The Doctor In The Executive Suite. Tina Beckett

       Chapter One

      Conjugation of the word drone: I drone. You drone. He, she, it drones.

      And boy could he drone. On and on and on.

      Chelsea Serrano propped her chin on her palm, trying to tune out her date’s voice as she gazed at her luxurious surroundings. Elegant couples filled the tables around them with subdued conversation, while soft music and lights gave the room a sense of intimacy that belied its size.

      So this was how the other half lived.

      Thirty years old and fresh off her surgical rotation, Chelsea had barely gotten to see any of London, much less the famed Chatsfield hotel. So when her flatmate offered to set her up on a blind date with renowned architect Marty Brimmer she’d agreed. After all, she’d be dining at a Michelin-starred restaurant and conversing with a successful, intelligent man. How bad could it be?

      Bad. Very, very bad.

      Her attention shifted back to her date, and she did her best to concentrate on the individual words this time, instead of letting them gush past her in an endless stream.

      ‘...so I decided to base the whole structure on the Pythagorean Theorem.’ He flipped his champagne-colored napkin open with a deft shake of his wrist and settled it onto his lap. ‘You know what that is right?’

       Don’t roll your eyes, Chelsea.

      One thing was for sure. She was going to have one less friend once she got back to her flat.

      She blinked a couple of times and feigned interest. ‘The Pythagorean Theorem. Is that the a² + b² =c² one?’

      How could you design an entire building on a single mathematical equation? Why would you even want to, for that matter?

      Marty’s brows came together, and his chest inflated, evidently not happy that he had one less thing to explain to her. ‘Yes, that’s the basic premise. But there’s so much more to the theorem than a simple equation.’

      ‘Oh really?’

      Did she look that pathetic? It wasn’t like she hadn’t taken some serious math and chemistry courses on her way to becoming a doctor.

      She gave an internal sigh and studied her date once again. At six-feet-two with a whip-thin frame and thick black glasses, he didn’t match her mental image of an architect. And he most certainly didn’t match Lila’s description of him.

      ‘He’s dreamy. Tall. Self-assured and successful. He’ll give you just the shot of confidence you need.’

      If this was a shot of confidence, she’d hate to know her flatmate’s idea of an arrogant prick. Because she could think of two words that fit that particular description to a tee. Marty. Brimmer.

      With only a couple months remaining before she returned to the US, this was probably one of the few chances she’d get to take in some of the local sights before boarding her plane. Although the only sight she’d seen so far tonight was the rhythmic twitch of Marty’s black mustache as the mouth beneath it pumped out word after word.

      Worst blind date ever.

      And the longest. They hadn’t even gotten their appetizers yet.

      She lifted her cut glass goblet and took her first sip of wine, welcoming the way the ruby-colored liquid slid down her throat. She wasn’t driving, so what the hell. Maybe she could drink her way into oblivion after an hour or two. A girl could hope, anyway.

      Having Marty pick her up at the flat had not been her smartest idea, because as it stood now, he’d be driving her back there at the end of the evening. Unless she could figure out a way to take a taxi, instead.

      As it was, she wondered if he’d even care. So far, he knew her name and occupation. But other than that, he’d not asked a single question about her background or her work. Or even about where she was from in the States.

      She knew a whole lot about Marty, though. And not from her flatmate either. No, he’d told her all about himself in excruciating detail. He was rich. His black Jaguar was his most prized possession. Oh yeah, he had two sisters, neither of them as intelligent as him—although admittedly he hadn’t said it quite as baldly as that. Just that one was a housewife who had no ambition and the other was an actuary.

      Boring as hell, Marty had pronounced.

      Yeah? Bore... boar. Homonyms that meant completely different things. And yet, she was pretty sure that Marty fit both of those words. And a few others she was better off not naming.

      And what was she doing thinking about conjugations and homonyms, when she was supposed to be on a wildly romantic date? Some romance.

      Lila had even found another place to sleep for the night. Just in case Chelsea wanted to bring him back to the flat and...‘you know’. Her friend had

Скачать книгу