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
