Hot Single Docs: Blinded By The Boss

‘Me, too. I’ll...make some coffee, shall I?’ She looked at the mug of instant in front of her. ‘Some fresh coffee.’

‘That’s okay. I’ll do it.’ His mouth quirked. ‘Refreshments and snacks don’t count as cooking.’

His quiet, dry humour curled around her like a delicious full-bodied chuckle. ‘Oh. So you’re beginning to chip away at our bargain, are you?’

‘I don’t think so. I don’t remember any mention of brewing, looking in the fridge, or pouring.’ He measured the coffee into the machine and switched it on. ‘And I certainly don’t recall having covered electrical appliances.’

She smiled at him. ‘I’m going to have to watch myself, aren’t I? Next time I make a bargain with you, I’ll make sure I read the small print.’

Did that sound a bit too forward? Hopefully everything would be settled in a few days’ time and she would be on her way back home. Edward would forget her as he moved on to his next project of interest.

‘Yeah. Always read the small print.’

He flipped open the cupboard doors and pulled out two cups, his long fingers placing them precisely on the counter. He had a delicate touch. He had to have. Microsurgery was one of the most challenging disciplines in a challenging world. And Edward was the best at what he did—just like everyone else at 200 Harley Street.

He made the coffee and picked up her cup with his own, taking it into the sitting room, as if unsure whether she might follow otherwise. Charlotte perched herself on the sofa, casting around for something that she could make conversation about.

‘This is a lovely room.’

He nodded. ‘Thank you.’

‘Do you play the piano much?’ From the wide-ranging collection of CDs on his shelves, and the grand piano, Edward was obviously passionate about music. In the three days that she and Isaac had been here, though, he’d never once opened the piano. Never once switched on the high-end audio equipment.

‘Most days. Do you play?’

‘No. I love listening, though.’

He must have changed his routine because of her presence. Maybe she could encourage him to change it back again.

Edward didn’t move. ‘I wouldn’t want to wake Isaac.’

‘You won’t. He’s upstairs and he’s fast asleep.’

Maybe she shouldn’t have asked. Maybe this was something private, that Edward didn’t like to share.

It was something private—she could see it in the way he hesitated. But then he made his decision, jumping up and striding across the room. Charlotte tried not to notice the ease with which he lifted the heavy lid, or the way that his shoulder flexed as he propped it open. Suddenly his mastery over the large, shining instrument was physical, as well as just a matter of the mind.

Sitting down, he raised the lid from the keyboard and lowered his fingers onto the keys. ‘Any requests?’

For a moment she couldn’t think. Then Charlotte knew what she really wanted to hear. ‘Something you like.’

He nodded. Charlotte was expecting something classical, but the soft strains of Ain’t Misbehavin’ started to float across the room. Mesmerised, she moved closer and he beckoned her over, shifting up on the long piano seat to make room for her.

She swallowed hard. The music invited her. The way he made the song sound as if it had been written just for her. His sensitive fingers stroked the keys. Charlotte wanted nothing more at that moment than to sit next to him, be a part of this world. His world.

He raised one eyebrow at her hesitation, and the music swelled in reproach. She gave in and slid onto the edge of the stool, angling her body away from his.

‘You’ll fall off...’

The music dropped to a few notes, played with his left hand, while his right arm curled around her waist, pulling her further onto the stool. She was not quite touching him, and the seat was plenty long enough for two, but that didn’t seem to make any difference. She could practically feel his body moving against hers.

There were a few chords that seemed to be his own addition to the mix, and then he segued into As Time Goes By.

‘Mmm. Love this one.’ She closed her eyes and let the music wash over her.

‘Yeah. Kind of sad... Haunting.’ He added an extra verse and chorus onto the end and then smoothly moved on into another melody that she couldn’t name, but which she recognised from an old film.

‘You like this?’

‘I feel I should be in a cocktail dress and expensive jewellery. Leaning against the piano and sipping... I wonder what they were drinking in Casablanca?’

He chuckled. ‘Champagne?’

‘You remember?’

‘No. Just a guess. I’ve got a bottle somewhere, if you’d like some.’

