Читать книгу The Rebel Doc: Tempted by Her Italian Surgeon / The Doctor's Redemption / Resisting Her Rebel Doc - Joanna Neil, Joanna Neil - Страница 7

‘WHAT ON EARTH …?’ Ivy Leigh blinked at the image downloading to her inbox, pixel by tiny pixel.

A … bottom?

A beautiful perfectly formed, tanned, bare bottom. Two toned thighs, a sculpted back … a naked male body, in what looked like a men’s locker room. A tagline next to the pert backside read: Dr Delicious. As perfect as a peach. Go on … take a bite.

She swallowed. And again. Fanned her hot cheeks. She might have imposed a strict dating hiatus but she still had an appreciation of what was fine when she saw it. But why on earth would her work computer be the recipient of such a thing?

Maybe the spam screens on the hospital intranet server weren’t up to scratch. Adding a new note to her smartphone to-do list—Call IT—she let out a heat-infused sigh that had nothing to do with sexual frustration and everything to do with this new job. Two weeks in and yet another department she needed to pull into order. Still, she’d been employed here to drag this hospital into the twenty-first century and that was what she was going to do, no matter how many toes she trod on.

Twisting in her chair to hide the offending but not remotely offensive bottom from anyone who might walk past her open office door, she sneaked a closer look at the image, her gaze landing on a pile of what looked like discarded clothes on a bench. No, not clothes as such …

Scrubs?

Please, no.

Dark green scrubs bearing the embroidered name of St Carmen’s Hospital. She gasped, and whatever vague interest she’d had dissolved into a puddle of professional anxiety … her bordering-on-average day was fast turning bad.

So who? What? Why? Why me?

She slammed her eyelids shut and refused to look at the accompanying email message.

Okay, big girls’ pants.

Opening one eye, she took a deep breath and read.

From Albert Pinkney. St Carmen’s Hospital Chairman. His formidable perfectly English pronunciation shone through his words. ‘Miss Leigh, what in heaven’s name is this? Our new marketing campaign? Since when did St Carmen’s turn into some sort of smutty cabaret show? This is all over the internet like a rash and is not synonymous with the image we want to present. The benefactors are baying for blood. We are a children’s hospital. You’re the lawyer—do something. Make it disappear. Fix it.’

Because she was probably the only person who could solve this—when all else failed call in the lawyer to shut it down, or drag some antiquated law out and hit the offender with it.

And, damn it, fix it she would. Although making it disappear would be a little harder. Didn’t Pinkney know that once something was out on the net, it was there for ever? Clearly he was another candidate to add to her social media awareness classes.

First, find out who this … specimen belonged to. Now, that was going to be an interesting task. ‘Becca! Becca! ‘

‘Yes, Miss Leigh?’ Her legal assistant arrived in the doorway and flashed her usual over-enthusiastic grin. ‘What can I help you with?’

‘Delicate issue … You’ve been here a while and have your ear to the ground. You must know pretty much all of the staff by now. Have you any idea who this … might belong to?’ Ivy twisted away and made a ta-da motion with her hands towards her computer screen.

‘Oh, my…’ Becca fanned her face with the stack of manila folders in her hand. ‘Take a bite? I’m suddenly very hungry.’

Me, too. ‘That is so not the point. Can you see our logo? Right there. We can’t have this sort of thing happening, it’s very bad for our reputation.’

‘Not unless we’re trying to attract a whole tranche of new nurses … No? Wrong response? Sorry.’ Becca gave a little shrug that said she wasn’t sorry at all and that, in fact, she was really quite impressed. ‘It’s very nice. It is kind of perfect. And it says it belongs to a doctor so we can narrow it down. We could do one of those police line-ups, get the main suspects against the wall and …’ She looked back at the picture, her voice breathy and high-pitched. ‘I’m happy to organise that.’

‘Get in line.’ But, seriously, how many years at law school? For this? This was what she’d studied so hard for? This was why she’d hibernated away from any kind of social life? Her plan had always been to get into a position where she could safeguard others from what she’d had to endure, to prevent mistakes that cost people their happiness. Not chastise a naked man about impropriety. Still, no one could say her job didn’t have variety. ‘I don’t want to narrow it down, Becca, I want it gone. We need to send out a stack of take-down notices, get the PR team onto damage limitation. And whoever put this out there is going to learn what it’s like to feel the wrath of Ivy Leigh.’

