around the door again and every fibre of her being tightened back to breaking point.
‘Er...no problem. It is my job, after all.’
It really didn’t require his personal attention. She did this every day of the week without waiting for his approval like an eager pupil expecting a gold star from her teacher for completing her homework.
Instead of ending the conversation and closing the door, he seemed to take it as an invitation to step back inside the room.
‘I don’t mean the tattoo. I’ve seen your work and have no doubt you’ve done a sterling job as usual. I’m talking about putting yourself forward for the dance competition. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye and I appreciate—’
Mollie stopped tidying away her supplies as her world seemed to come screeching to a halt. ‘Pardon me?’
‘The fundraiser, for The Men’s Shed project? Your name was on the list of volunteers...’ The deep frown ploughed through his forehead gave no indication that this was a joke and yet Mollie had an uncontrollable urge to laugh. As if prancing about in sequins before an audience was anything she’d participate in willingly. The very idea was the stuff of nightmares for someone who was self-conscious enough about the way she looked. Never mind that she couldn’t actually dance, the last thing she needed was people judging her with a score card and a sharp tongue.
‘I think someone’s pulling your leg. Or mine.’ This was clearly someone’s idea of a joke and one made at her expense. Her carefully applied make-up and flair for vintage fashion might make it seem as though she were bursting with confidence but that was the trick. That hard shell had been carefully created to protect the fragile ego inside. A dance contest was actually so far out of her comfort zone she’d need a search and rescue team to find her way back from the spotlight.
‘Oh. You’d think people would know better than to mess around with a charity.’ Or to waste the time of a very busy surgeon whose frown had now deepened into more of a scowl and did nothing to stop the current shivers hurdling over her spine.
‘Sorry. Is this your project?’ Even though she was gasping for a cup of tea to settle her nerves, it seemed churlish to chivvy him out of her room now when he’d been sent on a wild goose chase on her behalf.
‘I volunteered to help raise funds but the dancing part was not my idea.’ He winced as though he’d been held at gunpoint and personally forced into tight hot-pink fabric. Now that was something she was sure a lot of people would pay good money to see, her included.
‘And what is this “Shed” exactly?’
‘It’s a community hub where elderly men can socialise and keep active. We need funds to renovate the place and I’d hate to see it fold when it’s already doing so much to help those who might otherwise be isolated from society.’ His ownership of the project and the financial problems it was having softened the hard edge of the man she’d encountered at that fraught staff meeting. It spoke volumes about his personal involvement and commitment, and somehow made him seem more human, more likeable than some of the other bigwigs who often paid little more than lip service to the charities they allegedly supported. Half the time Mollie wondered if it wasn’t more about raising their personal profiles and scoring extra points on their CVs than being charitable.
‘You can put my name down for a couple of tickets for the show. I’d be happy to make a donation.’ No matter how deserving a cause, Mollie would much rather watch than participate. She shouldn’t have much trouble convincing Talia to go as her plus one when she was always going on about her getting out and having some fun these days.
That was easier said than done when you weren’t the blonde-haired, blue-eyed twin with the perfect body and no discernible responsibilities.
‘I’ll be sure to get it in writing this time.’ His self-deprecating smile was unexpected, as was the warm glow that seemed to start in Mollie’s toes and spread steadily throughout the rest of her body.
A lot of the highly skilled, in-demand surgical professionals she’d come across in the workplace had a superiority complex the same size as their impressive list of qualifications and would have ranted and raved about wasting their time. She’d certainly seen evidence of his temper, which would be justified on an occasion where he’d been inconvenienced by some unknown prankster. His understanding that she was an unwitting participant in this made her feel a tad ashamed of her conjecture on his character formed from one emotionally charged disagreement, when that judgement was exactly what terrified her most. It was a shock to discover her greatest fear turned out to be her own biggest personal flaw.
She hated people making assumptions about her, that her tattoos or her clothes somehow defined her as weird, or, worse, that her dedication to her job and her family marked her as a loner. Yet she knew she had a habit of jumping to conclusions about people based on first impressions. It was a defence mechanism that she’d developed over the years to protect herself from anyone else who showed a proclivity towards violence to avoid any more nasty surprises further down the line.
A history including an abusive father, a supposed loving boyfriend who rejected her after seeing her scars for the first time and a series of partners who eventually lost patience when she couldn’t bring herself to sleep with them, made it difficult to trust anything other than her own instincts.
On this occasion she might be proven wrong, but although discovering the possibility Ben was a nicer guy than she’d imagined would explain his popularity with women who weren’t her, it didn’t make her any more willing to participate in this spectacle. She’d conned herself once into believing she should put herself at risk simply to gain the approval of a good-looking boy and paid the price. It would take more than a playboy surgeon to change her mind after all these years.
‘Well, good luck with it.’ She gave him his cue to leave so they could both get back to work and forget this little incident ever happened.
* * *
‘Right. Sorry for wasting your time.’ Ben backed out of the room and only just managed to refrain from swearing in the busy corridor. That hadn’t gone as smoothly as he’d planned. Although he’d been glad to see Carole in good spirits after her surgery his visit to the clinic had left him with more problems than he’d arrived with. Now he was one dancer short for his fundraising event and, in particular, the one he’d seen himself paired with—The Ice Queen. Someone’s idea of a joke was going to cost him time tracking down a new volunteer, not to mention peace of mind.
When he’d seen Nurse Forrester’s name on the list for the forthcoming competition he’d thought she’d finally forgiven him for that outburst the other week. Things had been a bit strained between them since he’d lost his temper and, though he was embarrassed about it, he couldn’t explain his mood without coming across as unprofessional. It didn’t matter how little sleep he’d had or how rough his night had been at home, he should never have brought it into the workplace with him. His private life was no one else’s business.
Having her back onside would also have produced the ideal solution to his search for a partner. Although he’d never heard anything but praise from their shared patient list, never witnessed anything other than professionalism when they’d worked together, he’d heard the locker room talk about The Ice Queen from porters to surgeons who’d tried to secure a date with the pretty brunette and been shot down mid-chat-up. For those delicate male egos who weren’t used to being turned down, they’d somehow managed to turn her lack of interest in them into a character assassination and something she should be castigated for rather than a comment on their own arrogance or shortcomings.
