Survival Guide to Dating Your Boss

Survival Guide to

Dating Your Boss

Fiona McArthur

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Praise

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

About the Author

Copyright

Praise for

Fiona McArthur:

‘MIDWIFE IN A MILLION by Fiona McArthur

will leave readers full of exhilaration.

Ms McArthur has created characters that any reader could fall in love with.’

—Cataromance on

MIDWIFE IN A MILLION

Praise for Fiona McArthur and her fabulous Lyrebird Lake Maternity mini-series:

‘Ms McArthur has created a series that is

powerfully moving and yet filled with characters

that could be any member of your family, because

they’re down-to-earth people who are just human like

everyone else. Thank you, Ms McArthur, for a thoroughly

enjoyable time spent in your world of Lyrebird Lake.’

—Cataromance.com

CHAPTER ONE

TILLY loved Fridays. A leisurely walk down the hill from the hospital after her last shift before days off, that first salty sniff of the ocean at the end of Hill Street, and the bonus of Mrs Bennett, immaculately made up on her front porch as she waited for her girlfriends to arrive for Friday afternoon tea.

Tilly adored Mrs Bennett and her friends. Once famous sopranos in chic dresses, designer shoes and such lovely smiles, these ladies made Tilly believe in life getting better and better.

And they never mentioned men. She really liked that.

She couldn’t wait to lift her window at the back of the house and hear the soaring notes of Verdi and Puccini from the porch at the back of Mrs Bennett’s house—it always made her smile.

Tilly wondered if Mrs Bennett pulled her window shut when Tilly and her friends had their more rowdy parties.

Maybe she was strange to prefer the company of older ladies to boys her own age but risking your heart to a fickle man in the scramble to find ‘the one’ seemed much more insane to Tilly. Of course, she’d been a slow learner with two bad experiences in twelve months until Ruby had pointed out her ‘pattern of disaster’.

Older men. She’d always been attracted by the big boys in senior school while she’d been a junior, then those in university while she’d been a senior, and now those who were out of their twenties when she’d just reached them. Searching for approval from the father she’d never known perhaps? That’s what Ruby said.

Tilly sighed. Boys her age just seemed a little … insubstantial. She would just stay away from them completely.

The waft of real scones and Mrs B.’s Sydney Royal Easter Show winning marble cake dissipated the tendrils of regret and Tilly shook herself. It was Friday. Yay!

‘Afternoon, Mrs B.,’ Tilly called as she approached.

‘Matilda. Lovely to see you.’

‘Is that window sticking again?’ Tilly drew level and Mrs Bennett smiled. ‘No. I think you’ve cured it this time, dear. There’s another one just starting to squeak and I’ll let you know when it gets bad.’

More practice. Excellent. Tilly’s last infatuation had been with a mature carpenter who’d turned out to be a secretly engaged control freak who liked to keep several women dancing off the end of his workman’s belt. She was determined to never need his skills again. Just like the interior decorator who’d had so many rules and preferences on her behaviour and had then turned out to be married.

‘No problem.’ Tilly glanced up at the two bay windows, one each side of the veranda, and noted the one only a quarter pushed up. ‘Girls coming soon?’

Mrs Bennett glanced at her watch. ‘Any time now. I’ll save you a scone.’

‘Say hello for me.’ Tilly swung open her gate and mounted the tiled steps. Home. And not a man in sight. Good.

Seventy-One Hill Street stood tall and thin with a decrepit Gothic air in need of even more TLC than Mrs Bennett’s house.

Those tall eaves, all four bedrooms at the back upstairs and the main bedroom downstairs that belonged to the absent owner, could do with a good strip and paint. Tilly decided she might have a go in her holidays.

It was a real party house. The three other girls were the sisters Tilly had never had. She couldn’t imagine life without their chaos and warmth and the fun they brought to out-of-work hours.

Tilly smiled to herself as she thought more about the girls. There was Ruby, a mental health nurse who didn’t appear nearly as chaotic now she’d found Cort, a senior emergency registrar from the hospital they all worked at.

Tilly’s need to provide a willing ear, and the occasional emergency alcohol, had decreased exponentially the longer Ruby and Cort had been together.

