HE WASN’T GOING to come.
Ivy surveyed the conference room filled with porters, nursing staff, ward clerks and doctors, all chattering and drinking copious cups of coffee before the first session started in less than two minutes. And why the heck, with a room full of attendees who looked interested and invested in learning about social media, she was shamefully disappointed that she couldn’t see Mr Finelli’s famous backside in the foray, she couldn’t fathom. Only that she now appeared to be locked in some sort of battle of wills with the doctor and she’d been looking forward to showcasing her side and proving her very valid points. The man may have been infuriatingly narcissistic but she’d believed him a worthy adversary. Clearly not. Typical that he hadn’t bothered to turn up.
Mind you, with those dark Mediterranean eyes, that proud haughty jaw and thoughts of what was under those scrubs, it was probably a good thing. And it would be hard to concentrate on her talk with that glower searing a hole in her soul.
‘Okay, Miss Leigh …’ Becca handed her the folders of hand-outs for the participants. ‘One each and a few to spare. Morning tea’s at ten-thirty. Catering will deliver at about ten-fifteen.’
‘And lunch? You know how these things go. If they don’t get regularly fed and watered they get grouchy.’
‘One o’clock. In the Steadman Room. Oh, and the laptop’s all set up with the projector, you’re good to go. Good luck.’
Excellent. Everything was running perfectly, apart from a niggle of a headache. ‘Thanks, and, Becca, please, please, drop the formality and call me Ivy. I know the last incumbent had you calling him sir, but I do things differently.’
‘Okay. If you’re su …’ Her assistant’s face grew a deep shade of puce as her gaze fixed on something over Ivy’s shoulder. ‘Oh … Just, oh.’
‘Are you okay?’
‘Oh, yes. Just peachy. Such a shame he’s a break-your-heart bad boy.’ Becca grinned, and moved forward as if levitated and as if breaking your heart was some kind of spectator sport and he was the numero uno world champion title-holder. Which he probably was. ‘Mr Finelli, please grab a coffee first and then take a seat. Let me show you where the cups are.’
Great. For some reason Ivy’s heart jigged a little. First-time nerves, probably. She was always jittery at the beginning of a workshop. There was so much to think about … technology not working, correct air-conditioning levels—too hot and everyone fell asleep, too cold and no one could concentrate—snacks arriving on time, holding everyone’s attention, keeping track …
Suddenly he was walking towards her. She imagined Becca would think him hot, all brooding chocolate-fudge eyes and unruly dark hair. But Ivy had switched off her sexy radar years ago when she’d learned that men wanted their women perfect, and that she didn’t fit that bill. Since then she’d watched her flatmates have their hearts broken and her mother reduced … just less, diminished somehow … because of a man—and Ivy had decided she wasn’t going there. Give her books and her career any day. There was something perfect about a beginning, a middle and an end of a novel—a whole. Complete. And, truth be told, reading was just about all she had the energy to do after a day’s work.
Unlike the other consultants, he’d adopted informal dress—no suit and tie for Dr Delicious of peachy-bottom fame. Just a white T-shirt over formidable shoulders, with dark jeans hugging slender hips. The same uniform she’d seen on every youth in Florence when she’d been there on a weekend break. She imagined him with dark aviator sunglasses on, perched on a moped like something out of a nineteen-fifties movie. Then her mind wandered back to that picture of him naked, and the knowledge of exactly what was under that uniform made her feel strangely uncomfortable. Heat shimmied through her. It was unseasonably warm in here—a spring heatwave, perhaps? Too many bodies in such a small room? She must ask someone to fiddle with the air-con at once.
Where was she? Ah, yes, keeping … what? Keeping track. Focus.
‘Good morning, Miss Leigh. And so it begins.’ Oh … and then there was the accent. Kind of cute, she supposed. If you were Becca and easily taken in by deep honeyed tones melting over your skin. She let it wash right over her, along with the irritated vibe that emanated from his every pore.
‘Mr Finelli, glad you could eventually join us. I hear you kicked up a bit of a fuss about it all, though.’
A frown appeared underneath the dark curls that fell over his forehead. ‘The HR director is as enthusiastic about this as you are, it seems. Does no one in this hospital have any common sense, Miss Leigh?’
‘That is exactly what I’m trying to engender with this course, but some of our staff seem to want to flaunt themselves at every opportunity. And, please, call me Ivy.’
‘Ivy, ah, yes. But only if you call me Matteo. Or if you can’t manage that, Matt will do. Ivy.’ He smiled as if something other than this conversation was amusing him. He took a sip of black coffee and winced. ‘Dio, more poison. Why is coffee so bad here?’
More poison? What in hell did that mean.? Uh-oh, she could guess. ‘Poison ivy? Really? Is that the best you can do? I’ve been hearing that since I was in kindergarten. I expected better … more … from you, Mr Finelli. Oh, sorry, Matteo. Please, do try harder.’
He put the cup into his saucer, clearly much more insulted by his drink than her words. ‘I was just seeing what it would take to wind you up—not a lot, it seems.’
She played it cool, ignoring the fluster in her gut. ‘Oh, make no mistake, I’m not wound up. Just disappointed by your performance so far.’
The smile he gave her was wicked and it tickled her deep inside. ‘Oh, trust me, Miss Leigh, no woman has ever been disappointed by my performance.’
Heat hit her cheeks as she realised she’d been drawn in and chewed up—worse, he was flirting and she could barely admit to herself that she was a little intrigued by someone so sure of himself. Her heart beat wildly in her chest and she willed it to slow. This sort of battleground tactic was way out of her league—flirting wasn’t something she was used to. A cold, hard stare and feigned disinterest had always been enough to keep any potential lovers at bay, that and her refusal to undress in anything other than darkness. Plus a side helping of reservation had helped, and a desire to not end up like her mother.
No way would she let a man have any kind of effect on her … no way would she let this man have any kind of effect on her.
What she needed was to put him on side and a little off balance. She looked at his cup and wondered … maybe if she let him in on her little coffee secret he might just be so taken aback he’d sit quietly at the back of the class and listen, instead of—She could only imagine what he had in store. Creating merry hell about her subject matter. What better way to derail him than by being friendly? She leaned a little closer and whispered, ‘There’s a coffee shop down the road on the corner, Enrico’s, great coffee. I always make sure I get one on my way into work, it keeps me going. I don’t like to offend the catering staff here so I decant it into one of their cups.’
‘And now we have a secret shared. Me, too. And who would have thought you could be so subversive? Maybe there is more to you than I thought.’ His eyes widened and then he winked. ‘Enrico’s a friend, and, yes, his coffee is the best this side of the English Channel. Although that isn’t hard.’
‘No. I guess not.’ Subversive? Subversive? And to her chagrin that thought made her feel damned good. Although it was a stretch even for her imagination—she’d spent the better part of her life working hard and toeing every line she found. Her gaze