Thankfully, the waiter arrives with our food. As specified, the meat is barely cooked. Bloody juices seep into the two minuscule potatoes and three steamed green beans artfully arranged on my plate. Already tense from our conversation, my stomach gurgles, threatening rebellion. The elk above Dr. Drake’s head glares at me, and I give my excuses and beat a hasty retreat to the luxurious, wood-paneled washroom.

After I splash water on my face and reapply my makeup, I take a few deep breaths and prepare to return to the menagerie. My phone buzzes in my purse and I check the Caller ID. Max. Is he checking up on me already?

How is lunch?

Bad

What’s wrong?

Change of plans. Different lunch companion

Male companion?

Yes

Black hair?

No

Brown hair?

No

Blond hair?

Yes

Doctor?

Yes

Lascivious doctor?

Actually, he’s being quite nice

Not approved

Too late

Not approved

We’re already in the middle of lunch

Not approved

I see someone figured out how to use his Repeat button

I’m coming to the hospital

I’m not at the hospital

Where are you?

Not telling. Chill

Chill?

I’m a big girl. I can handle myself

You’re a sexy girl. I want to handle you

Naughty Max

You need me, I’m there

Sweet Max

Maybe I should come and find you

No Max

Yes Max

BAD MAX

***

Anticipation ratchets through me after I end the conversation. Is he just teasing or is he seriously going to try and find me? I tuck my phone into the pocket of my scrubs and make my way back to the table. Dr. Drake has finished his meal. My steak has stopped bleeding, but now it is floating in a congealed puddle of pink fat. Yummy.

“I’m not feeling very well.” I put my fork and knife at four o’clock on the plate. “I think I might have a touch of stomach flu. I’ve lost my appetite.”

The elk smiles and nods approvingly. I pick up my water glass and take a sip.

“Maybe you should come to my office,” Dr. Drake suggests. “I can give you a thorough examination. We wouldn’t want anything spreading through the staff.”

I choke and splutter water over the plate. “Actually, I’m suddenly feeling a lot better. Maybe I was just dehydrated.” I pick up my fork and knife and slice into the unroasted beast with the zeal of my housemate, Rob, on a bar crawl. It quivers. I put a tiny piece of steak in my mouth, press my lips together and chew. Soft. Squishy. Like flesh.

No. Chicken. It tastes like chicken. It tastes like chicken.

I gag.

“Mac!” Dr. Drake leaps from his seat.

I force the meat down and put my utensils on my plate. “I’m fine. You were right. It was delicious, and very filling.”

“Well then, we’ll have to come back another day. If you liked that, you’ll love the raw lamb. They serve warmed lamb blood on the side. Delicious and full of iron.”

My stomach heaves. “You’re kidding.”

“Yes, I am.” Dr. Drake chortles. “They don’t warm the blood.”

I slap my hand over my mouth in case I lose what little I ate all over Dr. Drake’s shoes. “Can I go back to work now?”

Dr. Drake gives me a wink. “Off you go. Next time we’ll just have salad and you can tell me if you’ve thought about my offer.”

He dismisses me with a casual wave of his hand and I flee the man cave under the disapproving glare of the assorted forest animals. How can I turn him down? He is almost guaranteeing me a scholarship and my student loan payments would be put on hold until I finish medical school. Problem solved.

So why does it feel so wrong?

***

Five hours, no Max and no answers later, I sling my pack over my back and head into the parking lot. Thank God the day of horribleness is over. Now I can go home, have a bath, and cry. Not necessarily in that order.

“Makayla.”

Squinting into the sun, I catch the outline of a tall, broad-shouldered man in a suit standing in front of a sleek, black limo. Familiar. He closes the distance between us, and holds out a hand. Broad palm, elegant fingers. I know those fingers.

Max.

Max in clothes.

My heart pounds in my chest. Max in his leathers is hot. Max in his fight shorts is scorching. Max in an elegant black suit, blue shirt, and striped silk tie sets my blood on fire. The tailored cut of his jacket molds to his broad shoulders and emphasizes his narrow waist and lean hips. He looks mature, sophisticated, and powerful. I can imagine him hammering out deals in boardrooms, escorting movie stars to parties, and running his successful company.

What the hell does he want with me?

My mouth goes dry and my feet refuse to move. Max stops only a foot away. He smells of citrus cologne and ever so faintly of coffee.

“What’s wrong?” He frowns and wipes away a tear I didn’t even know was on my cheek.

“Wow.” I try for a light, joking tone, but in my depressed state, my voice comes out flat. “You clean up well. I’ve never seen you in…well, clothes. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

His face tightens. “You aren’t going to distract me. Why were you crying?”

The sympathy in his voice makes me want to lean into him and bare my soul. But I don’t want him to think I’m asking for anything, especially after what he told me outside the club. I don’t need his help. I’ll figure it out on my own.