London's Most Eligible Doctor

“Why’s that? What’s so bad about your story?” he challenged.

Uh. Apart from the totally obvious fact that she’d never dance again? She held her cane out between them. “It’s a bit too late for a full recovery.”

He let the words hang between them for a moment. She liked that he didn’t offer her the over-sympathetic expressions she’d had from all of the hospital staff when she’d been in recovery. The piteous looks had made her blood boil. She wasn’t someone to be pitied. She was someone who …

Who …

Well, that was as yet to be decided, wasn’t it?

Lina shifted her position as the wind dropped out of her sails. She didn’t exactly know who she was these days. All she knew for sure was what she wasn’t—a ballerina.

“I don’t think I’d be much good at delivering messages quickly for you.”

“Lina, I’m pleased to inform you En Pointe is part of the modern era. We receive and deliver our messages by telephone—not foot messenger these days.” And there came that slow smile again—like the sun coming out from beneath a cloud. Warming, wrapping round her like a protective blanket.

She considered him skeptically. Why was he doing this? Interviewing her—the least likely candidate for the job?

“And we have the latest in ergonomic chairs ready and waiting to be whirled in.” He gave her a playful smile and showed off his chair’s three-sixty spin. “If whirling in wheelie chairs between taking calls is your thing.”

She lifted an eyebrow and gave him a “yeah, right” look.

“And, of course, a whole lot of other things you are familiar with.” Cole’s face turned serious as he began to rattle off the seemingly endless list of injuries a ballet dancer—any dancer—could come across on any given day, at any given moment. Just. Like. Her.

He rose and crossed to a table where coffee and tea supplies were in abundance. Was that how he fueled himself?

“You’re Polish, right? So I presume you take coffee?”

She nodded.

“How do you take it?”

“White—no, black.” Her eyes caught his as she heard herself say, “I like both.”

She wasn’t talking about coffee anymore.

Heat instantly began to sear Lina’s cheeks and she forced herself to look away. Anywhere but at Cole. He was obviously mixed race and—słodkie niebiosa—he’d turned out perfectly. Not that she was attracted to him or anything. She was more used to being surrounded by gorgeous men at work than not. It had just … been a while.

She watched as he flicked the switch on the kettle before he opened a packet—definitely from a specialty shop—and poured a healthy pile of grounds directly into a waiting cafetière, grinned and gave her a wink. Measuring didn’t seem to be his thing.

“I hope you like it strong.”

Her tummy fluttered.

Er … what was that? She didn’t have tummy flutters. She had—well, she wasn’t quite sure what she had but she wasn’t a schoolgirl with strings of pastel-colored butterflies dancing gaily around her insides. She was a woman on the verge of figuring out what to do with the whole rest of her entire life now that all her hopes and dreams had careened straight over the horizon.

“So, tell me more about this job. Nine to five and see you later, boss man?”

“Something like that. Here, have some biscuits.” Cole tossed her the packet. Guess formality wasn’t his thing, either. Refreshing after years of ballet where every breath she’d taken, every gesture she’d made, everything had been based on exacting tradition.

Cole settled himself back into his chair after handing her a mug of coffee. “It’s pretty straightforward. Answering the phones, checking clients in …” He pointedly looked at his coffee. “Making sure the milkman has come.”

“You have a milkman?” The information brought an unchecked smile to her lips. She’d grown up in a small village where the milkman, the baker and butcher had still been everyday sights. Everyday jobs.

“Sure do.” Cole grinned back. “Why? Were you a milkmaid in your past?”

“No.” The smile abruptly tightened into a grimace. Her best friend from school had followed in her mother’s footsteps and milked her father’s dairy herd. They made cheese and, on special occasions, ice cream—but mostly it was delicious, creamy milk and very, very hard work which, by all accounts, she still did.

Lina had led a different life. Her parents had scrimped and saved and sacrificed so that their daughter could pursue her dream of becoming a ballerina.

Which one of them was happier now? she wondered.

She saw Cole watching her intently. Best to keep on track. Trips down memory lane weren’t of any use now. “The job?”

“Right. The job.” Cole had to stop himself from physically shaking his head to put himself back in the moment. He’d been outright staring and was pretty sure Lina had caught him at it. He doubted he’d disguised it as an interested-physician look. It had been a bald and outright I-wish-I-knew-more-about-you look. He cleared his throat.

