London's Most Eligible Doctor Page 2

  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.

  His full lips opened into a broad smile. There was a little gap between his front teeth that was... Ooh, mój boże... It was sexy! Lina hadn’t felt anything close to even a hint of desire for months—okay fine, longer—and now twice in the space of an hour? Her giddy nerve endings were fighting her very best poker face for supremacy.

  What was he doing being all good-looking and thirty-something anyway? She’d thought Dr. Cole Manning would look more—more academic, have furrows in his brow and maybe some white hair. A big shock of it. Who had put that dimple on his cheek when he smiled? That thing was about as close to irresistible as it got. And on top of that a puppy? Life was testing her. Hard.

  Lina stopped herself from chewing on her lip. And ogling. It could come across as flirtatious. She didn’t do relationships. Not now—and she certainly didn’t do flirting. Particularly at job interviews.

  “I hope you’re not trying to find another project—another success story. No headlines to be made here, I’m afraid.”

  Did his jaw just twitch? Hard to tell. Maybe she’d hit a sore point. Well, too bad. This time of day was normally when she took a first-class nap. Then again, she’d been taking a few too many of those lately.

  “Why’s that? What’s so bad about your story?” he challenged.

  Uh. Apart from the totally obvious fact that she’d never dance again? She held her cane out between them. “It’s a bit too late for a full recovery.”

  He let the words hang between them for a moment. She liked that he didn’t offer her the over-sympathetic expressions she’d had from all of the hospital staff when she’d been in recovery. The piteous looks had made her blood boil. She wasn’t someone to be pitied. She was someone who...

  Who...

  Well, that was as yet to be decided, wasn’t it?

  Lina shifted her position as the wind dropped out of her sails. She didn’t exactly know who she was these days. All she knew for sure was what she wasn’t—a ballerina.

  “I don’t think I’d be much good at delivering messages quickly for you.”

  “Lina, I’m pleased to inform you En Pointe is part of the modern era. We receive and deliver our messages by telephone—not foot messenger these days.” And there came that slow smile again—like the sun coming out from beneath a cloud. Warming, wrapping round her like a protective blanket.

  She considered him skeptically. Why was he doing this? Interviewing her—the least likely candidate for the job?

  “And we have the latest in ergonomic chairs ready and waiting to be whirled in.” He gave her a playful smile and showed off his chair’s three-sixty spin. “If whirling in wheelie chairs between taking calls is your thing.”

  She lifted an eyebrow and gave him a “yeah, right” look.

  “And, of course, a whole lot of other things you are familiar with.” Cole’s face turned serious as he began to rattle off the seemingly endless list of injuries a ballet dancer—any dancer—could come across on any given day, at any given moment. Just. Like. Her.

  He rose and crossed to a table where coffee and tea supplies were in abundance. Was that how he fueled himself?

  “You’re Polish, right? So I presume you take coffee?”

  She nodded.

  “How do you take it?”

 
“White—no, black.” Her eyes caught his as she heard herself say, “I like both.”

  She wasn’t talking about coffee anymore.

  Heat instantly began to sear Lina’s cheeks and she forced herself to look away. Anywhere but at Cole. He was obviously mixed race and—słodkie niebiosa—he’d turned out perfectly. Not that she was attracted to him or anything. She was more used to being surrounded by gorgeous men at work than not. It had just...been a while.

  She watched as he flicked the switch on the kettle before he opened a packet—definitely from a specialty shop—and poured a healthy pile of grounds directly into a waiting cafetière, grinned and gave her a wink. Measuring didn’t seem to be his thing.

  “I hope you like it strong.”

  Her tummy fluttered.

  Er...what was that? She didn’t have tummy flutters. She had—well, she wasn’t quite sure what she had but she wasn’t a schoolgirl with strings of pastel-colored butterflies dancing gaily around her insides. She was a woman on the verge of figuring out what to do with the whole rest of her entire life now that all her hopes and dreams had careened straight over the horizon.

