To her surprise, he seemed completely oblivious to her discomfort.
‘We won’t have time to talk tomorrow,’ he said flatly, ‘certainly not without Colin and Reg and who knows who else listening in to every word. And if you have questions, we need to get them answered to clear your mind for the morning. You’ll need all your concentration in my theatre. Anyway,’ he added, not giving her time to come up with a solid objection as he pulled his door shut again and the keypad lock clicked shut, ‘we both need to eat, Dr Langley, and we could talk at the same time. Very efficient.’
What could she do but agree, in spite of her automatic reluctance to share a meal with him? Partly it had been the formal way he’d spoken to her as Dr Langley that had made her give in, but that didn’t explain the strange emotions churning inside her.
She was attracted to the man, that’s what it was, she realised as he ushered her into her seat in the little French restaurant in one of the side streets near the hospital. And it had taken her this long to recognise the feeling because it the first time it had happened to her like this.
But, then, Razak Khan was a rather exceptional man…charismatic, powerful, good-looking, courteous…there wasn’t much she couldn’t admire about him. But somehow she understood that this went deeper than a surface appreciation for a handsome successful man…This was…
Nothing, she told herself fiercely as she buried her nose in her menu. This was her boss and if she was ever going to make it up that final rung of the ladder, she was going to have to keep her concentration where it mattered—on the job.
‘So, explain this big scheme to me,’ she invited brightly, and had to hide a wince when she heard how air-headed she sounded.
‘How much do you know?’ he countered, then had to pause when the waiter arrived to take their order, clearly delighted when Razak switched into fluent French.
If she concentrated hard, Lily found she could actually follow what the two of them were saying, and it was evidence of yet another fascinating facet of the man that she’d love to explore. When had he learned French and why? Was it his native language or…
That is not why you’re sitting here, she reminded herself sternly. He asked you a question and now he’s waiting for a reply.
‘How much do I know?’she said. ‘Apart from the fact that Reg hates it, nothing at all.’
‘Wasn’t it explained at your interview?’ he demanded, clearly surprised by her reply.
‘No. Not that I can…’ She paused, suddenly remembering the moment when one of the bean-counters had started to ask her something, only to be talked down by Reg. Had that been the point when she should have found out what Razak was proposing to do? Had that been the moment when Reg had decided that appointing one of the women he so blatantly despised might be the straw that broke the camel’s back as far as Razak’s scheme went?
The more she thought about it, the more likely it seemed.
Without a strong, committed junior on his team…one with the stamina to keep up the pace for long hours at a stretch…the scheme would never get approval, never mind be a success.
A sudden sickening idea burst into her brain. Was that why she’d got the job in the first place? Not because she was the best candidate for the job but because Reg thought she would be a weak and feeble woman?
‘What?’ Razak demanded, breaking into her unpalatable thoughts.
‘What, what?’ she countered, wondering if he was waiting for an answer to another question. She honestly couldn’t remember.
‘I wanted to know if you’d reached a conclusion?’ he asked patiently.
‘A conclusion about what?’ she temporised, hoping he would tell her which part of their conversation she’d missed.
‘Well, you obviously had some sort of an internal debate going on just then, and from the expressions on your face I would guess that there was something said at your interview, but that someone—either Colin or Reg, but most likely Reg—prevented anyone telling you the whole story. So…’ He frowned in concentration, far too close to the truth for her comfort. He really did seem to be able to read her thoughts. ‘You were wondering why he didn’t want you to know. After all, it would strengthen his case to have good surgeons withdrawing their candidacy for the job because they didn’t like what they were being asked to do…No! That’s not it!’ he contradicted himself with a closer look at her face, as though the words were actually written there. ‘You were wondering whether the reason you were offered the job was because the appointment of a woman as my junior would make it less likely that the scheme would be given the go-ahead. You were wondering whether you got the job because you were the weakest candidate rather than the strongest. Am I right?’
‘Spot on,’she agreed through gritted teeth, steam practically coming out of her ears. ‘Just wait till I tell that pompous—’
‘Hey, don’t get mad, get even!’ he suggested, with a wicked grin that made his teeth seem even whiter in the darkened intimacy of their corner of the room.
‘How?’ she demanded, the thought definitely appealing.
‘Prove him wrong,’ he said simply. ‘Be everything you can be so that he has to eat his words not just about women as orthopaedic surgeons but also about the scheme I’m trying to get going.’
‘And about which I still have no idea,’ she pointed out, and it was like letting loose a tidal wave of enthusiasm.
‘It’s a whole new way of managing lists for orthopaedic surgery,’ he said with all the fervour of an evangelist, barely pausing to sample his meal when it arrived. ‘Not new in America, where some surgeons have been doing it for years, or in France, where they also use a similar system, but as far as Britain is concerned…’
‘Mr Khan?’ she interrupted with a touch of impatience.
‘Yes?’ his own impatience was even greater for having been halted in mid-flow.
‘What system are you talking about?’
‘Oh! Yes!’ He threw her a brilliant smile. ‘I forgot to start at the beginning, didn’t I?’
‘Yes, you did, Mr Khan,’ she agreed, for the first time feeling like smiling back.
‘In that case, I apologise, Dr Langley, but I—’
‘Lily,’ she offered, before he could go any further. ‘My name is Lily.’
‘Lily,’ he echoed thoughtfully, tilting his head on one side before shaking it. ‘No, that’s not the flower I was thinking of. I would have said jasmine.’
He’d actually been thinking about her name or…
‘I’m wearing jasmine,’she blurted, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut when she realised she would have to explain. ‘My mother’s called Rose and she named us girls after flowers, too…Lily, Iris, Violet and Marguerite…and for years she’s given us flower-scented toiletries for Christmas and birthday presents. This year mine was—’
‘Jasmine,’ he finished for her, then shocked her to the core by taking her hand in his and bringing her wrist up to his nose. ‘No, nothing there,’ he pronounced, almost seeming disappointed.
‘Too much hand-washing,’ she suggested, to cover the shiver of response that travelled the length of her spine when his dark eyes almost seemed to take inventory of the other places he might search out to find the elusive scent.
‘Ah…you were saying?’ she fumbled as she tugged to retrieve her hand, horrified by how swiftly things had strayed away from the purely businesslike. ‘About the new