“As I said, it’s pretty straightforward. It doesn’t pay a high salary, but if you’re happy to have a trial run—a week to start with to see if you’re interested and then three months before we sign a full contract—we open at nine a.m. I’d expect you at eight.” He named a figure and noticed Lina’s eyes widen ever so slightly. It wouldn’t put her in designer heels but it would pay her rent. The last time he’d checked, box-office staff at the City of London Ballet were receiving more an hour than members of the corps de ballet. Everyone needed to make a living, and fallen prima ballerinas were no different.

“So?”

Lina still hadn’t said anything. She took a sip of her coffee, her face unreadable.

“And if after one day I decide this isn’t for me?”

“We hire someone else. Simple as …”

“Simple as what?”

Cole laughed. “I don’t know. I heard someone cool on television say it and thought I’d have a go. Clearly, I’m not down with the hipsters.”

Lina took a bite of biscuit, hand curled protectively in front of her mouth as she chewed, rather than risk a reply. He didn’t need to be in with any crowd. Cole Manning was in a class of his own. She closed her eyes as the sugary sweetness of the biscuit melted into nothing on her tongue. It tasted like home. The one place she couldn’t go until she could show her parents she’d been worth the effort.

She looked at Cole again. He seemed genuine enough. As did the job offer.

A receptionist job. Well … She tried to keep her dejected sigh silent. At least she knew she was physically up to it. Talking to people—talking to dancers—all day might not come so easily.

She looked away from him, teasing at a pile of invisible flower petals on the floor. She didn’t want him to see how much she needed the job. Her foot automatically shaped itself into an elegant turnout as it swiped the “petals” to the side of the room with a controlled semicircle of movement. That much she could do.

“Cole!” A woman appeared at the doorway and gave the frame a quick double knock. “We need you in Reception right away.”

It was then that Lina tuned into the noises outside Cole’s office. There was the sound of a young woman crying. Periodically broken by an occasional heated wail. She knew that feeling. She knew it down to her bones.

“All right, Lina? Are we good?” Cole rose quickly to his feet, moving the puppy’s basket to the floor.

“So I already have the job?” She couldn’t help but let some cynicism sneak into her voice. This whole thing was sounding more and more like some sort of setup.

“Let me check what’s happening out there and then see how we go, shall we?”

CHAPTER TWO

“IT HURTS!” THE teenager’s face was a picture of pure unadulterated agony. She was on the floor, knees slightly bent, back hunched over, and a wash of tears wetting her cheeks.

“It looks like it hurts,” Cole agreed. He was never one of these doctors who brushed away the pain. If it hurt it hurt. Plain as. Apart from which the poor girl’s foot was already thick with heat and swelling. If he had to guess? A serious sprain—level two. A possible tear in the ATFL? Nothing life-altering, but it would certainly keep her out of pointe shoes for a couple of months, and for a young girl like this—thirteen or fourteen—it would feel like a lifetime. He looked up at the mother, who also had tears in her eyes. He raised his eyebrows in lieu of asking what had happened.

“I dropped her before we reached the sofa.”

“You mean you carried her in here?” Cole was impressed. It was a bit of a hike from the pavement.

“We were just about there and …” Her hand flew to her mouth in horror.

“You did well. No additional harm done. Just a bit of ego bruising, from the looks of things.” He nodded to the mother before quickly returning his attention to her daughter. “You’re all right, darlin’, aren’t you?” The teen gave an unconvinced nod before Cole looked back at her mother. “Shall we get her up and into an exam room?”

“Please. I am so—The day’s just been … I tried …”

Cole rose, put a hand on the woman’s shoulder and gave her a reassuring smile. Parents were often more traumatized than their child. From the looks of the number pinned on her daughter’s chest she’d been at the London Ballet Grand Prix. The biggest day on a young ballerina’s calendar. There would be no scholarships or job offers for her this year.

“Let me help. Can I have your arm?”

Cole looked down at the sound of Lina’s softly accented voice. She was totally focused on the girl.

“What piece were you doing?” Lina instinctively sought to distract the girl from her injury.

Cole moved round to help Lina raise the girl from the ground but watched curiously to see how she dealt with a traumatized dancer. They shared common ground. It could be useful.

