Cool green eyes stared at him. The blouse she wore was a similar colour—and why he’d even noticed he couldn’t say. Her mouth, although some would say was pretty, was in a tight thin line. She looked buttoned-up and tautly wound and as if she had never had a moment of pleasure in her life. She met his anger with equal force. ‘Mr Finelli, I presume? Please, take a seat.’
He didn’t. ‘I have not time. I was told you needed to see me immediately … What is the problem?’
‘Okay, no pleasantries. Fine by me. I’ll cut to the chase. Tell me …’ The eyes narrowed a little. Her throat jumped as she swallowed. Emerald-tipped fingers tapped on a keyboard and an image flickered onto the screen. ‘Is this you?’
There was no point in concealing his laugh. Whoever had taken the photo had held the lens at a damned fine angle. He looked good. More than good. He whistled on an out breath. ‘You like it?’
‘That’s not the point.’ But her pupils flared and heat hit her cheeks.
‘You do like it? It is impressive, yes? And you summoned me all the way to the other side of the hospital for a slide show of naked bodies … interesting.’ He turned to go. ‘Now, I can leave? I have work to do.’
‘Not so fast, Mr Finelli.’
Ma che diavolo? ‘Call me Matteo, please.’
The woman blinked. ‘Mr Finelli, why did you post this picture on the internet? Were you hoping for it to go completely viral, because, congratulations, it did. It seems that cyberspace can’t get enough of your … assets. Have you any idea what damage you have caused the hospital by posing for this with the St Carmen’s logo available for the world to see?’
‘Everybody calls me Matteo, I do not answer to Mr Finelli—too formal. Too … English. I did not post that picture anywhere. And with all due respect, Miss …’ His eyes roved over her face—which was turning from a quite attractive pink to a dark shade of red—then to her name badge. Her left hand. No wedding band. Definitely Miss. ‘Miss Ivy Leigh. I was not posing.’
‘Do you deny this is your bott … er … gluteus maximus?’
It wasn’t fair to smile again. But he did. ‘Of course I don’t deny it. I’ve already agreed that it is mine. But clearly I did not take the picture and I did not pose. It looks to me like I’d had a shower, I was stretching to get my clothes out of the locker, with my back to the lens, you cannot see my face. I can’t take a photo of the back of my head from that distance, can I? Besides which I am a very busy doctor and I do not have time to sit around playing on the internet like some people.’ Like you, he thought. But he let that accusation hover in the silence. ‘I don’t know for sure who took the picture, but I can guess.’
‘Oh? Who?’ She leant forward, her eyes fixed on his face, eyebrows arched. In another lifetime it might have been fun to play a little more with her. To see where her soft edges were, if she had any. But not in this life.
‘Ged Peterson.’ Touché, my man. You win this round. ‘My registrar, he loves playing pranks.’
‘Peterson. Peterson. Ged? Short for Gerard?’ Those green-tipped fingers tapped into some database on the computer. ‘He doesn’t work here.’
‘No. But he did. Until last month when he went to work in Australia. He said he was going to give me a leaving present. I didn’t realise it would be this.’ Matteo stepped back, primed to leave. ‘And now we have solved the mystery I must go.’
‘Absolutely not. Stay right there.’
That got his attention. No woman had ever spoken to him like that before. It was … well, it was interesting. ‘Why?’
‘Again, I ask you; have you any idea of the damage you have caused? Lady Margaret has withdrawn her funding for the new family rooms in protest already. Parents are complaining that this is not what they expect from an institution responsible for their children’s lives. Surgeons who complain about being overworked and underpaid and yet have time to flaunt their bodies make us look ridiculous. It’s not professional.’
‘Everyone needs to stop overreacting. It is nothing.’
With a disdainful look that suggested he was in way over his pretty little head, she shook hers. ‘Image is everything, Mr Finelli. In this technological age it’s all about the message we send out to gain trust and respect. We need people on side to volunteer, raise funds, hit targets. We do not need some jumped-up surgeon flashing his backside with our logo in the picture.’
He strode forward and leaned towards her, pointing at the picture getting a nose full of honeysuckle scent in the process. Overly officious she might be, but she smelt damned good. He edged away from the perfume because it was strangely addictive and he didn’t need any more distractions today. This was enough and he still had a few hours’ work ahead of him. ‘If you are worried about funding I have an idea … why not take another eleven pictures of me and make some calendars you hospital administrators all seem to love so much? Sell me?’
‘I am a lawyer.’ As if that explained anything. Actually, it explained a lot. With one brother already qualified and another working his way through college, Matteo knew that law school was just as rigorous as med school. That those dark shadows under her eyes weren’t from late nights drinking in bars but from studying into the early hours. That this woman had worked diligently amidst strong competition. Along with her English-rose complexion and porcelain skin, it also explained that she’d probably spent the best part of her life cooped up indoors with her nose in a book, not exploring the world, not simply lying in the last rays of a relaxing afternoon letting the sun heat your skin. It explained why she was so damned coiled.
She shook her head. ‘The money you’ve already lost us is in the thousands, possibly hundreds of thousands, Mr Finelli. Calendars only make a few pounds per copy.’
‘With my backside on them it would make a lot more.’
‘You really do have a high opinion of yourself, don’t you?’ Her voice had deepened and he got the feeling she was trying very hard to be calm.
Good, because that meant he was niggling her, probably not as much as she was niggling him … but, well, he had more important things to do. Like go check on the transplant patient. ‘Sure. Why not?’
In what he could only describe as a power play she stood up and walked around the desk. If he wasn’t mistaken it took her a moment to steady herself, then she grabbed a file from a filing cabinet and slammed it shut with finesse and flair. She sat back down again, but not before he’d taken a good long look at the cinched-in waist, curve-enhancing, slim-legged trousers and wedge heels.
Even more interesting …
Opening what he now realised was his employment file, she gave him a cold stare. ‘Look, Mr Finelli, it’s obvious you are not taking this issue seriously. I need to make sure you are aware of the consequences of having your naked body sprawled over the internet with our name and logo on it. I have discussed the issue with the HR department and the chairman and we are all in agreement that we need to instigate some courses for the staff on the whys and wherefores of social media etiquette. These will be mandatory for every—’
‘Because of this? I did nothing wrong.’
‘Because of this. Because we can’t run risks with people’s lives, or be distracted from our true purpose as a hospital. Because we can’t make mistakes. Distraction causes death or damage.’ This was clearly very important to her—personal, maybe, judging by the passion in her eyes and the slight shake in her hands.
She took a sip of water from a glass next to her elbow. And didn’t, he noticed, offer him anything to drink. She waited a moment and seemed to settle herself before continuing. ‘We have to control how we are seen, and this episode has just cemented my point. I ran the classes very successfully at my last place of employment and am starting them here on Thursday. You will be required to attend.’
No