Page 15 of Faking It with the Off-Limits Doctor

When I turn, he’s full-on grinning, and I now just want to die.

“Yes. See you.”

I start the car and can’t pull away from beside his super-duper looking Mercedes fast enough.

My face is still hot when I pull into my driveway, which to be fair, is likely because it only took me ten minutes to get from Alex’s house to mine. The entire drive back, I’ve been denigrating myself, and even now, as I step out of the car, I’m still shaking my head at my complete stupidity.

Why on earth had I thought he would pay me up front? It’s not like it had been discussed. I mean, I haven’t even told him what he needs to get in for the dinner. I haven’t even figured out what I’m going to make for each course.

Idiot!

I put the key in the door and walk into my humble little abode, still muttering to myself as I go.

“Oh no, Alex,” I mock myself, “you don’t have to pay me now.”

Hanging the keys on my wooden key rack, I walk into the living room and drop myself down onto the sofa. His card is in my pocket, and when I dig it out, I’m still mad at myself.

The plain white card is thick and of good quality. Of course it is. No expense spared for Mr. Fancy Pants. His name, qualifications, and all the letters that follow are embossed on the card in gold, and slightly indented to make them stand out even more.

I run my finger across them, feeling the change against my skin, and then notice the address. My eyes widen slightly. His office was literally four blocks away from the restaurant. How had I not known that?

Why would you care?

True. It’s not like I would ever associate in his circles.

My mind wanders back to his house, and I can’t help thinking it was a strange experience. On the outside, the house looked like every other Georgian-style house. On the inside, it looked like something from the future. It nearly didn’t match.

I can imagine his apartment looks exactly the same. I just don’t get it. If you’re going to move to the country, why would you bring your city ideas with you? Surely the whole point is to have a change of perspective.

I don’t hate it, but as I look around my own living room, with my soft furnishings, paintings on the wall, and my collection of weird and wonderful teapots, I’m struggling to get my head around the whole clinical appeal.

Again, why do you care?

I don’t.

Sure, you do. You started caring the second he opened the door, and you saw him wearing those suit trousers and white shirt that lay open at the neck.

Okay. I’ll admit he got my attention. But my excuse is I’ve never seen him without a jacket and tie before. That’s probably it.

Sure, it is.

I shake my head. Alex Bennett would be the last man on earth I would look at. He can be as handsomely striking as he likes, but looks aren’t everything. I’ve had more interesting conversations with my toothbrush.

Talking to yourself doesn’t count.

Fine. But the man is a paradox. A grumpy, introverted paradox.

He wasn’t grumpy when you were leaving.

Sure, because he was laughing at me, not with me. Big difference.

Eventually, I push myself up off the sofa and move into the kitchen. Opening a large drawer, I pull out a pile of notebooks. These are all the notes I made when I was working for Dino. This dinner party has to impress, so I need to take a good, long look at what I’m going to create.

It’s really not as easy as it sounds. Each course has to complement the next, and so, I have to get it just right. At the same time, I want to have fun. Lord knows when I’ll get an opportunity like this again.

I suddenly find myself smiling when I recall the conversation in Alex’s kitchen.

“An amuse what?”

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