“I was doing the ‘Spring Concerto.’” The girl only just held back a sob.

“Vivaldi?” Lina’s face lit up. “What a wonderful choice. And your contemporary piece?” She sat back on her heels and looked at the girl seriously. “You did have a contemporary piece, right?”

“It was ‘Spiegel im Spiegel.’”

“Are you kidding? That’s one of my favorites. I used to dance to that one a lot.”

“Used to?” The girl swiped away some of her tears, missing Lina’s microscopic wince.

“What’s your name?” Lina asked.

“Vonnie.”

“Beautiful.” She tucked an arm around the girl’s small waist and began to raise her into a wheelchair she must have brought in. Resourceful. Cole found himself beginning to rethink the “just a favor” part of his agreement. Maybe she would be a good hire.

“I’m Lina. Shall we get you to X-ray?”

It was all Cole could do not to laugh. Lina didn’t have the slightest clue where X-ray was and how she’d magicked a wheelchair out of nowhere was impressive … a picture of confidence. And, more importantly, she’d engaged Vonnie enough to begin to stem the flow of tears. Impressive for someone who hadn’t seemed keen to spend her day with working dancers.

“Actually, can you put any weight on it?” Cole was the doctor here. Probably wise to take charge of this scenario.

Vonnie wrapped an arm round Lina’s shoulder and, with Cole’s help, heaved herself up.

“Have you already put ice on it? Kept it elevated on the ride over here?”

“Yes,” Vonnie snuffled. “As soon as it ha-ha-happened!”

Uh-oh. Those tears were back again.

“Lina, I’ll take Vonnie to X-ray, all right?”

The young girl twisted round, her face wreathed in anxiety, one of Lina’s hands clutched in her own. “No! Please don’t make her go. She understands me.”

Lina looked over at Cole and gave him the Polish version of a Gallic shrug.

“Fine. But you’ll have to leave the room during the X-ray.” Cole stepped away from the handles of the wheelchair and handed over steering duty to Lina. She wanted to work here? She could prove it. “I’ll lead the way, shall I?”

Cole tipped his head from side to side as he took in the extent of the injury. Swelling could hide things, but X-rays didn’t lie. He’d been right. It was a typical grade-two ballerina sprain—a tear of the anterior talofibular ligament with lateral swelling.

“So what do you say? Eight weeks until she dances again?”

“Mmm … something like that.”

In the tiny dark room, with only the X-ray board spreading a low-grade wash of light, having Lina so close, Cole had to rethink how wise a move it would be to hire her. He was attracted to her. And not just your average gee-you’re-good-looking sort of attraction. He was fighting a Class-A desire to spin her round, pull her into his arms and find out how she tasted, how she would respond to his touch. None of which would really be appropriate in a professional environment.

“It’ll be hard for her to hear … on top of missing out at the Grand Prix.”

“Believe me, I’ve delivered my share of bad news.”

Lina noticed Cole’s change of tone instantly. Almost felt it, they were so close. There was something deep-seated in his words. Grief? Rage? She couldn’t quite tell which, but maybe the rumors about him fighting demons was true. Not such a lighthearted Southern gent after all.

“I’d better get out of your way so you can let her know.”

“Yes, that’d be great.” Cole batted away the words, “I mean, I need to do this with the patient … Protocol,” he added, as if it were necessary. She knew the drill. She wasn’t a doctor so why should she have access to Vonnie’s appointment? It was for her mother to be there for her, and from the sound of approaching voices she would shortly be with her.

“Okay, well … it was nice to meet you. I guess I’ll wait to hear from you?”

She turned to give him a goodbye grin and got as far as turning. Right down to her very toes she felt the impact of the aquamarine of his eyes. A shame it would be the last time she was going to see them. A shame about a lot of things.

“How long has it been?” Cole’s voice broke into the quiet, indicating she should follow him to his office.

“Since what?”

“Since you’ve had a proper meal?”

Lina stiffened.

A while.

But not because of—Oof. Honestly? She balled up her jacket and protectively clutched it to her tummy. As if that would stop the jig-jag of emotions bouncing around in there. She liked eating as much as the next person. She just hadn’t been able to get it together and money was tight. Supertight. Things she most certainly wasn’t going to admit to Mr. Doesn’t-Like-to-Poke-His-Nose-Into-Other-People’s-Business. Ha! That’d be about right.