It was late. The cadaver transplant he’d just finished on a ten-year-old boy had been difficult and long, but successful, with a good prognosis. He had a planned surgery list lined up for tomorrow and a lot of prep to work up. A ward round. And now this—an urgent summons to a part of the hospital he had not even known existed. Or, for that matter, cared about. The legal team? At six-thirty in the evening? Wouldn’t all the pen-pushers have gone home? Matteo Finelli’s mood was fading fast. He rapped on the closed door. Didn’t wait to hear a response, and walked right in. ‘You wanted to see me?’

‘Yes.’ The woman in front of him sat up straight behind an expensive-looking wide mahogany desk that was flanked by two filing cabinets. Beyond that a large window gave a view over the busy central London street. It was sunny out there and he imagined sitting in a small bar or café with the sun on his back as he downed a cold beer. Instead of being in here, doing this.

Apart from a calendar on the desk there was nothing else anywhere in the room. Nothing personalised, no photos, no pens, stapler … anything. She either had a bad case of OCD or had just moved in. Which would explain why he had not heard of her or seen her around. She ran a hand through short blonde hair that made her look younger than he’d imagined she must be to have achieved such a status and such a large office.

Cool green eyes stared at him. The blouse she wore was a similar colour—and why he’d even noticed he couldn’t say. Her mouth, although some would say was pretty, was in a tight thin line. She looked buttoned-up and tautly wound and as if she had never had a moment of pleasure in her life. She met his anger with equal force. ‘Mr Finelli, I presume? Please, take a seat.’

He didn’t. ‘I have not time. I was told you needed to see me immediately … What is the problem?’

‘Okay, no pleasantries. Fine by me. I’ll cut to the chase. Tell me …’ The eyes narrowed a little. Her throat jumped as she swallowed. Emerald-tipped fingers tapped on a keyboard and an image flickered onto the screen. ‘Is this you?’

There was no point in concealing his laugh. Whoever had taken the photo had held the lens at a damned fine angle. He looked good. More than good. He whistled on an out breath. ‘You like it?’

‘That’s not the point.’ But her pupils flared and heat hit her cheeks.

‘You do like it? It is impressive, yes? And you summoned me all the way to the other side of the hospital for a slide show of naked bodies … interesting.’ He turned to go. ‘Now, I can leave? I have work to do.’

‘Not so fast, Mr Finelli.’

Ma che diavolo? ‘Call me Matteo, please.’

The woman blinked. ‘Mr Finelli, why did you post this picture on the internet? Were you hoping for it to go completely viral, because, congratulations, it did. It seems that cyberspace can’t get enough of your … assets. Have you any idea what damage you have caused the hospital by posing for this with the St Carmen’s logo available for the world to see?’

‘Everybody calls me Matteo, I do not answer to Mr Finelli—too formal. Too … English. I did not post that picture anywhere. And with all due respect, Miss …’ His eyes roved over her face—which was turning from a quite attractive pink to a dark shade of red—then to her name badge. Her left hand. No wedding band. Definitely Miss. ‘Miss Ivy Leigh. I was not posing.’

‘Do you deny this is your bott … er … gluteus maximus?’

It wasn’t fair to smile again. But he did. ‘Of course I don’t deny it. I’ve already agreed that it is mine. But clearly I did not take the picture and I did not pose. It looks to me like I’d had a shower, I was stretching to get my clothes out of the locker, with my back to the lens, you cannot see my face. I can’t take a photo of the back of my head from that distance, can I? Besides which I am a very busy doctor and I do not have time to sit around playing on the internet like some people.’ Like you, he thought. But he let that accusation hover in the silence. ‘I don’t know for sure who took the picture, but I can guess.’

‘Oh? Who?’ She leant forward, her eyes fixed on his face, eyebrows arched. In another lifetime it might have been fun to play a little more with her. To see where her soft edges were, if she had any. But not in this life.

