Mr. Park Lane (The Mister)

“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—”