The door swung open and they both jumped. It was one of the nurses. She seemed totally oblivious to what she’d disturbed. “All done, Dr. Travers? You’re needed in the recovery room.” She gave Selena a quick nod of acknowledgement. “I can sort out Ms. Harris’s discharge.”
And that was that.
Whatever had just happened was gone in the blink of an eye.
He had the good grace to look a little sheepish and nodded to the nurse. “No problem.” He handed over a sheet of paper to her. “Can you make an appointment for stitch removal in five days, please?”
He turned to face Selena and she caught her breath as he stretched out his hand toward her. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Harris. It’s been…interesting.” The twinkle in his eye was unmistakable.
She stared at his arm. Strong, firm muscles, tanned skin. Probably perfect for an LA surgeon. He was still staring at her and an enormous lump had appeared in her throat.
She hesitated for a second, then put her hand in his.
Yep. No mistaking it. There it was again.
The second her skin came into contact with his. It was almost as if the cheeky glint in his eye was running up the nerves in her arm. Coming into direct contact with parts of her body that were totally inappropriate.
She pulled her hand back out of his grasp. She was nuts. This guy was a stranger to her. X-rated thoughts were probably unsuitable.
He was likely one of those guys who could click his fingers and bring a dozen women running toward him. She didn’t want to be one of those women. She much preferred the tease and chase.
But she had more serious issues to deal with.
She took a deep breath, her tongue wetting her dry lips. “Thank you, Dr. Travers. I’ll call you. Uh, if I have any problems, I mean.” And there it was. Something implied. Out before she meant it.
“You do that.” His voice had lowered, huskier than before, and it made her toes curl. He strode out the door and she turned to face the nurse, wondering if she’d picked up on anything.
But the nurse seemed unaware. She smiled brightly. “Come along, Ms. Harris, and I’ll show you where you can settle your bill.”
Oh my. Her bill. It hadn’t even entered into her head.
Of course she would have to pay.
Plastic surgeons didn’t do this type of thing for free. No matter how sexy they were. This wasn’t Scotland, where the NHS covered all healthcare costs. Here, everything had a price. Here’s hoping she still had something left on one of her credit cards. Her stomach gave a little flip-flop. Mark wouldn’t have canceled them yet, would he?
They walked down the corridor, and she took in her opulent surroundings. How much would services in a place like this cost? She realized there were no prices in the glossy brochure. Her heart sank like a stone. That usually wasn’t a good sign.
There was someone manning the reception. But she didn’t look too happy to be there. No doubt pulled from some other part of the establishment. She took Selena’s name and printed out a statement for her, handing it over without even glancing at it. “How will you be paying today?”
Selena drew in a sharp breath as her eyes boggled at the amount. “For seven stitches?” She couldn’t help it. It was an automatic response. Sweat was breaking out on her skin. At this rate, she would be sleeping in her car tonight. Or, maybe, she’d need to sell it to settle her bill. “Can you check this? It can’t be right.”
“Hold on.” The woman at reception grabbed the paper back out of her hands. Ran her eyes over the screen in front of her, obviously checking if there had been some mistake. The phone rang and she wedged it between her shoulder and her ear, taking a few notes and replacing the receiver.
A stony look came over her face as she handed the bill back. “There’s no mistake. How would you like to pay?”
Selena took a deep breath and pulled her credit card from her wallet. Better get this over and done with.
The woman cleared her throat loudly. “I’m sorry, Ms. Harris. Your card has been declined. Do you have some other form of payment?”
She cringed, her stomach cramping at the humiliation of it all. How embarrassing. She’d never had a card refused in her life. She fumbled in her wallet and pulled out a second credit card, handing it over. “There must be some mistake,” she mumbled.
What mistake? She stared at the card. Even though she’d been in ultimate spend mode she knew the credit limit on that card still had a few thousand dollars left.
A horrible, creeping sensation started to take over her body.
