did get one interview earlier this week,’ she admitted, cringing inside as she recalled the smarmy manner of the man who’d interviewed her. No way would she take that job, even if it was offered to her.
‘Oh? Who with?’
‘A small car-repair company in Alexandria.’
Sylvia’s nose wrinkled. ‘Surely you could do better than that.’
‘I was hoping to, but times are tough.’
‘I’ll ask Ethan to find out if any doctor he knows requires a full-time receptionist,’ Sylvia said kindly. ‘Not that I want you to go. I’m really going to miss you. Ethan will too. He just doesn’t know what a gem we found in you. You’re always so willing to work back. Most pretty young things would be out of here like a shot on a Friday night.’
‘I’m not that young, Sylvia.’
‘Which is another thing I don’t understand—how you got to be twenty-five years old without some lucky man snapping you up as well.’
‘I guess I’m just not the type men snap up,’ Abby said, smiling wryly as she glanced up at Sylvia. Her smile faded when she found that Ethan had come out of his rooms and was standing in the middle of the waiting room watching her, a drily cynical amusement in his cold blue eyes.
You’re right there, darling, they seemed to say. You’re the type men take to bed, not to the altar.
Resentment at his ongoing and unjustified assessment of her character sent her nostrils flaring and her heart thudding angrily. Who in hell did he think he was, judging her like that, and on such superficial evidence?
Abby was well aware that she hadn’t been behind the door when God gave out looks. But she’d never been a flaunter of her various feminine attributes, or a flirt. And she had only had one lover in her life!
Admittedly she’d dressed and acted a bit more provocatively during her months as Dillon’s girlfriend—he’d liked her in tight tops and short skirts and skimpy bikinis, and she’d been too besotted to deny him anything. He hadn’t minded other men looking at her either, had seemed to enjoy their wanting what he had.
But nowadays she played down her sex appeal, using no make-up and wearing her long honey-brown hair in a simple plait most of the time. She never highlighted her full mouth with lipstick and did her best to keep her smiles to a minimum after her sleazy landlord had told her that her cool grey eyes took on a ‘come hither’ sparkle whenever she smiled.
‘Is there something I can do for you, Doctor?’ she asked, congratulating herself on the coolly delivered question.
He arched a cooler eyebrow back at her. ‘Just three letters to type, thank you, Miss Richmond. After that, you can go home.’
Sylvia made an exasperated sound. ‘For goodness’ sake, when are you two going to start calling each other by your first names?’
When hell freezes over, Abby thought tartly.
‘Miss Richmond would not appreciate my being familiar with her—would you, Miss Richmond?’
Their eyes clashed and Abby saw the mockery in his. She decided that two could play that game. ‘I think a certain decorum is called for during surgery hours. Of course, if Dr Grant wants me to call him Ethan after hours, then he only has to say so.’ Her steely gaze was drily challenging, but it didn’t faze the robot one bit.
‘I think we’ll keep the status quo for now,’ he countered without turning a hair. ‘Shouldn’t you be off, Sylvia? It’s getting late.’
Exasperation was written all over his sister. ‘One day, Ethan,’ she muttered as she stalked out, banging the door behind her.
Abby hoped that she’d be around to see this unlikely comeuppance. But she doubted it. Ethan Grant couldn’t be emotionally hurt because he didn’t feel.
Or did he?
Sylvia’s earlier accusation that he was still getting over some woman named Vanessa popped back into Abby’s head. She stared at him, wondering if that could explain his attitude towards her. Had he been jilted once by some pretty young woman? Was she still embittered years later?
Abby could appreciate how that might happen. She herself knew that it would be many years before she got over what Dillon had done to her. But she’d never attributed such sensitivity to the male sex, and especially not to a man like Ethan Grant, who didn’t seem to have a sensitive bone in his body.
‘Do I have a pimple on my nose, Miss Richmond?’ Ethan Grant asked archly. ‘You’re staring at me.’
‘Sorry, Doctor. I wasn’t really staring at you. I was off in another world.’
‘Not a pleasant one, by the look on your face.’
‘No,’ she agreed drily. Memories of Dillon and what he’d done never inspired her to do the Highland Fling.
‘You’re not the most communicative female, are you?’ he said, a flash of irritation crossing his normally impassive face. ‘Here. Make sure you post all the letters on your way home,’ he said as he handed over the small tape recorder, then whirled to stride back into his room, his white coat flapping rather angrily around his legs.
Abby stared after him with rounded eyes, aware that she’d just seen Ethan Grant not quite his usual, coolly composed self.
What had disturbed his equilibrium? she puzzled. His earlier argument with Sylvia? Surely not his discovering that his latest ladyfriend wanted more of him than the occasional dinner date. He’d been coldly contemptuous about that.
No, it had been something to do with her. Probably her staring at him. He hadn’t liked that one bit. He also hadn’t liked her not revealing what lay behind her preoccupation.
Well, that’s too bad, Abby thought caustically as she settled down behind her computer to begin typing up the letters.
She hadn’t typed more than a heading when a bitter smile tugged at her mouth. God, she could just imagine Ethan Grant’s reaction if she’d told him she was thinking about her bastard of an ex-boyfriend, and how his betrayal had sent her to prison for four years—four long, hard, soul-destroying years.
Abby didn’t think that what had happened to the dear doctor via the hands of that Vanessa woman would match what Dillon had put her through. If anyone had the right to be bitter and wary about the opposite sex, it was Abigail Rose-Maree Richmond!
CHAPTER TWO
ABBY was just beginning the second letter when she remembered the other letter—the one she’d forgotten to give to Ethan.
All the mail had been delivered extra late that day, after Dr Grant had started seeing patients. Not that he ever opened the mail himself, unless it was marked ‘Confidential’ or ‘Private’.
Such an occurrence was rare. Most letters sent to the surgery were either cheques for unpaid accounts, general enquiries from other doctors, or advertising mail from various pharmaceutical and medical companies. But there was one letter that Friday which Abby thought the doctor might want to see personally.