“I’m fine.”

“I didn’t say otherwise.” The puppy whined. Cole pulled the wicker basket up from the floor to have a peek and give the pooch’s muzzle a little rub. Not that he was growing fond of the thing.

“Look.” He gave Lina a pointed look. “This guy needs some grub and so do I. Why don’t you join us for dinner? My treat.”

“No, thank you. I’m not hungry.”

Lina’s tummy rumbled. Loudly.

Cole grabbed a couple of charts and a prescription pad from his desk before squaring himself to her. “After I finish with Vonnie, join me. Us. I know a little place down the road. Go have a nosy around Reception while you’re waiting. See what you think. Consider it part two of your interview. You don’t have the job yet.”

Er … “Okay.” Lina said the word to his back as he headed out of the office but got a thumbs-up as he disappeared round the corner. Hmm …

The puppy whimpered again and Lina found herself gently extracting him from his willow basket nest.

Poor little thing had a splint on his tiny back leg and looked terrifically sorry for himself. She gave an appreciative snort. “We all have our moments. Don’t we, Puppy?” Now, to see what the future had in store …

A good nosy around and Lina felt none the wiser. Actually, it hadn’t been much of a snoop session. She’d just gone into the reception area, plopped herself and Puppy down on one of the—very nice—sofas and thumbed through a magazine or two. Sitting behind the reception desk would have seemed too much like interest. It would have been akin to acknowledging how much she really needed the job. So reading magazines and enjoying the serene atmosphere, now that most of the practitioners had gone for the day, was what she did, happily enjoying the latest celebrity gossip and fashion mags … And then she hit Dance Monthly.

The cover story nearly sent her running for the hills: “Down and Out: Are the Fallen Forgotten?”

Against her will, tears sprang to her eyes. They may as well have put her face on the cover. Talk about cruel! She fought the growing tickle in her throat and nose, tightened her eyes, scrunched her forehead as much as she could, willing the pain to go away. Would there ever come a day when things wouldn’t hurt this much? It was hard to believe. Impossible even.

“Dr. Manning said you were still here!” A tearstained but smiling Vonnie appeared in Reception with a pair of crutches and her leg done up in a pneumatic walker. Lina jumped to her feet and shook away the remains of her own tears. She didn’t know why, but having helped Vonnie, for even a few moments earlier, had given her a boost. It would hardly do for the teen to find her blubbing on her own.

“Remember not to put any weight on that for three weeks!”

Cole appeared beside Vonnie with a bag of what she assumed to be treatment aids. Cooling gels, compression wraps, anti-inflammatories. She knew the drill.

“I know.” Vonnie sighed melodramatically, and rolled her eyes in Lina’s direction before singsonging, “RICE, RICE, RICE, RICE, RICE!”

“That’s right, young lady,” Cole replied in a stentorian tone Lina hadn’t heard from him before. “And what does it stand for?”

“OMG, I practically came out of the womb knowing what that stood for!”

Cole crossed his arms and gave her a very good “I’m waiting” face. Lina could easily see him being a parent, willing to wait as long as it took for the child to clean their room, finish their homework, whatever … She wondered what—No, she didn’t. She didn’t wonder that at all!

“Rest, ice, compression and elevation. Are you happy?” Vonnie’s tone was more teasing than truculent so whatever they’d discussed in the exam room had put her in a better mood. Her mother emerged with coats and handbags and a couple of tutus Lina hadn’t noticed before.

“Ooh, look at these—they are wonderful!” Lina couldn’t help herself.

“Do you really think so?” Vonnie’s mum flushed with pleasure as Lina nodded emphatically. “I made them.”

“They’re amazing.” Lina meant it. From the very bottom of her heart. Her own mother, to save money on the countless tutus she’d required, had stitched and stitched and stitched for her, as well. “You’ve got a wonderful mother, Vonnie.” Lina gave the girl’s shoulder a squeeze. “You make sure you let her know how much you appreciate her.”

“I will!” Vonnie replied, working her way across Reception and out the door. She might, mused Lina. Or she might not. Lina hoped she had done the latter, but was never sure it had been enough. One day … she would let her mother know just how heartfelt her gratitude was. One day.

