Seb might not want to settle down, but he knew how to give someone a good time. He’d taken Vicky’s advice about what to offer. A make-over, dinner in a swish restaurant and good tickets to see a show. What wasn’t to like about that?
Clearly, he was the sticking point.
He frowned. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had refused to go out with him. Actually, he didn’t think anyone ever had. This was a first. And he didn’t like it one little bit.
So he was going to find out what the problem was. Here and now.
‘Why?’ he asked, walking into the staffroom. ‘Do I have a personal hygiene problem or something?’
At least Alyssa had the grace to blush. ‘No. I just don’t go out on dates.’
Oh, so that was it. And even though he should have been pleased—he hadn’t wanted the winner to get the wrong idea and think it meant the beginning of a relationship—her reluctance stung him even more. ‘This isn’t a date,’ he corrected. ‘It’s a night out, the prize for a fundraiser. A one-off.’ And he was annoyed enough to add, ‘Oh, and it’s tonight.’
To his surprise, she didn’t back down. ‘What if I’m busy?’
‘Then you can reschedule.’
‘I think, Mr Radley, you can reschedule. Or go on your own.’ She looked at him, unsmiling, and put her undrunk coffee down on the table. ‘Don’t ever try to boss me around again.’
Fliss whistled. ‘That’s put you in your place,’ she said as Alyssa walked off.
Maybe, Seb thought. He’d barely noticed Alyssa Ward before. She was just the quiet, studious registrar he’d worked with a few times—efficient, pulled her weight, good with patients, did her job without complaining, yada yada yada. She always wore plain dark trousers and a cream shirt underneath her white doctor’s coat, and he’d barely registered that she was female. She was a professional colleague, that was all.
And he certainly hadn’t noticed that stubborn streak. It was an overworn cliché, but maybe her chestnut hair had something to do with it. And maybe she was only quiet because she knew that she had a temper and needed to keep a tight rein on it.
Which made Alyssa Ward a very interesting proposition.
Hmm. They’d have that night out tonight. And he was going to pull out all the stops.
Later that day, Seb had the case from hell. Resus was quiet for once, so he took his fair share of working through the cubicles.
Which meant Seb had to deal with the four-year-old boy who’d caught himself in his zip.
Great, he thought when Mel on Reception handed him the notes. Why couldn’t he have had a difficult geriatric, or the six-foot-six body-builder who’d been in a fight and was still drunk and stroppy? But no. He got the kind of patient he found hardest to handle. A kid.
Seb was hopeless with kids. Always had been. Thank God he’d never have to have any of his own. He was only the spare and not the heir to Weston—with any luck, Charlie and Sophie would make a baby really soon and let him off the hook completely.
The little boy was crying and the mum was clearly panicking. Seb switched on his professional smile. ‘Come through here with me. We’ll soon have him sorted out.’
‘He wanted to get dressed himself. I turned my back for two seconds and, and…’
‘It’s OK. It happens a lot. Little ones forget to put their underpants on, try to get dressed too quickly and catch a bit of skin in the zip.’ Oh, please, please, make the boy stop crying. Seb hated the sound of children crying. It went right through him—it was far worse than the sound of chalk squeaking on a blackboard.
‘But the zip’s jammed! I can’t undo it,’ the woman said. Her face turned bright crimson. ‘And it’s his willy! What if it causes…well…problems?’
‘It won’t,’ Seb soothed. ‘Trust me, I won’t have to do any surgery. I’ll give him something to numb the pain so I can manipulate the zip without hurting him any more. Sometimes mineral oil will do the trick—otherwise I’ll need to cut the zip, if that’s all right?’
‘I don’t care—I hate the things anyway. His grandmother bought them because she says he looked too scruffy in the pull-up joggers he normally wears. She said he ought to have proper trousers, like they had when my husband was small.’
‘Mothers, eh?’ Seb said, smiling wryly. Your own mother was meant to be nice and the mother-in-law was from hell. Given what his mother was like, he never wanted to test that theory. The woman who was worse than Mara hardly bore thinking about.
And the kid was still crying. Oh, hell. He hated this. And his attempts at jollying the little boy along clearly weren’t working. He needed help. A nurse. Someone who was better with kids than he was. ‘I’m just going to get the kit I need. Back in two seconds,’ he said, and left the corridor with relief.
The first member of staff he met, he’d beg for help.
He almost—almost—revised that idea when he met said member of staff. But he could still hear the little boy crying. He had to go for the lesser of two evils. And Alyssa Ward was at least cool and calm. She’d be far better with the kid than he was.
He switched to charm mode. ‘Alyssa, can I borrow you for a moment, please? I need your help.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘What?’
‘Little boy with a zip problem. I need someone to distract him while I do the necessary.’ Please, please, let her say yes. Please, let her like kids. Please, let her help me.
She shrugged. ‘OK.’
His smile, this time, was genuine. ‘Thanks. I appreciate it. Cubicle five. I’m just going to get the lidocaine, mineral oil and cutters.’
By the time he returned—only a few moments later—the little boy was sitting on Alyssa’s lap and she was telling him a story. The child was still crying, but he was more interested in the story—something about a train and a dinosaur. Alyssa was a natural, Seb thought.
And then the lightbulb pinged. Of course. Question: why wouldn’t you want a swish night out? Answer: when you were married with a small child.
He glanced automatically at her left hand. No wedding ring. Either she didn’t wear it at work for hygiene reasons, or she wasn’t married but was still committed.
Well, that was an easy one. He’d arrange a babysitter, and she could still have the night out—but with her partner instead of him.
And he could go partying without having to worry about not fulfilling the terms of his promise.
Sorted.
He painted iodine onto the little boy’s skin, then slipped in some lidocaine. As the numbing action began to work, the child’s sobs diminished and he even started to talk back to Alyssa, asking her bits about the story.
Not wanting to break the peace, Seb quietly told the mother exactly what he was going to do and then worked swiftly in silence. He covered the area in mineral oil—it wasn’t enough to make the zip move, so he was going to have to cut the slide. Alyssa was still distracting the little boy, which was good—it meant the child wouldn’t worry about the orthopaedic pin cutters which Seb had brought with him.
There was one nasty moment when Seb thought he was going to have to try the other way—using heavy-duty towel clamps on either side of the zip slide and twisting the thing apart—but then the fastener slid apart, releasing the little boy’s skin.
Result.
He pulled the exposed zipper teeth open, cleaned the crushed skin and applied some ointment.
‘Has your little boy had his tetanus injection?’ he asked.
The