Ellie, an orphan, spent most of the week in sterile operating theatres, but still managed to regularly fall in and out of love, searching for Mr Right to be the father of her longed-for family.

While Jess, children’s nurse at Eastern Beaches, broke her heart every time Ruby’s gorgeous brother, and incidentally their landlord, flew in from Operation New Faces with a willowy brunette or blonde on his arm.

Funny how her flatmates gave her plenty of scope for that thwarted older-sister tendency she could finally admit she had.

Then there was her job. Tilly ran up the stairs and threw her bag on the purple quilt cover on her bed. Tilly loved being a midwife.

Women were incredible, babies so instinctually amazing, and she could mother the mothers to her heart’s content while they mothered their babies.

That’s what she told Mrs Bennett later in the afternoon. They were clearing up after the girls had gone. Tilly’s singing lessons by osmosis seemed to be working and she and Mrs Bennett were trilling away in the kitchen when the conversation came around to men.

‘To sing that aria you need to be able to sing the love.’ Mrs Bennett never joked about her music.

Tilly sighed. ‘Then I’ll probably never be good at it.’

‘Of course you will.’ Mrs Bennett’s finger pointed skywards to the future. ‘One day you’ll find your man. You can’t go on forever being single.’

Tilly laughed. ‘You are. You’re happy.’

Mrs Bennett twinkled. ‘I’m certainly content. But in a different way from when I was married to the love of my life.’ She looked at Tilly. ‘You can’t miss out on that.’

Tilly shrugged. ‘I always seem to go for the wrong guys. Seriously, I’ve nothing against men as friends but after the last two I guess I’m not really geared to be answerable to a man.’

Mrs Bennett fixed her with a stern look. ‘They were too old for you, dear. And they lied.’

‘You’re right. That’s what Ruby said. But look what falling for men does to my girlfriends. Even my mother was another casualty. I’m going to stay the sensible one cruising as a single woman for a few years. Travel the world. There’s a lot I want to do and it’s much less stressful.’

‘Very wise,’ said Mrs Bennett, and she smiled.

On Sunday morning, when Tilly caught a glimpse over the fence of a tall, black-haired stranger lurking around Mrs B.’s back window, her heart jumped at the recognition of danger.

She glanced back at her own house but the other girls were out and not due back for a while.

Her hand slid up to rest on her chest, ridiculous thought he’d hear her heartbeat, but for the moment it was up to her—someone had to protect Mrs Bennett.

Dry mouthed, she glanced around for a weapon, something, anything for protection, and then she saw it. Tilly’s fingers closed around the pointed red beanie hat of the small but stalwart garden gnome at her feet and she eased him out from the damp earth under the hydrangea. The cold concrete sat heavily in her hand.

She chewed her lip. She really didn’t want to maim the man, just slow him down a bit so he couldn’t get away before the police arrived. With her other hand she flipped her phone and dialled emergency. At least she had a back-up plan.

Mrs B.’s ground-floor window screeched in protest and the material of the man’s T-shirt stretched across his broad back as he tried to ease the window up quietly. A tall, well-built man should be throwing bricks on a truck for a living, not trying to rob defenceless old ladies. Tilly refused to be distracted by the tug of nervous suggestion that flight might be a better option than fight, judging by the ripple of musculature under the thin fabric.

He was trying to get into the house and Mrs Bennett was in there. Tilly felt a swell of pure rage surge with a helpful dose of adrenalin and she heaved the gnome with a straight-arm throw over the fence towards the backs of his legs. The gnome flew horizontally like an avenging angel and took out both backs of his knees in one blow.

Because the burglar had stretched up, his legs were locked and the muscles contracted with the blow.

Tilly stifled a nervous laugh when Goliath sat awkwardly back on the wet grass on top of the gnome and swore loudly.

Great job, Tilly congratulated the gnome, and backed back around the side of her house out of sight as she flicked the damp earth off her hand. She couldn’t help the big grin on her face and the hormones rushed around her body until she fanned her face with her phone for relief.

