“We’re looking for someone with your experience.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He hadn’t ever actually planned to hire her. Just do the interview. That had been as far with the favor as he’d been prepared to go for the director of City of London Ballet. They had a lot of former dancers on staff, but they couldn’t take everyone. Particularly if they weren’t willing.
“What experience would that be, then? In breaking their hip, destroying their life, or both?”
“Reception.” Which she should’ve already known.
“And that involves …” Impatience ran across her face.
For heaven’s sake! Who was interviewing who here anyway? Despite his best efforts, Cole heard his crisp, officious voice come out. “We need someone capable on Reception. Someone who knows about dancers would be a perk.” Depending, of course, upon the level of “perk” Lina would bring to the job.
“I guess that rules me out, then.” Lina arched a brow, daring him to contest her.
Cole could feel the urge to rise to the challenge properly awaken within him. This woman didn’t want a pushover. She wanted combat.
He turned his own accent up a notch. Having a mother who’d grown up a dyed-in-the-wool Southern belle had its advantages. It had been drilled into him for years. The impression you make is everything. What you really feel doesn’t matter a hoot.
He gestured to his office door. It was time to get the balance of this little tête-à-tête back in order. “This isn’t normally how I conduct job interviews, Ms. Keminsky, so if you wouldn’t mind—”
There was a whimper from a small willow basket just inside the doorway and they both looked down. Puppy was looking up at them with his mournful eyes.
Good thing he wasn’t sentimental. The little tricolored ball of fur would already have a name if that were the case. His receptionist—ex-receptionist—had called it Fluffy and there was no chance Cole was going to run around the park calling out that name. Not that keeping it—him—was part of the plan. It was temporary. Right, Puppy? He gave the mutt a grudging nod of thanks. They could, at the very least, work as a team while they were stuck together.
“Right—so now you see why we need a receptionist.”
He pointed at a chair across from his desk and scooped up Puppy’s basket at the same time.
“Why?” Lina asked drolly, folding into the chair. “He no longer likes to answer the phones?”
“He’s broken his leg so he finds the hours too long. On top of which he doesn’t make a very nice cup of tea,” Cole replied.
Lina maintained a neutral expression. She was clearly a woman who didn’t fall for corny lines. As if to confirm his theory, she raised a dubious eyebrow at him, then moved her eyes to the puppy.
Interesting. Not someone who cooed straight off the bat. Now, that he liked. Not to mention being able to spar verbally with someone. Ballerinas … hmm …
Ballerinas had thick and thin skin and it was sometimes impossible to tell which tack to use. Lina definitely didn’t seem as though she needed coddling. Quite the opposite, in fact. While she took in his hodgepodge attempt at a puppy carrier—hey, needs must and all that—Cole took another studied look at her.
She was hands-down beautiful. A bit too thin. Proud. Still had a slight limp after the hip surgery, which really shouldn’t have been there if she’d been doing all the rehab. And obviously resented being here. To hire or not to hire?
His number one motto sprung to mind: It’s up to you. And Lina Keminsky didn’t look like a willing player. This wasn’t a charity. It was a business. A frantically busy one even in the quiet times. And with her chip-on-the-shoulder attitude, he didn’t know if he could offer her the post. Not without making more work for himself.
“Our receptionist found herself a flamenco dancer who could only get work in Spain. He asked her to elope the same day as she got Puppy here. I guess the lure of the Latin lover won out. All of which is to say there’s an urgent need for a receptionist here at the clinic. Comes with a puppy.”
Lina’s fingers drummed along her collarbone, her expression impassive. She never liked to react to things straight away and she could tell Cole was assessing her. A twitch or a frown spotted by the ballet master could’ve knocked her off her career path so she had taught herself to smile or remain expressionless, then deal with the fallout in private. Just like she was trying to do right now. Except …
Right now? Right now it was all she could to keep her fingers from dancing the tarantella, let alone keep her pulse in line.
Her stream of visitors since the accident had gone from steady to trickle to nonexistent. She liked it that way. At least she thought she did.
But a blue-eyed, caramel-skinned and ridiculously long-lashed Dr. Charming, complete with a fluffy puppy in a basket? Unh-unh. No. She hadn’t banked on that.
She looked out the window to the sprawl of sky visible beyond the rooftops. Maybe this was some sort of heavenly intervention. A dark bank of clouds was hunkering in the distance. Hmm.
The day was morphing into something entirely unexpected. Did she wish she’d tamed her hair into something more sophisticated, washed her face, put on something other than her reliable skirt and navy wrap-over?
Yes.
Did she resent her former dance captain for needling her into coming out of her cozy fortress of a flat for a job she didn’t want?
Yes.
Coming along had seemed to be the only way to get everyone off her back. Now that she had, she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to leave without learning a bit more about Cole Manning. And the puppy. It was cute. Mishmash mutt cute. One ear up, one ear down. Forlorn expression on its face. A little bit like looking in the mirror.
She narrowed her eyes at Cole. He was cute, too. But his ears matched. Hmm.
Nah. Nope. She wasn’t going to do it. Now wasn’t the time to open up. She hadn’t even come close to sorting things out for herself and she’d vowed not to let anyone in—let alone renowned Dr. Fancy Dance Clinic Manning—until she could face the world, aka her family, with pride.
Her fingers stilled as her gaze slipped away from Dr. Charming’s expectant gaze. She had been wrong to come. She wasn’t ready. Not yet.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, pressing herself up and out of the chair. “Maybe another time.”
“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong.” Cole leaned back in his chair, hands lacing behind his head. “This is a limited-time-only offer.”
She pressed a hand against the wall to stabilize herself as a hit of dizziness unbalanced her.
The sensation was growing familiar. Food shopping hadn’t exactly been topping her list of things to do. Very little topped her list of things to do these days. What was the point when her entire life’s ambition—not to mention her daily routine for the past twelve years—had disappeared at the end of a poorly executed plié?
A plié! Of all the ways to shatter your dreams into smithereens …
“So what’s on offer, Dancing Doctor? Is this a job with benefits?” The words were out before she could stem them. Oops. She doubted they were printed on his business card. Not that he’d shown her one.
“I doubt anyone who has seen me dance would call me that.”
Maybe not. But he didn’t seem to mind.