She pointed to the development over on the hill. ‘Fifty houses going up, should bring in more patients. I hope. I could do with them.’
‘Problems?’
‘Nothing I can’t deal with.’
‘I’m sure you’ll be fine. You always were. With or without me. You were never afraid of tackling things head on. Apart from when it mattered.’
‘Like you’d have listened.’
‘Like I had a chance.’ He turned briefly to face her. Granite. Immovable. That steadfastness had been one of the things that had drawn her to him. And one of the reasons she’d left. Immovable might have bordered on criminally sexy, but not when it trampled over her dreams.
Brushing over the brutal loaded statement about their past, and the unanswered questions zipping in the air between them, Mim glanced at her watch. She didn’t have time to tackle this, or a painful trip down memory lane. Or anywhere that involved Connor, her bleak past history of failed relationships or a distraction from her current path.
Where was Dr Singh? It didn’t bode well that he was late. She stuck out her hand to wish Connor on his way. ‘I’m not sure why you’re here but, as you can see, I’m busy. I have a meeting right about now. So perhaps we could catch up another time?’ In another three decades? Millennia?
‘I have business here, at Dana’s Drop-In. I’m from the health board. Matrix Fund.’ He stuck a black and white business card into her outstretched hand. The interest in his eyes was replaced by something akin to amusement. No doubt at her flustering and her predicament. ‘Seems we’ve come full circle, Mim. Only this time I’m in your space, ruffling feathers.’
‘The health board? You followed your father and gave up medicine?’
‘I just moved sideways.’ He flicked his head as if a fly, or something extremely unimportant, was irritating him. ‘No matter, I’m here.’
Her spine prickled. No way. Not only did she know his face intimately, but she knew every inch of his body, every divine part of it. And had just about managed to expel it from her memory. And now it would be here, taunting her. ‘Seriously? You’re here to assess me?’
She glanced around hopefully for secret TV cameras. Then realised, with a sorry thud, that it wasn’t a set-up, someone’s idea of a bad joke. It was real. Painfully, gut-wrenchingly real. Heat rushed back into her cheeks.
What an unholy mess. A jilted lover was here to decide her future. A jilted lover with radically different views about the provision of community medicine. She believed in flexibility and choice. He believed in routine and regimented processes.
A jilted lover she’d run out on with no real explanation—no doubt deepening the rift between him and his domineering father. It had seemed logical back then when she’d thought she’d never encounter them again. Logical and rational and based on … fear.
All coming back to bite her. She threw his card onto the desk. ‘I know who you are already, I don’t need this.’
‘I thought you might need reminding.’ He glared at her.
As if I could ever forget. ‘What about Dr Singh? What happened to your practice?’
‘Dr Singh is sick. And I sold my share of the practice.’ He ticked his answers off on his damned distinguished fingers. The last time she’d focused on them they’d been tiptoeing down her abdomen, promising hours of pleasure. Now they were tiptoeing through her worst nightmare.
‘So now you work with Daddy? Thinking about taking over the board when he retires? Figures.’
‘My future is not your concern. My secretary sent an email through to you last night, explaining. And for the record, I didn’t know you’d be here. I didn’t ask to come. I was sent.’
‘Well, for the record, I expect you to give me a fair assessment, despite our past. I didn’t get the email, I’m afraid. I’ve been busy.’ Mim looked over to the dust-covered computer, a reject from the ark, and decided not to mention it took twenty minutes to warm up. Emails were patchy, internet more so out here in the sticks.
Connor glanced again at the shiny white blotch in the middle of the yellowing ceiling. ‘Busy? Yes. Plotting ways to influence me? Bribery? Corruption? Not to mention … what was it, women’s wicked ways? I seem to remember you were quite good at those.’ Heat flared in his eyes.
God. He had heard. And enjoyed seeing her squirm now too, no doubt. That knot in her stomach tightened like a noose. ‘It was a joke.’
‘You couldn’t afford me anyway.’
He quirked an eyebrow, the ghost of a daring smile on his lips. And he was right. She couldn’t afford him. He’d always been way out of her league.
Forget bribery. Whacking him seemed a much more attractive alternative. Either that or killing him and stashing his body.
‘Couldn’t I just wait until Dr Singh gets better?’
‘You might be waiting a long time. He’s having emergency cardiac surgery. Don’t worry, I excel at being impartial, Mim.’
‘Don’t I know it.’ Sex with Connor might have been legendary, but she’d never really believed he’d trusted her enough to let her in. He certainly hadn’t ever really listened to her.
‘If I don’t think you make the grade, I’ll tell you. And remember, I’m assessing accounts, equipment, procedures. Not you.’
‘So there’s no way out.’
‘You could withdraw your application.’ He glanced round her admin office with sheer disdain. ‘But I don’t think you’d want to do that.’
Though she had grasped control and ended their relationship all those years ago, he held the trump cards now whichever way she turned. She had to make the best job of it and pray he’d see past their break-up and the paintwork. His gaze travelled the length of her, sending unbidden shocks of heat through her body. Nerves? Or something more dangerous?
Ridiculous. She’d submerged any feelings for him over the years. Downgraded their passionate affair to a casual fling, a summer of wild, heavenly madness—once she’d nursed her bruised heart back to health again.
So far all her experiences of unswerving love had ended in heartbreak. Getting over losing Connor Wiseman had been hard. But possible. Just. Getting over the death of her mother had taken a little longer. And she had no intention of inviting that kind of intensity of feeling again.
She shrugged. ‘It looks like I’m stuck with you.’
‘Guess so. Lucky you.’ He rocked back on the heels of his leather brogues. Smug didn’t come close. ‘Lucky me.’
She swallowed the scream of frustration in her throat, and dropped her skirt hem, which she’d subconsciously wrung into a tight clutch of crumpled fabric. Possibly in lieu of his neck. ‘How long will all this take?’
‘Three months.’
‘That’s ridiculous.