The police call centre chattered and her hand froze as she remembered. She brought the phone to her lips and murmured quietly. ‘Yes, I’m Matilda McPherson. I’d like to report a burglar at 73 Hill Street, Coogee. Mrs Bennett’s backyard.’

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? I’m fixing the window, not breaking in.’ Like an avenging archangel the man had found her and his dark blue eyes blazed. ‘I’m her nephew.’

He reached his long arm out, snatched the phone, threw it on the ground and for one horrible moment Tilly thought he was going to stamp on it.

Instead he drew an enormous breath, which incidentally did amazing things to the ripples under the front of his T-shirt, and glared at her with the most virulent disgust and even loathing.

Shame, that, a tiny, impressed voice whispered as Tilly quaked just a little at his ferocity.

Now she could see his face it wasn’t the face of a criminal. He was very angry but he wasn’t going to physically assault her. She didn’t know how she knew that but despite Tilly’s brain chanting ‘Good time to leave’ in an insistent whisper, and despite the thumping in her chest that agreed in rhythmic beat with her brain, she couldn’t allow him the satisfaction of thinking he intimidated her.

Before she could say anything he ground out, ‘I should sue you for assault.’

Yep. Daunting up close, especially with steam coming out of his ears, and Tilly blinked as she rallied. Maybe it was sensible to leave. ‘Assault? A little woman like me? With a gnome?’

She tossed her hair to disguise the tensing of her muscles as she prepared to fly. ‘Should look good in the local newspaper. Maybe they’ll take your picture with the weapon?’

She watched with interest as his mouth thinned—might have been a better idea to keep her smart mouth closed—and then the moment when she was about to run was lost when Mrs Bennett poked her head over the low fence. ‘Ah. Children, I see you’ve met.’

Mrs B. smiled beatifically as she came around the corner. She carried the gnome close to her chest and handed it gently, like a tiny baby, to Tilly.

‘Look who came to visit at my house,’ she said just as a siren began to wail in the distance.

Tilly glanced at the man’s face. Apparently the siren just topped off his day.

By the time the police sergeant had laughed his way back to his patrol car Marcus was considering climbing back upstairs to his bed and pulling the lavender-scented sheets over his head to start the day again. Instead he closed his eyes. Mainly because it removed the smart-mouthed redhead from his sight before he strangled her. From the fond look on his aunt’s face the redhead was clearly a ‘favourite person’, and, to be fair, he supposed it was a good thing she looked out for Maurine.

‘I am sorry.’ The woman stood beside him on his aunt’s veranda to see the policeman off. Didn’t she have a home to go to?

He almost groaned. That’s right. She did. And it was far too close to his at the moment.

To add insult to injury, she then said, ‘Do your legs hurt?’

His lashes lifted only slightly as he glared at her. He forced the words past his teeth. ‘I’m fine, thanks. If you’ll excuse me.’

Marcus closed his eyes and sighed. If the rented flat fiasco hadn’t happened, if the closest hotel hadn’t been solidly booked for a week-long conference, if he didn’t start work on Monday, if, if …

He ground his teeth and then decided it indicated a lack of control. Marcus liked control, relished it, had seen what could happen when it was lost, and he needed control to breathe.

He wasn’t sure how he and his aunt would rub together, but if he remembered correctly from that one Christmas after his sister had died Aunt Maurine had been a safe haven in a sad world.

It would only be a week or two until he found a new flat. He’d buy one if he had to. Control. He rubbed his chin. Hmm. In fact, he liked that idea. Nobody could interfere with his plans then.

Tilly watched him go. Limping. Oops. She’d say that was a fair case of alienation there. Mentally she shrugged. Shame. He’d have made a gorgeous gene pool for Ellie’s future children. Tall, good bone structure, great body, and even related to a delightful old lady. But he had no sense of humour. And that was the most important trait as far as Tilly was concerned.

Not that she was concerned. She frowned at herself. It had nothing to do with her how cleverly amusing Ellie’s children could be.

Tilly went back inside her own house just as her flatmate Ruby arrived behind her, drifting up the stairs with a serene smile and a filmy scarf floating behind her.

‘Hi, there, Tilly.’ Ruby looked her up and down. ‘You not ready? Sunday brunch at the pub?’