Charlotte laughed. ‘No. I don’t have the cocktail dress.’ Or the jewellery. Her mother’s ruby necklace, the one that she thought she’d never part with, had been sold and the money spent on the bricks and mortar of her house. The one that she’d been driven out of just a few days ago.

He seemed about to say something, then stopped himself. Moved on to play another song. The soft, melancholy chords filled the air around them.

Suddenly the music stopped. ‘Hey... Hey, what’s the matter?’

She felt him turn, but didn’t raise her head. She didn’t want Edward to see the tears.

Too late.

His fingers touched her arm, hesitantly at first, and then more resolute. She felt his arm around her and, try as she might, couldn’t bring herself to break away from him.

‘It’s nothing. Just the music.’

‘Much as I’d like to think that it was my playing that moved you to tears, I doubt it.’

She wanted to hold on to him. It felt so natural to do so. But she shouldn’t. She’d always been a sucker for the quiet type, and the last one she’d got involved with had almost destroyed her life.

‘I...I’m just afraid that I’m going to lose everything. And you’ve been so kind...’

‘You’re not going to lose anything.’

He hugged her tight and she gave in and buried her face against the protective arc of his chest.

‘Did you ring my father this afternoon?’

‘Yeah. I’ve arranged to leave work early tomorrow and go and see him.’

‘Good. You can stop worrying, then. He’ll sort this out for you.’

‘I know. Thank you. I’m just being silly.’

She felt his fingers stroking her hair. Just for a moment, before he snatched his hand away again. This must be torture for someone like Edward. So self-contained, so controlled. He didn’t really do tears. She tried to move away from him, but his arm kept her firmly in place.

‘You’re not being silly. You lost everything once. It’s natural to fear that it’ll happen again.’ He drew back, holding her shoulders tightly. Bending to capture her gaze in his. ‘It’s not going to. You’re going to fight it.’

‘I haven’t got anything to fight with. All my savings are gone, and...’ She couldn’t even say it. The money was just a number. It was the loss of little things that she’d hoped she’d always keep that hurt the most. Memories...presents that people had given her over the years. The cot which, at one time, she’d hoped might see some more use. All Isaac’s baby stuff. It hadn’t fetched much, but every penny had counted when she’d been trying to put the deposit on the house together.

He shook his head. ‘I wish you’d told someone. The clinic might have arranged an employee loan, or if not...’ He pressed his lips together, apparently not wanting to finish the ‘or if not’.

‘I’d only been there for a couple of months. I was just glad to have the job. The extra income meant I could make the mortgage. Anyway...it would just have been another debt that I couldn’t pay back.’

‘So you sold everything you had?’ His grip on her shoulders relaxed and his hands slid down to her elbows.

‘Pretty much.’ Charlotte put it to the back of her mind. ‘But that’s okay. Things are easier now. I’ve had a pay rise, and the first year’s always the worst with a mortgage.’

‘And I guess the extra shifts come in handy?’

He’d noticed, then. The way that she grabbed every bit of overtime that came her way, even though it meant that she had less time to spend with Isaac. ‘Yes, they do.’

‘You’ve worked hard. No one’s going to take that from you. Just explain everything to my father and let him sort it out. And in the meantime you can stay here. Isaac seems...well, he doesn’t seem to mind the arrangement.’

‘You’ve made us both very welcome. Being here has been so good for Isaac.’ It was Edward who had been good for Isaac, not the house. Providing a broad pair of shoulders that her son felt he could rely on. For that matter, he’d been good for Charlotte, as well.

‘You can stay as long as you like.’

‘Thank you. But we won’t outstay our welcome.’

Like always, his smile was reticent, hard won, but all the better for it.

‘Then I think we’ll be okay. I can outlast you.’

No doubt he could. At the moment Charlotte reckoned that she had about ten minutes before she made a fool of herself and threw herself into his arms if she didn’t find something to distract him.

‘Will you play something else?’

* * *

Edward couldn’t get the image out of his head. Charlotte in a dark figure-hugging dress. Something sparkly at her wrist and around her neck and a glass of champagne in her hand. Leaning against the piano, the gold flecks in her eyes reflecting the light better than any jewel could.