  “So, tell me more about this job. Nine to five and see you later, boss man?”

  “Something like that. Here, have some biscuits.” Cole tossed her the packet. Guess formality wasn’t his thing, either. Refreshing after years of ballet where every breath she’d taken, every gesture she’d made, everything had been based on exacting tradition.

  Cole settled himself back into his chair after handing her a mug of coffee. “It’s pretty straightforward. Answering the phones, checking clients in...” He pointedly looked at his coffee. “Making sure the milkman has come.”

  “You have a milkman?” The information brought an unchecked smile to her lips. She’d grown up in a small village where the milkman, the baker and butcher had still been everyday sights. Everyday jobs.

  “Sure do.” Cole grinned back. “Why? Were you a milkmaid in your past?”

  “No.” The smile abruptly tightened into a grimace. Her best friend from school had followed in her mother’s footsteps and milked her father’s dairy herd. They made cheese and, on special occasions, ice cream—but mostly it was delicious, creamy milk and very, very hard work which, by all accounts, she still did.

  Lina had led a different life. Her parents had scrimped and saved and sacrificed so that their daughter could pursue her dream of becoming a ballerina.

  Which one of them was happier now? she wondered.

  She saw Cole watching her intently. Best to keep on track. Trips down memory lane weren’t of any use now. “The job?”

  “Right. The job.” Cole had to stop himself from physically shaking his head to put himself back in the moment. He’d been outright staring and was pretty sure Lina had caught him at it. He doubted he’d disguised it as an interested-physician look. It had been a bald and outright I-wish-I-knew-more-about-you look. He cleared his throat.

  “As I said, it’s pretty straightforward. It doesn’t pay a high salary, but if you’re happy to have a trial run—a week to start with to see if you’re interested and then three months before we sign a full contract—we open at nine a.m. I’d expect you at eight.” He named a figure and noticed Lina’s eyes widen ever so slightly. It wouldn’t put her in designer heels but it would pay her rent. The last time he’d checked, box-office staff at the City of London Ballet were receiving more an hour than members of the corps de ballet. Everyone needed to make a living, and fallen prima ballerinas were no different.

  “So?”

  Lina still hadn’t said anything. She took a sip of her coffee, her face unreadable.

  “And if after one day I decide this isn’t for me?”

  “We hire someone else. Simple as...”

  “Simple as what?”

  Cole laughed. “I don’t know. I heard someone cool on television say it and thought I’d have a go. Clearly, I’m not down with the hipsters.”

  Lina took a bite of biscuit, hand curled protectively in front of her mouth as she chewed, rather than risk a reply. He didn’t need to be in with any crowd. Cole Manning was in a class of his own. She closed her eyes as the sugary sweetness of the biscuit melted into nothing on her tongue. It tasted like home. The one place she couldn’t go until she could show her parents she’d been worth the effort.

  She looked at Cole again. He seemed genuine enough. As did the job offer.

  A receptionist job. Well... She tried to keep her dejected sigh silent. At least she knew she was physically up to it. Talking to people—talking to dancers—all day might not come so easily.

  She looked away from him, teasing at a pile of invisible flower petals on the floor. She didn’t want him to see how much she needed the job. Her foot automatically shaped itself into an elegant turnout as it swiped the “petals” to the side of the room with a controlled semicircle of movement. That much she could do.

  “Cole!” A woman appeared at the doorway and gave the frame a quick double knock. “We need you in Reception right away.”

  It was then that Lina tuned into the noises outside Cole’s office. There was the sound of a young woman crying. Periodically broken by an occasional heated wail. She knew that feeling. She knew it down to her bones.

  “All right, Lina? Are we good?” Cole rose quickly to his feet, moving the puppy’s basket to the floor.

  “So I already have the job?” She couldn’t help but let some cynicism sneak into her voice. This whole thing was sounding more and more like some sort of setup.

