving asshole that has been unbelievably mean, and I deserve to stub my toe every day for the rest of my life.
“Lottie, please keep this to yourself. Miss Sinclair and I are not dating. The police officer made an assumption, and I didn’t correct him.”
“An assumption, eh?” She laughs smugly.
“Yes, an assumption. Please keep that information to yourself until I speak with her. We need to formulate a plan to maneuver this. There are multiple things at play.”
“Dinner Club next Saturday. Be there or I will drag your ass out.”
“Understood. Bye, Lottie.”
I pocket my phone and turn back to Mia, whose eyes are glassy. All playfulness gone.
“Are you going to fire me?”
“What?”
Her lower lip wobbles. “Are you going to fire me? Because I did call you an asshole and a dickhead, and that you wouldn’t know what to do if the stick got removed from your ass—”
“You have literally never said any of those things to me.”
“And I called youDaddy.I mean, you are really authoritative, caring, considerate, all the things a dad should be, but I mean, look at you.” She points, her eyes widening like it should be obvious. “You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever met. Even with your glasses, which I honestly don’t find attractive on a lot of people, but you have this professor vibe going, which really works for you, by the way. You’re strong and capable and, despite working a desk job, look like you could throw lumber with the rest of the jacks and you just have things handled and I’m just an idiot who won’t shut up and honestly,you are a daddy. I’m not taking it back. I bet you wouldseriously take care of anyone you end up with, which is great, and oh my God, please can you just stop me right now?”
“Miss Sinclair.”
“Yes?”
“Be quiet.”
“Yes, sir.”
I close my eyes for a moment, allowing myself to acknowledge, however briefly, just how much I like those words coming out of her mouth. The way her eyes dip low when they’re usually so full of fight. Her still body barely moves from breathing; she's trying so hard to be good.
“One, I am only…six or seven years older than you. Not Daddy territory.” A blush of pink skates across her skin as she peeks up at me. She parts her lips, no doubt to quote Pedro Pascal for the second time, but I place my hands on her shoulders, stopping her. “Nope, no talking. It’s my turn to talk.” She thankfully closes her mouth, and my brain starts to recenter itself.
“Two, you’re not fired. Your work is impeccable, and as you pointed out, you did save me from Vincent, so I do owe you.”
Her shoulders sag in relief, and she lets out an unsteady breath.
“Three…we need to talk about these articles.”
“I don’t think we need to worry about that. If we’re asked, we can just say it was a misunderstanding.”
A niggle in my chest warns me that it won't be as simple as that, but instead of arguing, I give her a stiff nod. I’ve taken up too much of her time, and as she pointed out earlier, it is the weekend.
“Oh, I’ll need you to stay late on Monday to go over some things for the week. I had to squeeze in an extra appointment for Helen.”
