Chapter 4 #2
She pulled out a baking sheet then shrugged. “I’ve done it three times. My mum doesn’t want me to.” She fell silent. “But I like to be busy.”
“You really don’t think you’re going to be busy in a London hospital, Hartford?”
She nodded enthusiastically, like she was trying to convince herself. “I hope so. My job at the hospital starts on Monday. Plus, I’ll try to get as much experience as possible by volunteering for extra shifts.”
This focused, driven woman didn’t seem to share any resemblance to the flighty dancer I’d known when we were kids. Had this side of her always been there, and I simply hadn’t noticed? I tried to think back but couldn’t remember.
“Somewhere in there, you should find some time to have a social life.”
“What do you call this?” She shot me a smile as she sprinkled rosemary on the chicken.
It was strange how shared experiences and people in common could create a history with someone. I wasn’t sure I’d said two full sentences to Hartford before she turned up at the airport, but it was as if I’d known her intimately for the last thirty years.
“This is manual labor,” I replied, smirking.
A part of me liked the idea I was her social life.
“You want me to arrange a massage for you at the spa or something? My treat.” I mentally batted away images of her laying face-down on a massage table, curves sloping gently under a thin sheet, waiting for—
“You’re so funny.”
I wasn’t trying to be.
“Tell me about your job,” she said. “What does ‘PR and marketing’ really mean? It’s easy to think that medicine is the only thing in the world when you’re surrounded by it all day.”
“My company devises and implements marketing and PR strategies for luxury brands.”
“Yeah, I’m going to need more detail.”
What was this? An interview? Usually I loved to talk about my business, but not today. Not with her. “It means that a luxury goods company—”
“Give me an example of what a luxury goods company is.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. I was surrounded by people who didn’t need to be told.
Even outside of work, my best friends were wealthy and knew how to indulge.
Hartford came from a different world. A simpler one.
One I hadn’t known for a very long time.
“You know—Moet et Chandon or Tiffany or Dior. You might not like to indulge, but tell me you understand the concept of luxury?”
She narrowed her eyes as if she were trying to work it out, and I got the feeling she was only half-joking. I couldn’t help but laugh.
“These companies give us money to devise a brand strategy. Sometimes we just put together an ad campaign. Sometimes we get involved in everything from packaging and price points to which shelves the products are going to sit on.”
“I think I get it. And this hotel,” she said, gesturing around vaguely, “is it a client?”
“No, but I’d like it to be.” This small group of international luxury hotels was in our wheelhouse, but at the moment I was too focused on keeping my current clients—and one client in particular—to think about anything new.
“Is that why you live here?”
“No, I’m here because I’ve got to live somewhere convenient, and the views are great.
It’s right in the center of things. The hotel facilities are useful.
And I like it. Who wouldn’t want to live here—except you?
I can arrange for a bed of nails to be delivered and you could only use the cold tap when you shower.
Would that make you feel more comfortable? ”
She shrugged. “As long as I have somewhere to sleep and food in my stomach, that’s enough for me. I’m focused on other things.”
It was such a different way of looking at the world than I was used to.
Did she judge me for having different aspirations?
And why the hell did I care if she did judge me.
I wanted to ask what her priorities were if they didn’t involve comfort.
I wanted to dig deeper and find out more.
But I stopped myself. That wasn’t who we were.
We didn’t need to go deeper. I was helping her out because it made my mum happy. I needed to focus on my business.
My hands stilled as an idea struck me.
Merdon. Pharmaceuticals. Experts.
I should be picking Hartford’s brain to help strategize the GCVB presentation I knew we’d have to make in the very near future.
Hartford was a medic, far closer to the pharmaceutical industry than I was.
At the same time, she worked with these company’s end-users—her patients.
I needed to get inside her head, understand her mindset.
Apparently, the bath wasn’t the only place for inspiration to strike.
Before I got a chance to ask her the first of a hundred questions I had, her phone buzzed on the side with a message.
She picked it up in one hand, dropping the spoon she was holding in the other when she saw who the message was from.
“My boss,” she said, swiping up. Then she groaned.
And swore. And groaned some more before tossing the phone.
“What happened?”
“Gerry invited me for dinner next Friday with his wife and some other people at the hospital. And I can’t even say I’m working because he has access to my shifts and he knows I’m not.”
Had I missed something? Was a dinner invitation the worst thing in the world? “So, go to dinner with your boss.”
She groaned again, but picked up the spoon and resumed stirring. “Like it’s that easy. First, I don’t know the man. Second, he’s one of the greatest minds in pediatric medicine.”
“Right, and pediatric medicine is what you do. So what’s the problem?”
“That’s my specialty, yes. Getting to work for him is intimidating enough.
Now I have to go to his house and . . . you know, talk to him and his wife and .
. .” More groaning. “Third, I have nothing to wear. And to top it all off, he’s told me to bring someone.
” She snapped her head around to look at me. “Oh my God, would you come with me?”
Friday nights were normally reserved for Candice. “I think I have something this Friday.”
“Right,” she said. “Of course you do. And what do I even wear for dinner with my boss? I mean, for the last year, I’ve not worn anything but scrubs and this—” She swept her hands down her body, indicating the shapeless khaki tracksuit-slash-pajama ensemble she was wearing.
“And even before I went to Yemen . . . I mean, I worked a lot. I’ve never been much for socializing. ”
Nothing she was saying was a surprise. “You need clothes,” I said, pulling my phone from my pocket. “I know a few women who might be able to help.”
“I don’t want your girlfriends dressing me, Joshua.”
“That’s good because I don’t have a girlfriend. I’m calling the cavalry.”
“This isn’t going to be a Pretty Woman moment where you call the concierge who knows someone at a department store and—you know?”
I chuckled at her analogy. I didn’t believe in fairytales. “Don’t worry. No Pretty Woman moments for me. I’m no Richard Gere.”
“And I make it a rule not to have sex for money, or to floss. Life is far too short to floss.”
I looked at her again, wondering if she meant to be as funny as she was. I shook my head and turned back to my phone.
“Okay, Friday, early evening, before dinner with your boss, you have a date.”
Her face flushed a delightful shade of pink and I had to stop myself from sweeping my thumb across her cheekbone. Focus, Joshua.
“I don’t want a date. I want a dress to wear to my boss’s house. Are you even listening to me?”
“I’m going to take you to some friends of mine. Beck and Stella’s place. Stella will have something you can borrow. And if I know Stella, she’ll have roped in Hollie and Autumn and—”
“Oh my God, Joshua. What have you done?” She looked genuinely worried.
“I’ve sorted you out with something to wear. You’ll love these women. They’ll figure it all out and—”
She groaned again, the sound taking on a slightly hysterical edge.
I didn’t understand why she wasn’t delighted. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll be your plus one.” Shit. I was supposed to be focusing on work, which meant less time with Hartford, not more.
She locked her gaze on mine, eyes going wide.
“You will? I thought you had plans.” Just one look at her and I knew I couldn’t take it back.
Her expression was all vulnerability and gratitude.
She reached out and grabbed my shoulder and I froze, not because I was turned to stone by her touch, but because all I could think about was how I wished I could strip off my shirt to feel the tips of her fingers press into my skin.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I cleared my throat, trying to get a handle on myself. “Nothing I can’t cancel.” She gave my shoulder a quick squeeze before pulling her hand away.
Dinner with Hartford’s boss could be an opportunity. That’s all. I’d do it for any friend of the family. Hopefully, spending the evening among a room full of medics would help me gain some insight into their world, which would help me prepare for the pitch with GCVB.
This wasn’t about Hartford. This was about business.