He played for a while on autopilot, while he added the fine detail to his vision. Then the real Charlotte broke in, her body warm and moving to the rhythm next to his.

‘You’ll have plenty of offers if you ever decide to give up the day job.’

Her smile made him stop thinking and start feeling as he ran his hands across the keyboard in a short, improvised cascade of notes.

‘I used to play in a bar. When I was at medical school.’

‘Yeah?’

‘It paid better than stacking shelves. And I got to keep the tips as well.’

‘Tips are always good.’

‘Yeah. Made a big difference.’

‘I bet you spent them on books.’

‘Um... Yeah. Okay, you’re making me feel predictable again.’

With Charlotte he could begin to fathom what people saw in small talk. It was easy. Delightful. Maybe they were getting a little too close to flirting, but that would be okay as long as he kept playing. Somehow the music made pretty much anything permissible.

She laughed. ‘I think you’re one of the most unpredictable people I’ve ever met.’

‘Dancing to the beat of a different drum, you mean?’ People had said that to him, and about him, all his life. That he was gifted. Different. That he didn’t need the company of his peers as much as he needed to fulfil his potential.

‘Is it a different drum? I rather thought that it was the same drum, but you just hear it a little more clearly.’

Edward let the thought percolate. ‘That might be one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me.’

The unexpected idea that words might not be enough to express his feelings on the matter occurred to him. He wanted to hold her again.

She smiled and his theory morphed into a tried and tested fact. Charlotte’s smile held so much more meaning than words, and he allowed himself to bathe in it, feeling its warmth lap against his skin.

He didn’t know how long he played for, and didn’t much care. However long she sat here next to him, her body melting into the rhythm of the music, it wouldn’t be enough.

When finally she drew away, another of those gorgeous smiles on her lips, the world felt suddenly cold.

‘You play wonderfully.’

He nodded in acknowledgement. ‘You listen wonderfully.’ It was more as if she’d been a part of the music, shaping the emotion and cadence with him, although her fingers had never touched the keys.

She laughed, getting to her feet. ‘I should go and get some sleep, though. Thank you for a lovely evening.’

‘My pleasure. We should do this again.’ The words escaped his heart before his head could issue the caution against asking for trouble.

She flushed a little and nodded quickly. ‘Goodnight, Edward.’

He played a short, quiet goodnight, listening to the sound of her footsteps on the stairs. Then he closed the lid over the keys.

Charlotte was everything that he held himself aloof from. The instinct and emotion that he saved only for his music seemed to bleed into her whole life. It was captivating—tantalising, even—but it was a language that he didn’t know how to speak. However much she tried not to disrupt his life, however well-behaved Isaac was, the two of them had the power to turn his well-ordered existence upside down.

Archie roused himself, stretched, and joined him on a restless errand to the kitchen, which had no particular purpose other than his need to go somewhere. Edward poured himself a glass of wine from the bottle they’d opened at dinner, leaving Archie to pounce on his food bowl as if he hadn’t eaten in years, and wandered back into the sitting room. The book that he’d abandoned in favour of going to talk to Charlotte still lay on the sofa, and he picked it up, flipping it open. This, at least, he knew how to handle.

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHARLOTTE KNEW THAT Edward would be here somewhere. She hated that she needed to see him so badly, but she had nowhere else to go. She slipped through the reception area, avoiding the last stragglers on their way out of the clinic at 200 Harley Street, and ran up the stairs.

Edward’s office door was closed and locked, but she could see his jacket, slung over the back of his chair. There was only one other place that he could be.

She left her coat and bag on one of the chairs in the closed-up nurses’ station and took the stairs down to the basement. The gym was in darkness, but she could see lights shining through the glass doors which led to the pool.

Suddenly her courage failed her. She’d already accepted too much from Edward. Already allowed herself to get too involved with his life. He was quiet and kind, creative and a little quirky. But then her husband had been quiet and kind, too. She’d thought that she could see hidden depths in him, where actually there had just been an angry void that he’d sought to fill with the thrill he got from risking everything on the cards.

Charlotte turned. She knew that Edward was here, and that at this time in the evening he was probably alone. Walking away was the best thing to do. The only thing to do.

