‘The health board? You followed your father and gave up medicine?’
‘I just moved sideways.’ He flicked his head as if a fly, or something extremely unimportant, was irritating him. ‘No matter, I’m here.’
Her spine prickled. No way. Not only did she know his face intimately, but she knew every inch of his body, every divine part of it. And had just about managed to expel it from her memory. And now it would be here, taunting her. ‘Seriously? You’re here to assess me?’
She glanced around hopefully for secret TV cameras. Then realised, with a sorry thud, that it wasn’t a set-up, someone’s idea of a bad joke. It was real. Painfully, gut-wrenchingly real. Heat rushed back into her cheeks.
What an unholy mess. A jilted lover was here to decide her future. A jilted lover with radically different views about the provision of community medicine. She believed in flexibility and choice. He believed in routine and regimented processes.
A jilted lover she’d run out on with no real explanation—no doubt deepening the rift between him and his domineering father. It had seemed logical back then when she’d thought she’d never encounter them again. Logical and rational and based on … fear.
All coming back to bite her. She threw his card onto the desk. ‘I know who you are already, I don’t need this.’
‘I thought you might need reminding.’ He glared at her.
As if I could ever forget. ‘What about Dr Singh? What happened to your practice?’
‘Dr Singh is sick. And I sold my share of the practice.’ He ticked his answers off on his damned distinguished fingers. The last time she’d focused on them they’d been tiptoeing down her abdomen, promising hours of pleasure. Now they were tiptoeing through her worst nightmare.
‘So now you work with Daddy? Thinking about taking over the board when he retires? Figures.’
‘My future is not your concern. My secretary sent an email through to you last night, explaining. And for the record, I didn’t know you’d be here. I didn’t ask to come. I was sent.’
‘Well, for the record, I expect you to give me a fair assessment, despite our past. I didn’t get the email, I’m afraid. I’ve been busy.’ Mim looked over to the dust-covered computer, a reject from the ark, and decided not to mention it took twenty minutes to warm up. Emails were patchy, internet more so out here in the sticks.
Connor glanced again at the shiny white blotch in the middle of the yellowing ceiling. ‘Busy? Yes. Plotting ways to influence me? Bribery? Corruption? Not to mention … what was it, women’s wicked ways? I seem to remember you were quite good at those.’ Heat flared in his eyes.
God. He had heard. And enjoyed seeing her squirm now too, no doubt. That knot in her stomach tightened like a noose. ‘It was a joke.’
‘You couldn’t afford me anyway.’
He quirked an eyebrow, the ghost of a daring smile on his lips. And he was right. She couldn’t afford him. He’d always been way out of her league.
Forget bribery. Whacking him seemed a much more attractive alternative. Either that or killing him and stashing his body.
‘Couldn’t I just wait until Dr Singh gets better?’
‘You might be waiting a long time. He’s having emergency cardiac surgery. Don’t worry, I excel at being impartial, Mim.’
‘Don’t I know it.’ Sex with Connor might have been legendary, but she’d never really believed he’d trusted her enough to let her in. He certainly hadn’t ever really listened to her.
‘If I don’t think you make the grade, I’ll tell you. And remember, I’m assessing accounts, equipment, procedures. Not you.’
‘So there’s no way out.’
‘You could withdraw your application.’ He glanced round her admin office with sheer disdain. ‘But I don’t think you’d want to do that.’
Though she had grasped control and ended their relationship all those years ago, he held the trump cards now whichever way she turned. She had to make the best job of it and pray he’d see past their break-up and the paintwork. His gaze travelled the length of her, sending unbidden shocks of heat through her body. Nerves? Or something more dangerous?
Ridiculous. She’d submerged any feelings for him over the years. Downgraded their passionate affair to a casual fling, a summer of wild, heavenly madness—once she’d nursed her bruised heart back to health again.
So far all her experiences of unswerving love had ended in heartbreak. Getting over losing Connor Wiseman had been hard. But possible. Just. Getting over the death of her mother had taken a little longer. And she had no intention of inviting that kind of intensity of feeling again.
She shrugged. ‘It looks like I’m stuck with you.’
‘Guess so. Lucky you.’ He rocked back on the heels of his leather brogues. Smug didn’t come close. ‘Lucky me.’
She swallowed the scream of frustration in her throat, and dropped her skirt hem, which she’d subconsciously wrung into a tight clutch of crumpled fabric. Possibly in lieu of his neck. ‘How long will all this take?’
‘Three months.’
‘That’s ridiculous. It doesn’t say that in the information pack.’ Three minutes had been long enough for all the mixed-up feelings to come lurching back.
But, on the other hand … A glimmer of hope in her soul blew into life. If she did pass the assessment … three months was shaping up to be a lifeline and a life sentence all rolled into one. Her stomach felt like it was in a food processor, choppy and whirring at full speed. ‘I assume we get time off at weekends for good behaviour?’
‘Truly, I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my weekends. Out here, in Nowheresville, with an ex who thought so little of me she couldn’t run away fast enough. That takes masochism to a whole new level.’
He sat down at the desk, opened his briefcase and pulled out a thick questionnaire.
Thank God he didn’t look up to see the rage shivering through her. She would not explain. She was not embarrassed. She had done them both a favour.
So why had regret eaten away at her ever since?
He scanned the pages in front of him. ‘Hopefully, it’ll all be over quickly and painlessly. It’ll be part time. Odd days here and there. I assess specific areas of healthcare delivery, then give you time to review and make changes. I have other things to do as well as this.’
‘Like?’ She wondered briefly why she wanted to know.
‘Assessing other practices, advising the government.’
No mention of family. A wife. A life outside work. But, then, why would he tell her anything about his private life? She’d given up any claims to that when she’d vanished from his family home in the middle of the night.
He retrieved a smartphone from his jacket pocket. Mim noticed the lush cobalt blue silk lining of his suit. His clothing alone could probably fund another month of Skye’s wages. Then he looked gingerly up at the Tassie-free spot.
‘Let’s get down to business. The sooner we start, the sooner I can leave—and I get the feeling that’s what we both want. First question: Why Dana’s Drop-In? It’s an unconventional name for a medical centre.’
I’m so not ready for this. Hauling in a deep breath, Mim resigned herself to the first of what she knew would be thousands of questions about her work, her strategy, business plan and practice. But the first simple question burned into her heart. Hopefully the others wouldn’t be so difficult to answer. ‘It’s named after my mother, Dana.’
‘Yes.’