Survival Guide to Dating Your Boss. Fiona McArthur

‘When people don’t cripple me with gnomes, yes.’

      She bit her lip and blushed delightfully. ‘I’m sorry. And I didn’t mention it at work.’

      He couldn’t pretend that wasn’t a bonus. Not the most glorious way to introduce the new consultant. ‘I’m over it.’ Actually, he was—surprising even himself—and Matilda looked happy to hear it. He let her have a full-blown smile so she could see he was telling the truth. ‘I do have some sense of humour. Eventually.’

      She looked down and smiled at the steps and he felt a frown on his forehead. Had he sounded self-indulgent? Forgotten how to talk trivia to a woman? Not usually. Maybe it was just this woman.

      He forced himself on. ‘So you like to swim in the mornings. And sing.’ Her eyes lit up again, like they had in Theatre last night, and they smiled at each other like two loons. Then he remembered they worked together and he needed to keep distance. He glanced around at the people in the park. No one was looking.

      There was an awkward silence and he patted the rotunda they sat on. ‘Do you sit here often?’

      She glanced around, encompassing the grass of the park, the sea, and finally the rotunda. ‘When it’s empty. I can see right out over the ocean. In the spring they have white daisies around the bottom. I pretend it’s my castle and I’m a princess.’

      Not too far-fetched even for his prosaic imagination. She looked like he’d always imagined a fairytale princess looked. He’d never had a thing for tiny blond-haired dolls, always dark, willowy Rapunzel-type ones, and red was close enough.

      Problem was she so easily enmeshed him, like those nets hanging off the boats down on the beach, and he had to disentangle himself. A liaison with a junior midwife was the last thing he needed.

      He just hadn’t wanted misunderstandings at work and especially when his aunt thought so much of her. Really his only reason for being here.

      He finished his breakfast in a hurry and stood up. ‘Sorry to rush off.’

      ‘No. You go. I’ll stay a little longer. I often eat down here when I’m working the late shift.’

      Tilly watched him go with his strong brown legs eating up the distance and the incline to his aunt’s house. He didn’t look back and his spine stayed straight and tall as he moved like a well-oiled machine, though actually he was a bit of a machine, with his running and his rules for the ward and the world. Marcus The Machine. A control freak. Which was sad.

      Yet somehow she didn’t think he’d planned the invitation to have breakfast with him. She smiled to herself. She’d bet that had come out of nowhere.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      WHEN Tilly walked into work that afternoon she didn’t even get a handover. Gina shooed her straight through to Birthing as she arrived and briefed her on the way. ‘There’s a teenage mum in birth suite four. I’d like you to look after her.’

      ‘Yes, please.’ Tilly was happy with that and Gina grinned at her enthusiasm.

      ‘India Ray. Her mum’s in South Australia and the boyfriend’s outside on the street at the moment. She has a nasty history of abuse and of course she’s terrified of the birth and anyone touching her. The seniors will cover the ward until she’s delivered so concentrate on her. She’s had her monitoring done, so you can see the trace in the chart—all’s well there.’

      Tilly nodded, she could almost hear her mum’s voice, ‘If a girl’s had a rotten childhood, past abuse can seriously affect the way she labours.’ It had been a passion of her mother’s that she’d passed on to Tilly, to be especially supportive and aware that labours could suddenly stop when women felt vulnerable.

      Privacy and actual physical contact were huge issues.

      ‘Good luck.’ Gina left her to finish handover with the others and Tilly knocked on the door and slipped into the darkened room. She could hear rapid breathing coming from the bed.

      ‘Hello, there, India.’ Tilly peered through the dimness and waited for her eyes to adjust. ‘I’m Tilly. I’m the midwife looking after you this afternoon.’

      There was no response from the young woman on the bed. Tilly tried again. ‘How’s it going?’