She’d go upstairs to fetch her coat. Then come back down again, using the back stairs, so that no one would see her.

‘What are you doing here?’

She’d been so lost in her own emotions she hadn’t even seen that there was anyone on the stairs below her. Instinctively she turned to run upstairs, but it was too late. Edward had seen her.

It had been him in the swimming pool. His dark hair was still wet, slicked back from his face, and his white shirt was open at the neck. Not sure what to say or do, Charlotte focussed on the logo splashed across the gym bag that was slung over his shoulder.

‘Charlotte...?’ He was standing two steps below her now, and they were face to face. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing.’ Everything. ‘I just forgot something and popped back...’

The whole difficulty of dealing with Edward was that excuses were practically impossible to get away with—unless, of course, you had the time to construct a well-thought-out, fully featured alibi.

He raised one eyebrow in disbelief and shooed her up the stairs.

‘Come to my office.’ His keys were in his hand already, and he strode past the deserted nurses’ station and unlocked the door, motioning her in. He slung his bag on the floor, in the corner, and sat down in his high-backed leather chair.

‘I feel as if I’m being hauled up in front of the beak.’ Small talk was the one thing that she was better at than Edward. Her only chance.

His brow clouded, but then he refused to take the bait. ‘Why don’t you sit down, then?’

‘Do I need to?’

‘You don’t need to do anything. It’s an invitation.’

He leaned back in his chair, propping one foot on the desk, and Charlotte slumped down into one of the visitors’ chairs.

‘So...what is it, then?’ One last try at putting the ball in his court. Making Edward talk first.

‘I...um...’

He seemed suddenly hesitant. Maybe she was going to get her way after all. They could go home, she’d make dinner, and then on the excuse of an early night she could go and cry into her pillow. That was the thing she should have done in the first place—not come running to Edward every time something went wrong.

He tried again. ‘There seems to be something wrong. I was wondering how the meeting with my father went...’ He backtracked slightly. ‘Not in detail. I wouldn’t presume to interfere with a confidential exchange between lawyer and client...’

There was no such thing as a simple question in Edward’s vocabulary; there was always some accompanying detail. The way his mind worked made Charlotte smile, however bad things were. ‘No. I’m sure you wouldn’t.’

‘It’s just a broad brush enquiry. About whether you’re happy as a result of...whatever it was that was said.’

‘Your father was very kind.’

Straight spikes of hair had begun to fall across his forehead, and when he smiled it looked almost rakish.

‘Good. And apart from being kind...?’

‘He’s offered to represent me, and I’ve accepted. I gave him some details on the phone yesterday, and he’s already got an investigator to follow up on them. He’s thought of everything.’

Edward nodded. ‘I imagine he has. There’s no need to worry.’

Her heart was almost tearing itself apart with panic. ‘No. I’m sure there isn’t.’

He got to his feet, unhooking his jacket from the back of his chair. ‘I guess I should call your bluff and just take you home, then.’

‘Peter applied for a loan in Isaac’s name. One of those quickie ones you can get on the internet.’ Charlotte couldn’t help it. She’d blurted out what she’d come to say—what she knew that Edward couldn’t mend, but somehow wanted him to know.

He slumped back down into his chair, shock on his face. ‘Did he get it?’

‘No, thank goodness. And your father’s going to do all he can to protect Isaac from that happening again.’ Charlotte could feel her shoulders beginning to droop, but the effort of keeping her spine straight was finally too much to do anything about it.

‘And what about the phone bill that you were being chased for?’

‘He’s putting pressure on the phone company to leave me alone. It seems that there’s a bit of a mix-up with names and I might be facing a few more where that one came from.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘A mix-up? How could that have involved you?’

She’d faced a pair of blue eyes and a sharp legal mind once already this afternoon. Edward’s were as kind as his father’s, but somehow much more challenging. The truth had been easier the first time around.

‘When Peter and I were living together...’

Tears again. What must Edward think of her?

‘Hey...’ He rounded his desk, dragged one of the heavy armchairs over towards hers and sat down opposite her, leaning forward until his hands almost touched hers. ‘It’s okay, Charlotte. I just want to help.’