‘I’d forgotten.’ She glanced at the old grandfather clock in the corner. ‘Give me ten.’

Twenty minutes later the girls were perched on stools looking out the Stat Bar window at the park full of football-kicking young bloods and the sea beyond. Another glorious blue-sky day in paradise.

Tilly weighed the words in her mind before she said them. She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to curb her usual method of blurting stuff out. ‘Mrs B. has a nephew.’

‘Next door? Oh, my goodness, Tilly. That’s so exciting.’ Ellie sat blonde and beautiful and suddenly buoyant on the stool. ‘Is he gorgeous? Does he like you? Would he like me?’

Tilly glanced at Ellie. Blonde, petite, beautiful. Who wouldn’t? ‘Not sure about you but he can’t stand me. I took him out with a garden gnome.’

Three pairs of eyes swivelled to full interest. She certainly had their attention now, Tilly thought ruefully. ‘I had the notion he was breaking into one of the windows at the back of Mrs B.’s. He was actually fixing it.’ Tilly listened to herself, surprised at the glum note she hadn’t expected, and injected more bravado. ‘It was a good throw, though, sideways to the back of the legs.’

There was a stunned silence followed by a howl of amusement from the girls.

‘What did he say?’ From Ruby.

‘Was he hurt?’ From Ellie.

‘What did Mrs Bennett say?’ From Jess, who liked the older lady next door as much as Tilly did.

Tilly pulled the slice of lime out of the neck of her bottle of light beer and sucked it. ‘He swore, he’s got a limp, and Mrs B. got the giggles. So did the police officer who arrived.’

Ruby was impressed. ‘You called the police as well?’

‘I thought he was a burglar.’

‘Very sensible.’ Jess nodded. ‘I doubt a real burglar would be happy with being hit by a gnome.’

‘I’d bet he wasn’t happy. What’s his name, Till?’ Ellie asked, clearly feeling sorry for her future partner.

‘Marcus.’ Tilly could see him in her mind as clear as day. ‘He’s six-four, blue eyes, dark curly hair and built like a brickie’s labourer. Great genes.’

‘Ohhhh.’ Ellie’s eyes shone.

‘You sure you don’t fancy him, Till?’ Ruby was watching with those knowing eyes.

Tilly swallowed the rest of her beer and dropped the lime skin in. ‘Not my type.’

Ruby and Jess exchanged amused glances. Ellie wasn’t included because she was still off in dreamland, populating the world with miniature dark-haired brickies. ‘Sounds like everyone’s type to me,’ Jess said.

‘So how long’s he staying?’ That was Ruby.

‘No idea. Conversation flagged after the police car drove off.’ Tilly looked up and saw the laughter in her friend’s eyes and she had to chuckle. Parts of the encounter had been funny. But the fact that he obviously hated her—would like to see her boiled in oil probably—wasn’t amusing at all.

CHAPTER TWO

MONDAY morning sunshine streamed into the open bedroom window as Marcus towelled his shoulders. As he turned away from the streaky mirror he caught a glimpse of the purple bruises on the backs of his legs.

At least he wasn’t limping today, no thanks to the red-headed witch next door. He hadn’t gone for a run today just to give his legs a chance to heal. But he could have done with one to rid himself of the snatches of nightmares that had included dear Matilda. He didn’t know why she’d made such an impression on him—apart from the physical imprint of assault.

He hung the towel evenly on the rail and walked naked into the bedroom. His aunt had been twinkling at him most of last night because it was all so-o-o funny. And he’d heard enough about Matilda with the legendary handywoman skills to make him dislike her even without the gnome.

But he wasn’t wasting thought on annoyances because today was a big day. His mobile phone beeped twice, an appointment reminder that he had an hour until work, and as usual he was on time.

He’d worked hard for this. Not just the early stuff, sweating over a restaurant stove between uni classes, extra shifts right through his internship, and the study he’d put in for his O&G exams—it was the effort put in to give him the right to make policy changes.

To have a say.

To protect women and babies from idiots and poor out comes and poor practitioners. An oath he’d sworn as a heartbroken child.