  “Let me check what’s happening out there and then see how we go, shall we?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “IT HURTS!” THE teenager’s face was a picture of pure unadulterated agony. She was on the floor, knees slightly bent, back hunched over, and a wash of tears wetting her cheeks.

  “It looks like it hurts,” Cole agreed. He was never one of these doctors who brushed away the pain. If it hurt it hurt. Plain as. Apart from which the poor girl’s foot was already thick with heat and swelling. If he had to guess? A serious sprain—level two. A possible tear in the ATFL? Nothing life-altering, but it would certainly keep her out of pointe shoes for a couple of months, and for a young girl like this—thirteen or fourteen—it would feel like a lifetime. He looked up at the mother, who also had tears in her eyes. He raised his eyebrows in lieu of asking what had happened.

  “I dropped her before we reached the sofa.”

  “You mean you carried her in here?” Cole was impressed. It was a bit of a hike from the pavement.

  “We were just about there and...” Her hand flew to her mouth in horror.

  “You did well. No additional harm done. Just a bit of ego bruising, from the looks of things.” He nodded to the mother before quickly returning his attention to her daughter. “You’re all right, darlin’, aren’t you?” The teen gave an unconvinced nod before Cole looked back at her mother. “Shall we get her up and into an exam room?”

  “Please. I am so— The day’s just been...I tried...”

  Cole rose, put a hand on the woman’s shoulder and gave her a reassuring smile. Parents were often more traumatized than their child. From the looks of the number pinned on her daughter’s chest she’d been at the London Ballet Grand Prix. The biggest day on a young ballerina’s calendar. There would be no scholarships or job offers for her this year.

  “Let me help. Can I have your arm?”

  Cole looked down at the sound of Lina’s softly accented voice. She was totally focused on the girl.

  “What piece were you doing?” Lina instinctively sought to distract the girl from her injury.

  Cole moved round to help Lina raise the girl from the ground but watched curiously to see how she dealt with a traumatized dancer. They shared common ground. It could be useful.

 
“I was doing the ‘Spring Concerto.’” The girl only just held back a sob.

  “Vivaldi?” Lina’s face lit up. “What a wonderful choice. And your contemporary piece?” She sat back on her heels and looked at the girl seriously. “You did have a contemporary piece, right?”

  “It was ‘Spiegel im Spiegel.’”

  “Are you kidding? That’s one of my favorites. I used to dance to that one a lot.”

  “Used to?” The girl swiped away some of her tears, missing Lina’s microscopic wince.

  “What’s your name?” Lina asked.

  “Vonnie.”

  “Beautiful.” She tucked an arm around the girl’s small waist and began to raise her into a wheelchair she must have brought in. Resourceful. Cole found himself beginning to rethink the “just a favor” part of his agreement. Maybe she would be a good hire.

  “I’m Lina. Shall we get you to X-ray?”

  It was all Cole could do not to laugh. Lina didn’t have the slightest clue where X-ray was and how she’d magicked a wheelchair out of nowhere was impressive...a picture of confidence. And, more importantly, she’d engaged Vonnie enough to begin to stem the flow of tears. Impressive for someone who hadn’t seemed keen to spend her day with working dancers.

  “Actually, can you put any weight on it?” Cole was the doctor here. Probably wise to take charge of this scenario.

  Vonnie wrapped an arm round Lina’s shoulder and, with Cole’s help, heaved herself up.

  “Have you already put ice on it? Kept it elevated on the ride over here?”

  “Yes,” Vonnie snuffled. “As soon as it ha-ha-happened!”

  Uh-oh. Those tears were back again.

  “Lina, I’ll take Vonnie to X-ray, all right?”

  The young girl twisted round, her face wreathed in anxiety, one of Lina’s hands clutched in her own. “No! Please don’t make her go. She understands me.”

  Lina looked over at Cole and gave him the Polish version of a Gallic shrug.