figured out what to do with her—and the other thousands of orphans in their care.
She couldn’t replace the child’s mother, but she could make sure the child was held, cared for, secure. To do that, she needed to keep her mind off the charismatic man a few feet away.
He looked over at her as if he’d known she was there the whole time. “Good morning. Coffee’s ready along with a tray of pastries.”
And some sweet, sticky bouili dipping sauce.
Her mouth watered for the food almost as much as for the man. She walked to the granite countertop and poured herself a mug of coffee from the silver carafe. She inhaled the rich java fragrance steaming up from the dark roast with hints of fruity overtones. “Did she sleep well?”
“Well enough, just as I would expect from a baby who’s experienced so much change,” he said, tucking the baby into a swing with expert hands. “The hotel’s sending up a sitter for the day. I verified her references and qualifications. They seem solid, so we should be covered through our lecture presentations. Tonight we can take Issa out for dinner and a stroll incognito, kill time while we let the cops finish their initial investigation. If they haven’t found out anything by tomorrow, we can go public.”
Dinner out? Revealing their plan to the world? Her heart pounded with nerves, but it was too late to go back now. The world would already be buzzing with leaked news. Best to make things official on their own terms.
If Issa’s family wasn’t found by tomorrow, she would have to call her parents and let them know about her strange partnership with Rowan. First, she had to decide how she wanted to spin it so her parents didn’t jump to the wrong conclusions—or try to interfere. This needed to be a good thing for the baby, not just about positive press. She would play it by ear today and call them tonight once she had a firmer idea of what she’d gotten herself into.
Maybe Issa would be back with relatives before supper. A good thing, right?
Rowan started the baby swing in motion. The click-click-click mingled with a low nursery tune.
Mari cleared her throat. “I’ll check on Issa during lunch and make sure all’s going well with the sitter.”
“That’s a good idea. Thank you.” He cradled a cup in strong hands that could so easily crush the fine china.
She shrugged dismissively. It was no hardship to skip the luncheon. She disliked the idle table chitchat at these sorts of functions anyway. “No big sacrifice. Nobody likes conference lunch food.”
Laughing softly, he eyed her over his cup of coffee. “I appreciate your working with me on this.”
“You didn’t leave me much choice, Dr. Guilt Trip.”
His smile creased dimples into his face. “Who’d have thought you’d have a sense of humor?”
“That’s not nice.” She traced the rim of her cup.
“Neither is saying I coerced you.” He tapped the tip of her scrunched nose. “People always have a choice.”
Of course he was right. She could always walk, but thinking overlong about her compulsion to stay made her edgy. She sat at the table, the morning sun glistening off the ocean waters outside. “Of course I’m doing this of my own free will, for Issa’s sake. It has absolutely nothing to do with you.”
“Hello? I thought we weren’t going to play games.”
She avoided his eyes and sipped her steaming java. “What do you mean, games?”
“Fine. I’ll spell it out.” He set down his cup on the table and sat beside her, their knees almost touching. “You have made it your life’s mission to tear down my research and to keep me at arm’s length. Yet you chose to stay here, for the baby, but you and I both know there’s more to it than that. There’s a chemistry between us, sparks.”
“Those sparks—” she proceeded warily “—are just a part of our disagreements.”
“Disagreements? You’ve publically denounced my work. That’s a little more than a disagreement.”
Of course he wouldn’t forget that. “See, sparks. Just like I said.”
His eyes narrowed. If only he could understand her point. She only wanted to get past his impulsive, pigheaded mindset and improve his programs.
“Mari, you’re damn good at diverting from the topic.”
“I’m right on point,” she said primly. “This is about our work and you refused to consider that I see things from another angle. You’ve made it your life’s mission to ignore any pertinent input I might have for your technological inventions. I am a scientist.”
He scraped a hand over his drying hair. “Then why are you so against my computer program?”
“I thought we were talking about what’s best for Issa.” She glanced at the baby girl still snoozing in the swing with the lullaby playing.
“Princess, you are making my head spin.” He sagged back. “We’re here for Issa, but that doesn’t mean we can’t talk about other things, so quit changing the subject every three seconds. In the interest of getting along better during these next couple of weeks, let’s discuss your public disdain for my life’s work.”
Was he serious? Did he really want to hash that out now? He certainly looked serious, drinking his coffee and downing bites of breakfast. Maybe he was one of those people who wanted to make peace at the holidays in spite of bickering all year round. She knew plenty about that. Which should have taught her well. Problems couldn’t be avoided or the resolutions delayed. Best to confront them when given the opening.
“Your program is just too much of a snapshot of a diagnosis, too much of a quick fix. It’s like fast-food medicine. It doesn’t take into account enough variables.” Now she waited for the explosion.
He inhaled a deep breath and tipped back in his chair before answering. “I can see your point. To a degree, I agree. I would welcome the chance to give every patient the hands-on medical treatment of the best clinic in the world. But I’m treating the masses with a skeleton team of medical professionals. That computer program helps us triage in half the time.”
“What about people who use your program to cut corners?”
Rowan frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You can’t truly believe the world is as altruistic as you? What about the clinics using that program to funnel more patients through just to make more money?”
His chair legs hit the floor, his jaw tightening. “I can’t be the conscience for the world,” he said in an even tone although a tic had started in the corner of his azure-blue eye. “I can only deal with the problems in front of me. I’m working my tail off to come up with help. Would I prefer more doctors and nurses, PAs and midwives, human hands? Hell, yes. But I make do with what I have and I do what I can so those of us who are here can be as efficient as possible under conditions they didn’t come close to teaching us about during my residency.”
“So you admit the program isn’t optimal?” She couldn’t believe he’d admitted to the program’s shortcomings.