“So, I guess that’s us! Just another day at En Pointe!” Cole shrugged on a wool blazer, scooped up the puppy in his basket from the sofa and gestured with his head toward the front door with a smile. “Are you ready?”

Cole took about three seconds to examine the menu before offering the waitress a smile and his order.

“I’ll have the spaghetti carbonara, a fresh salad, some garlic bread and—uh—Rover, here, will have a bit of plain chicken and some rice. In a bowl. Is that doable?”

“Not a problem.”

It was easy enough for Lina to see that anything Cole or “Rover” asked for wouldn’t be a problem for the waitress, who had plonked herself down in the spare chair between the two of them. Lina may as well have been invisible for all the attention the waitress was paying her. Not that she minded. Going along to a job interview she’d been cajoled into was one thing, but being dragged out—okay, well, being blackmailed into going out to dinner was another.

“Who’s the little puppy?” The server had on her best baby-talk voice now. “You’re the little puppy! You’re the little puppy!”

So much for the restaurant’s no-dogs policy.

The waitress had already made a puppy-exception rule, and brought the little guy a bowl of water and a couple of itty-bitty raw carrots to gnaw on in case he was teething. Right now the pup’s head was resting on the brim of the basket, lending him more supercute factor than anyone—or anything—should be allowed.

Cute factor or no, Lina was there for the sole purpose of securing the job. That was it.

“Lina?” Cole tipped his head in the waitress’s direction. It was her turn to order. She’d scanned the prices and hadn’t even bothered to look at the menu choices. One entrée was the equivalent of her weekly food budget.

“Don’t worry.” Cole reached across and covered her hand in his. “I’ll take it out of your first paycheck.”

Lina tugged her hand away and clenched it in her lap. She wasn’t comfortable accepting help … but it had been ages since she’d had a well-made restaurant meal. Gone were the days of being feted by London’s social elite.

“The gnocchi, please. And a rocket salad.” They were the least expensive items, but with the added bonus of reminding her of pierogi. Pierogi! Her mouth watered at the thought of her mother’s pierogi. One day … she’d go home one day. Lina pursed her lips and handed the waitress her menu, who gave her a cursory glance, scribbled something on her notepad, then whirled off with a smile expressly for Cole’s benefit.

Lina focused her attention on the puppy. Neutral territory. That’s what she needed. Cole’s hand on hers had been too close to feeling something—wanting something. She hadn’t realized how curative the simple touch of a hand could be.

“He doesn’t look like a Rover.”

“No?” Cole rubbed a finger along the little guy’s head. “What does he look like?”

As if by design, they both crossed their arms, leaned back and considered the puppy. He had a white muzzle that broadened into a wide stripe that led up to his forehead. Black took over from there. He had little brown arches over each eye, white paws and appeared slightly affronted at this very obvious inspection.

“Vladimir,” Lina pronounced.

“Horace,” Cole countered.

Lina shook her head. “No. He is not a Horace.”

“How do you know he’s not a Horace?”

“I just know.” Lina gave Cole her best I-just-know look, then tipped her head to the left as if it would give her a different perspective. The puppy opened his eyes wider as if in anticipation of her coming out with the right name.

“Wojciech.”

“I can’t even pronounce that.” Cole laughed. “How about Spot?”

“No!” Lina protested. “That’s lazy. And look. Where do you see spots on this guy?” She lifted him up out of the basket. His back leg was in a little splint. She wanted to ask what had happened but felt herself already getting too involved with the puppy and with Cole. They both looked at her as if she held all the answers to the question at hand.

Despite herself, she couldn’t help giving the puppy a little cuddle. It was impossible not to. She held him up again so that they were face-to-face. “What’s your name, huh? Jak masz na imię?” The puppy scrunched his face into a mess of wrinkles before yawning widely in her face. Then he sneezed. Twice.

“Maybe he doesn’t speak Polish.”

“Maybe he doesn’t speak American.” She kept her gaze on the puppy.

Cole rearranged the cutlery at his place setting with a grin. “Go on, then, Polish puppy-whisperer. What’s his name?”

Lina looked across at Cole once she had given the puppy a good long stare. “Igor.”

“Igor,” Cole repeated, as if he hadn’t heard her correctly.