Now finally to be the consultant in charge of an obstetric unit, a small one by city standards but one with a brilliant reputation, and he knew exactly how he wanted it run. His mothers and babies would be the safest in Australia.

A snatch of song, a woman’s voice drifting up from the garden below with a soft Irish melody that made the hairs prickle on the back of his neck. He lifted his head. The tune was pure and incredibly seductive and Marcus slung the towel around his hips and leaned out of the window.

His head whipped back in when he saw who it was. St Matilda in a bikini top with a towel around her waist. Long red hair crinkled wet from the sea like a siren’s.

She was like a gnat, buzzing outside his conscious decision not to think about her, and he wanted to swat her. And that delicious backside of hers.

Whoa! Where had that come from? Heat descended to his groin and he backed farther away from the win dow.

He’d been working so hard these past few years he hadn’t had time for anything but brief flings. It was obviously just a physical need he should think about addressing again. Maybe he’d have time soon but certainly not in that neighbourly direction.

Plus she was too young for him. Though he had to admit just then he’d felt younger than he had in a while. He grinned then his leg twinged as he reached for his clothes and he thought of the gnome. Best to avoid the pain.

Two hours later Marcus surveyed his two residents, his registrar, and the MUM, Midwifery Unit Manager, in his new office as he outlined his plans. And it felt good.

They’d had a ward round on each floor, the gynae floor on top and antenatal beds next down with the antenatal clinic. Then the neonatal nursery floor and on the ground the birthing units and theatres.

He’d done a double take when Gina, the midwife in charge, had proudly pointed out the new large baths in the labour ward for pain relief in labour. Apparently they’d been put in from fundraising by one of the new graduate midwives but he hadn’t commented as yet on that. No doubt she’d noticed her announcement hadn’t been greeted with shouts of joy.

‘Diligent observation with strict documentation, a medical officer for each birth if possible, though I do understand sometimes babies come in a rush. But I’d like admission foetal monitoring on all women until the baby’s wellbeing has been proved. Risk assessment on every woman will be an area I’ll scrutinise thoroughly.’

The medical officers all nodded, though Gina didn’t look impressed. Well, tough. The buck stopped with him. ‘Any questions?’

Gina spoke up. ‘This isn’t a training hospital for midwives. My girls are all qualified and very observant, up to date and extremely diligent already.’

‘I’m sure they are.’ But … ‘Not all midwives have the same level of experience.’

Gina wasn’t finished. ‘I thought the studies said admission foetal monitoring increased a woman’s risk of unnecessary intervention?’

He’d heard it before. ‘I’m glad you asked that.’ He knew what could go wrong. ‘I’ve seen the studies but I’m not convinced. I’ll leave some less publicised clinical trials for you to look at.’

When Tilly walked in for the afternoon shift handover there seemed an unusual quietness over the ward. There were a few gloomy faces from the students, the senior midwives were in a huddle with the MUM, and the other new grad, her friend Zoe, who’d almost finished her shift, drifted across.

‘Why so glum?’ Tilly looked at her with raised eyebrows.

‘Dream’s gone,’ Zoe said sadly. ‘Our new broom has arrived and we’re not happy, Tilly. Ward meeting in five.’

Tilly frowned. At least she’d hear the worst instead of imagining it. They’d been so excited about the new consultant, too. With a younger man appointed to the post there’d been great hopes of a shift away from the medical model of over-monitoring and early intervention. How come the basic concept that women were designed to have babies had been lost somewhere in the teaching of new doctors?

Their previous consultant had been old school and a bit dithery, so you could almost understand his reluctance to change, but now it looked like they were worse off.

She followed Zoe into the meeting room. ‘So he’s not young and modern?’

Zoe pulled a face. ‘He’s young, majorly good-looking in a serious way, but not much of a sense of humour.’

Sounded like someone she’d met recently but this was not the time to think of social disasters. This was work and the thought of going backwards into a more medical mode of midwifery sucked big time.

Gina called them together and outlined the new directives. ‘Full electronic monitoring of babies on admission for the moment, please, where possible. And he doesn’t like the idea of the baths, but will tolerate them for pain relief as long as no babies are born in there, until we’ve reassessed the policy.’