No. She’d maxed it out with the Louboutins.
A few seconds later the woman met her gaze and pulled her card from the machine, taking out a large pair of scissors from the drawer and cutting the card in half. “I’m sorry, Ms. Harris, but the credit-card company has instructed me to destroy your card.” She dumped the remains in the trash. “How would you like to settle your bill?”
The phone rang, but she ignored it. The woman had a steely gaze. It was drilling right through her body like a deadly laser in a James Bond film.
“I…I…I think there must be some mistake. If you’ll let me step outside to make a call.” Selena stuttered, checking through her purse. Mark must have canceled her credit cards. She should have known. Why hadn’t it occurred to her?
Her fingers wrapped around another credit card—her own. But she’d maxed it out a few months ago. So, unless some magical, good fairy had paid it off for her, she had no credit left to speak of.
There was another bulge in her purse. A wad of money she’d taken from the ATM this morning. Thank goodness. Otherwise she wouldn’t have a bean to her name. But there was no way it would cover a bill this size. It wouldn’t even make a dent in it.
The woman stood up. “I’m afraid that’s not a possibility.”
“But I need to speak to someone. I need to increase the credit limit on my card. It will only take a few minutes.” Even as she said the words, she knew it was hopeless. The credit card company had refused to increase her limit. Probably because she’d missed her last minimum payment. And the one before that. Maybe even the one before that, too.
“Is there a problem here?” The deep voice startled her. Colt. As if her embarrassment couldn’t get any worse.
“It appears Ms. Harris has a problem with the charges.” The shame. The shame of it all.
“Really. Why is that?” His bright blue gaze was fixed on Selena’s.
“Well, I…I think there’s been a mistake.”
The humiliation. Mr. More-Gorgeous-Than-Humanly-Possible was discovering the truth of her money problems. Her fingernails pressed into the palms of her clenched hands. Bet he’d never had to worry about where his next latte was coming from. He was probably too busy swimming in his million-dollar pool.
He turned toward the receptionist who shook her head. “I’ve checked. There’s no mistake.” She glanced at Selena, “Ms. Harris’s credit card was refused.”
“I take it you have another credit card?”
The phone rang again and the woman behind the desk heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes, answering it, murmuring a reply, and slamming it down. She turned her head as someone shouted at her from another room. “I’ll leave you to deal with this,” she muttered to Colt and stalked off down the corridor.
He folded his arms. She couldn’t read the expression on his face. Please don’t let him call the police. She’d probably been reported for car theft, too.
There was no way to explain this. More importantly there was no way she could pay.
If only she was still earning her six-figure salary. She wouldn’t even have blinked at her bill then.
The phone was incessant. It was pounding. And it was increasing her panic.
This was a nightmare. She was humiliating herself in front of a man she’d been half flirting with today. She had a stolen car in the parking lot, stuffed with her crumpled—probably ruined—designer clothes. Half her wardrobe was missing. Knowing Mark, he’d p
robably dumped it by now. She’d nowhere to stay tonight and no way of accessing any extra money. And she’d definitely no way of paying these charges. All she had was the few hundred dollars in her wallet. Nowhere near enough to meet the thousand-dollar bill.
She desperately needed to find a job now, more than ever.
A proper job, rather than two measly shifts a week in a coffee shop that was all she was able to secure. It was as if the whole world was looking for a job right now.
The phone was still ringing.
And there it was. The answer.
The possible answer to her silent prayers.
She swept behind the reception desk and picked up the phone. “Seacliffe Cosmetic Surgery, how may I help you?” She paused, in between setences. “Can I take your name and number and I’ll call you back?”
“It’s Lydia Banks at 476-3441. I’m looking for an appointment with one of your surgeons. I’m looking for one who specializes in rhinoplasty.”
“Yes, no problem. No problem at all.” She lifted a pencil and scribbled some notes. “Which day of the week suits you best?”