‘Ged Peterson.’ Touché, my man. You win this round. ‘My registrar, he loves playing pranks.’

‘Peterson. Peterson. Ged? Short for Gerard?’ Those green-tipped fingers tapped into some database on the computer. ‘He doesn’t work here.’

‘No. But he did. Until last month when he went to work in Australia. He said he was going to give me a leaving present. I didn’t realise it would be this.’ Matteo stepped back, primed to leave. ‘And now we have solved the mystery I must go.’

‘Absolutely not. Stay right there.’

That got his attention. No woman had ever spoken to him like that before. It was … well, it was interesting. ‘Why?’

‘Again, I ask you; have you any idea of the damage you have caused? Lady Margaret has withdrawn her funding for the new family rooms in protest already. Parents are complaining that this is not what they expect from an institution responsible for their children’s lives. Surgeons who complain about being overworked and underpaid and yet have time to flaunt their bodies make us look ridiculous. It’s not professional.’

‘Everyone needs to stop overreacting. It is nothing.’

With a disdainful look that suggested he was in way over his pretty little head, she shook hers. ‘Image is everything, Mr Finelli. In this technological age it’s all about the message we send out to gain trust and respect. We need people on side to volunteer, raise funds, hit targets. We do not need some jumped-up surgeon flashing his backside with our logo in the picture.’

He strode forward and leaned towards her, pointing at the picture getting a nose full of honeysuckle scent in the process. Overly officious she might be, but she smelt damned good. He edged away from the perfume because it was strangely addictive and he didn’t need any more distractions today. This was enough and he still had a few hours’ work ahead of him. ‘If you are worried about funding I have an idea … why not take another eleven pictures of me and make some calendars you hospital administrators all seem to love so much? Sell me?’

‘I am a lawyer.’ As if that explained anything. Actually, it explained a lot. With one brother already qualified and another working his way through college, Matteo knew that law school was just as rigorous as med school. That those dark shadows under her eyes weren’t from late nights drinking in bars but from studying into the early hours. That this woman had worked diligently amidst strong competition. Along with her English-rose complexion and porcelain skin, it also explained that she’d probably spent the best part of her life cooped up indoors with her nose in a book, not exploring the world, not simply lying in the last rays of a relaxing afternoon letting the sun heat your skin. It explained why she was so damned coiled.

She shook her head. ‘The money you’ve already lost us is in the thousands, possibly hundreds of thousands, Mr Finelli. Calendars only make a few pounds per copy.’

‘With my backside on them it would make a lot more.’

‘You really do have a high opinion of yourself, don’t you?’ Her voice had deepened and he got the feeling she was trying very hard to be calm.

Good, because that meant he was niggling her, probably not as much as she was niggling him … but, well, he had more important things to do. Like go check on the transplant patient. ‘Sure. Why not?’

In what he could only describe as a power play she stood up and walked around the desk. If he wasn’t mistaken it took her a moment to steady herself, then she grabbed a file from a filing cabinet and slammed it shut with finesse and flair. She sat back down again, but not before he’d taken a good long look at the cinched-in waist, curve-enhancing, slim-legged trousers and wedge heels.

Even more interesting …

Opening what he now realised was his employment file, she gave him a cold stare. ‘Look, Mr Finelli, it’s obvious you are not taking this issue seriously. I need to make sure you are aware of the consequences of having your naked body sprawled over the internet with our name and logo on it. I have discussed the issue with the HR department and the chairman and we are all in agreement that we need to instigate some courses for the staff on the whys and wherefores of social media etiquette. These will be mandatory for every—’

‘Because of this? I did nothing wrong.’

‘Because of this. Because we can’t run risks with people’s lives, or be distracted from our true purpose as a hospital. Because we can’t make mistakes. Distraction causes death or damage.’ This was clearly very important to her—personal, maybe, judging by the passion in her eyes and the slight shake in her hands.

She took a sip of water from a glass next to her elbow. And didn’t, he noticed, offer him anything to drink. She waited a moment and seemed to settle herself before continuing. ‘We have to control how we are seen, and this episode has just cemented my point. I ran the classes very successfully at my last place of employment and am starting them here on Thursday. You will be required to attend.’