All she wanted right now was to feel his arms around her. If Edward was on her side she could do anything, be all kinds of strong. She met those blue eyes again. They gave her courage for the thing that damned her the most.

‘The phone bill dates back to when Peter and I were living together. He must have taken the contract out in my name and...’ She shrugged. ‘I didn’t know about that phone—it was his second one. He had someone else.’

His face became cold, as if she’d just slapped him. ‘You mean he’s expecting you to pay for the calls he made to his mistress? While you were living with him?’ Edward shook his head angrily. ‘Oh, no...you’re not doing that.’

She reached for him, but he wasn’t there. He was too angry now even to see her, and he sprang to his feet and started to pace the office like a caged tiger.

‘Edward. Please, don’t... Peter probably didn’t think of it like that. He doesn’t think anything through. The phone was registered at my old address and it’s up to me to prove it isn’t mine...’

‘Don’t make excuses for him, Charlotte.’

Her own anger flared in response to his. ‘I’m not. I’m just trying to work out what happened...’

‘And if you keep on taking his side you’ll always be a victim.’

‘Oh, so that’s what you think, is it?’ She was on her feet, catching his arm, forcing him to face her. ‘I am not a victim. I’ve stood on my own two feet since Peter left me, provided for Isaac...’ She took a deep breath. Shouting wasn’t going to do any good, and if there was anyone still in the building they’d be sure to hear them.

‘I know.’ Edward’s rage turned abruptly cold. ‘But this is not your responsibility.’

‘No, it isn’t. But there’s another child, too—a little girl. She’s not my responsibility either, but I still can’t help thinking that somewhere out there that child’s mother is going to be facing the same thing that I did. I might not like her very much, but I can feel for her.’

‘There’s a baby?’

‘Not a baby—a child. She’ll be three years old now.’

He didn’t need to be a genius to be able to do that particular calculation. Peter hadn’t just had someone else while he was living with her, he’d had a child as well.

‘You’ve told my father this?’

‘Yes. I said that he could do whatever it took as far as Peter was concerned, but that I wouldn’t go out of my way to implicate his partner if there’s been any fraud. That’s my decision, Edward, whether you like it or not.’

Warmth bloomed in his face. ‘Most people wouldn’t be so forgiving.’

‘I’m not either. I don’t forgive her, but I won’t hurt her daughter. She’s no more responsible for any of this than Isaac is.’

‘Maybe the best thing you can do for this woman is to show her exactly what she’s got herself into...’

‘That’s what your father said.’

‘Must be right, then.’ A ghost of a grin shimmered on his mouth.

‘I suppose so. But all I really want to do is to be free of Peter. Your father’s agreed to review my divorce papers, to see if there’s anything I’ve missed, and to do all he can to push it through without any hitches. That’s a big weight off my mind.’

He nodded. ‘My dad’s not going to let you down. Once he gets his teeth into something he’s like a dog with a bone, and he won’t let up until he’s got everything sorted out.’

She could smile now. His impassioned rage had shown that Edward didn’t just pity her. He hadn’t shrunk from demanding answers from her, asking the really hard questions.

‘That’s something you both have in common. I appreciate it more than I can say.’

He gave the customary small nod, which said he’d heard. A smile which said he’d understood.

‘I should go now. I need to pick Isaac up soon.’

He shook his head. ‘One more minute.’ His back was against the door and he was leaning on it, his arms folded. ‘I’m afraid it’s no more Mr Nice Guy, Charlotte.’

She swallowed. Edward was getting darker and more dangerous again. She had to admit that she rather liked it.

‘Really?’ She took a step forward, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. If he wanted another confrontation he could have it.

‘Yeah. You can put up a fight if you like, but you and Isaac are staying on with me until this is all sorted out. However long it takes.’

‘We’ve had this conversation before...’

‘And we can have it again if you want. You’ll tell me that you don’t want to impose, I’ll say that you and Isaac are no trouble and that I like having you both around, and then you’ll give me that look...’ He grinned. ‘The one that you’re giving me right now...’

‘And...?’

‘And you’ll say that you and Isaac have managed on your own up till now, that you don’t need anyone.’