Page 18 of Faking It with the Off-Limits Doctor

“Are my nephews coming with you? I’ll need to childproof the place before you get here,” I joke.

“By that, do you mean leave before we arrive, and padlock the place up?” Mike says, jumping straight onto my wavelength.

“Exactly,” I reply. And then we both laugh.

Sometime later, I grab my bag and head out to the gym. There’s one in the apartment complex, but I prefer one where no one really knows me. I’ve found, far too many times, that I end up being accosted by residents of our building, all wanting to know the answers to some medical situation they’re suffering. I spend more time consulting than working out.

Instead, I travel a little way across the city to a gym I frequent. It’s usually quiet at this time of night, and this evening is no different. There’s maybe eight or nine other people in here, which means I should get my circuit down with few delays.

But even as I try and concentrate on my reps, my situation lingers in my head. I’m not giving up. I can’t. I’ve already put too much into this. I can’t let a little thing like not having a wife get in the way of a multimillion-dollar deal. But where do I get one?

What a ridiculous question.

Yes. it is. It’s not like I can just order one from Amazon.

8

Dara

I texted Alex ahead of time to let him know that I managed to get off shift two hours early, and now that I’ve arrived, he shows me into the kitchen.

Scanning the island in the middle of the cooking area, I nod appreciatively. “This is great,” I say, eyeing all the food I asked him to order. “Did you have any trouble getting any of it?”

It’s a stupid question but it’s out of my mouth before I can stop myself.

“Never mind. Don’t answer that.”

Of course, he didn’t have any problems getting any of it. He’s a gazillionaire. If he wanted to, he could have imported the quail and had the birds lay those eggs this morning.

“Right, I’ll let you get on with what it is you do best.” He gestures toward the food. “I’m going for a shower. Shout if you need anything.”

“Okay.” I say.

Yeah, right. Like that’s going to happen. The last thing I need is another humiliating experience, thank you very much. I’ve only just got over the last one. Yes, it’s been nearly a week, but the scenario lived rent free in my head for far too long. Besides, what Alex knows about cooking I could probably write on my eyelids.

I straighten my chef whites and start by organizing the groceries in order of course. There’s going to be a lot to do this evening, and preparation will be key if I plan to serve out hot meals. His guests won’t be here for another couple of hours, but I have shallots to chop, potatoes to peel, and lots of things to measure out.

Quite some while later, I hear the doorbell ring

I glance at the clock because, surely, it can’t be that time already. A minute after that, two very well-presented men dressed in black enter the kitchen, followed by Alex.

I try to listen to what he says as I admire the dark gray suit he’s wearing. Again, his shirt is open at the neck, and tiny hairs peek out, desperate to see what’s beyond the white cotton that imprisons them.

“Dara, meet Craig and Jack. They’re going to be your servers for the evening. They work professionally, so they know what they’re doing.”

“Oh, excellent,” I say, feeling a little relieved. “Nice to meet you.”

They both greet me, and then Craig says, “What do you need us to do?”

I point to the far counter. “I have all the plates, cutlery, and napkins already out. Could you set the table for me please?”

“Sure.”

I’m actually more than relieved. It takes another job off my hands, and believe me, my hands are well and truly full. I’ve chosen a pretty comprehensive menu, and to get this right, things are going to have to go like clockwork.

Another half an hour passes, and I can hear guests arriving. Alex has told me to start service at eight, so at 7:40 I put the quail eggs into boil. Once the water is boiling, I take them out and cover them. Four minutes later, I plunge them into cold water.

Next comes the tricky job of peeling them and slicing them in half. They’re tiny little things, and more than a pain in my behind, but it’ll be worth it. With the yoke removed and mixed with the crème fraiche and Dijon mustard, I add salt and pepper to taste.

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