No way. ‘I operate on Thursdays.’

‘And Tuesdays and Fridays. I know. There are only four sessions. You will be expected to attend them all, like every other person in this hospital, then no more will be said about the matter.’

Dio santo. She was serious. ‘Have you any idea how precious operating theatre time is to a surgeon?’

She looked away and her eyes flickered closed for a moment. Then she gathered herself together. ‘I have some understanding, yes.’

‘And if I refuse?’

She tapped his folder. ‘You will have to face a disciplinary hearing. Then there will be no operating time at all. It will be time-consuming and messy. There may even be a stand-down period. Who can say?’

Now the niggling descended into outright anger. ‘On what grounds?’

‘Bringing the organisation into disrepute. Refusing mandatory training. It’s all quite clear in the employment contract … expected behaviour, training requirements, dress code, et cetera. Mr Finelli, many hospital boards don’t allow their physicians to have a public face on social media. We are not unusual in wanting to protect ourselves.’

Round one to Ivy Leigh. Ivy … wasn’t there a plant … poison ivy? Sommaco velenoso. It described her perfectly. He just needed a counter argument to bring Poison Ivy down a peg or two. ‘Perhaps I could sue you too.’

Now her eyes widened with a flicker of nervousness. ‘What the hell for?’

‘Breach of my privacy. I could suggest that I did not give my permission for my body to be used in such a poorly contrived advert.’

She laughed and it was surprisingly soft and feminine. ‘Go on and indulge yourself in any fantasy you like. But you and I both know this was not an advert. You have no grounds, but I do. In fact, section three of the Workplace—’

‘Forget it. I’m not listening any more. I will not attend your sessions.’

‘Okay. Your choice.’ She reminded him of his younger sister, Liliana, who would not give up. Ever. Arguing with her was like arguing with a brick wall. ‘Then I will have to invite you to attend a meeting with our human relations director first thing tomorrow morning.’

‘No.’ Take more time out of his work schedule?

Maybe Mike would swap his cardiac roster from a Wednesday for one week just to make this insufferable woman go away?

‘Mr Finelli, we are both on the same side.’

‘Like hell we are.’ But he did not have any more time to waste on this. Better to get it over and done with. ‘You leave me with no choice. I’ll do the four sessions.’

‘Then it’s sorted. After that you won’t hear anything more from me on this matter. Thank you for your time.’ She put out her hand and, grimly, he shook it. It was warm and firm and confident. And a little something reverberated through his body at her touch—which he steadfastly ignored. Clearly she felt none of it as her voice remained calm and cool, like her eyes. ‘I’m sure you’ll find the sessions most interesting.’

‘I’m sure I won’t. Now I need to rearrange my day. Four sessions shouldn’t take up much time. I will be free from what time? Lunch?’

Amusement flashed across her features, as if she’d won a well-fought victory. ‘Oh, sorry, didn’t I make myself clear? By four sessions I meant four days.’

‘Four days? No. No way. I’m not doing it.’

‘But you agreed. And we shook hands. Is an Italian man’s word as good as his honour?’

He held her gaze. His honour was fine and intact, unlike others he could name. He would never betray anyone the way he had once been betrayed. ‘It is. But I have one condition.’

‘Oh, yes?’ Her expression told him she thought he was not well placed to be making conditions.

‘For every minute I have to spend in your ridiculous class you have to spend an equal amount of time with me, doing my work. The work this hospital is so famous for doing. Saving lives. Then perhaps you’ll see just how badly you have wasted my time.’ He held her gaze. Saw the flicker of anxiety stamped down by determined resolve as she nodded.

‘Okay.’ Her smile was like condensed milk—way too sweet. ‘Seeing as I’m new to the hospital, I have to familiarise myself with each department anyway. And it’ll give me invaluable insights into the specific kind of legal issues that could arise there and a chance to review policy. This way I’ll be killing two birds with one stone.’

How had he thought it might be fun to play with her? Fun was over. This was war. ‘Believe me, Miss Leigh, the only killing going on in my OR is of your determination to make a damned fool of me. Goodbye.’