He shrugged. ‘Why not?’
‘Because...because...’ How could she put it without sounding horribly rude? ‘Lots of reasons. You’re not—I mean you don’t—This isn’t the sort of surgery for a man like you,’ she finished lamely, wishing that he didn’t always make her feel so tongue-tied.
‘A man like me?’ He threw back his head and laughed in genuine amusement. ‘And you are such an expert on men, of course. Your specialist subject, if I recall.’
Joanna flushed at his none-too-subtle reminder that she’d barely socialised as a student.
‘So go on.’ He was still laughing, his eyes bright with humour. ‘I’m intrigued to hear your opinion. What sort of man am I, Dr Weston? Do tell me. This should be worth hearing.’
Joanna gritted her teeth. ‘Certainly not the sort of man to settle down in the middle of nowhere. This is rural Devon, Dr Macaulay, not cosmopolitan London. There are no hot nightspots, no clubs or fancy restaurants, and the nearest we get to retail therapy is buying eggs from the local farm.’
He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Damn.’ He clicked his fingers in mock disappointment. ‘If I’d known that, I never would have offered to help out.’
Joanna felt her temper rise at his flippancy. The temper she’d forgotten she even had until he’d walked into her consulting room. Five minutes. That was all it had taken. Five minutes with Sebastian Macaulay and already she wanted to commit grievous bodily harm.
‘I’m glad we’re agreed that this place would never suit you—’
‘Agreed? Oh, come on, Joanna! Unless my memory is faulty, you and I have never agreed on a single thing since the day we first met,’ he drawled, strolling back across her consulting room and staring at a poster on asthma management. ‘And we’re unlikely to start now. But whether we agree or not is irrelevant. I promised George I’d help out and that’s what I’m going to do. If it reassures you at all, I’m sure I can struggle by without clothes shopping for a few months. I stocked up last time I was in London.’
Joanna stared at him in barely disguised horror. ‘Are you serious?’
He gave a nod. ‘Absolutely. My favourite designer had just launched his new collection.’
She gritted her teeth, aware that he was laughing at her. ‘I wasn’t referring to your wardrobe, Dr Macaulay, as you well know. I was talking about the ridiculous suggestion that you should work here.’
‘Why ridiculous?’ He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘I’m as well qualified as you, and you know it.’
She was unable to argue with that fact. The truth was that, despite his casual attitude, Seb Macaulay was clever. Very clever. Not that he used his brain, of course. He’d socialised his way through medical school and had managed to pass his exams having barely attended a single lecture. In fact, he’d seemed bored with the whole thing. Until they’d started the clinical section of their course. Once he’d been allowed to see real patients, Seb had never missed a day.
And since he’d qualified she hadn’t heard much about him. Just the odd rumour that he was doing glamorous jobs. Which was nothing less than she would have expected. He wasn’t the sort of man to bury himself in a deprived, inner-city practice.
Suddenly she was curious about just what he had been doing last. ‘So is that what you’re doing at the moment? Locum work?’
‘Not really.’ He suppressed a yawn. ‘Actually, I’ve just finished a stint on a cruise ship.’
Her mouth tightened. A cruise ship. Typical! ‘I see.’
‘I seriously doubt that you do.’ For a brief second the humour left those blue eyes and she caught a glimpse of a side of him she’d never seen before. A serious side. But then it was gone and he gave a careless shrug. ‘But it doesn’t matter. George didn’t stipulate that we had to understand each other—just that we had to work together.’
‘We can’t possibly work together, Dr Macaulay,’ she said stiffly. ‘Our approach to life is too different.’
He gave a short laugh. ‘Yes, well, fortunately we’re not talking about life here, we’re just talking about the job.’
‘You see?’ She sat up straighter and glared at him. ‘That is exactly what I mean. To you it’s just a job—’
‘And to you it’s your whole life,’ Seb drawled, his eyes narrowing as he watched her. ‘Let’s not waste time arguing about which one of us is right. I seem to remember telling you as a student that it was possible to work and have fun at the same time.’
She was feeling totally out of her depth. She just couldn’t cope with someone like Seb Macaulay. He was too arrogant, too confident—too male. And he made her feel... feel...strange...
‘Surely George must have known we’d have nothing in common,’ she murmured, rubbing her fingers over her aching forehead. ‘Why did he choose you? He said that he was asking a family friend—’
‘I am a family friend.’ He straightened and walked over to her desk, dropping his muscular length into the chair by her desk. ‘I was at school with Sam.’
‘Sam?’ Her mouth fell open in disbelief. ‘Sam went to the same school as you?’
Surely George and Nancy wouldn’t have had the funds for that type of education for their son.
‘Sam was a bright boy, he had a scholarship.’ Seb ran a hand through his hair, his expression suddenly impatient. ‘Look, enough questions. I thought you were supposed to be busy. If you’ve been handling George’s patients as well as your own, there must be plenty for me to do.’
Offhand she couldn’t think of a single thing. The mere thought of working alongside this man was so unlikely it was ludicrous.
‘It won’t work, Dr Macaulay,’ she said finally, nervously touching a strand of pale blonde hair that had escaped from the knot on the back of her head. ‘I’m sorry to have wasted your time but there’s been a mistake. You’ll have to find a job elsewhere.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Joanna!’ He was visibly controlling his irritation. ‘Look, I agree that this situation is hardly ideal for either of us. You think I’m a glamorous playboy with more money than sense, and I think you’re an emotionally repressed workaholic whose idea of excitement is a night in with a textbook. It doesn’t matter! No one says we have to like each other. We just have to work together and that should be easy enough.’
She stared at him, carefully hiding her dismay at his words. Was that really how people saw her? An emotionally repressed workaholic?
‘I can manage by myself,’ she said finally, and he lifted an eyebrow in disbelief.
‘With the number of patients you and George have on your lists? Don’t be ridiculous. No doctor could manage that number single-handed. Especially in the holiday season. No.’ He shook his head and gave a resigned shrug. ‘You need help, and we’d better both just accept that I’m it.’
‘Help?’ Her voice rose and she almost winced as she heard herself. Normally she was a gentle, mild-mannered person and here she was acting like a fishwife. ‘You’re not my idea of help, Dr Macaulay—’
A muffled scream from Reception distracted her and Joanna broke off and tilted her head slightly. ‘What on earth was that?’
Before Seb could answer, the door was yanked open and a breathless Laura stood in the doorway, her eyes wide with panic.
‘Dr Weston, come quickly! Little Katy Ball has stopped breathing.’
Joanna stood up quickly. Too quickly. The room suddenly swam in front of her eyes and she swayed slightly. Immediately strong fingers clamped onto her shoulders and propelled her safely back into the chair.