Chapter Nine
Selena printed off another resume and pushed it into a brown envelope. At last count, she’d applied for twenty jobs. Doubtless, her resumes would look like all the other candidates’, but at least she would be in the mix.
Working at the clinic had been great for her. In her previous life, if she’d been offered a position as a receptionist, she would have turned her nose up at the job.
But being in a working environment every day was good for her. She was back in the routine of getting up every morning and working all day. Truth be told, when she’d stayed with Mark, she’d gotten lazy. Sure, she’d worked two days a week in the coffee house, but the rest of the time? She’d shopped. Or gone to expensive exercise classes.
Working kept her out of harm’s way. It stopped her from spending money she didn’t have on things she didn’t really need.
She’d even made herself a spreadsheet of income and outgoings. And if she actually had an income, then it would have been perfect.
So, that’s what she was working on.
Now, instead of only looking at jobs with six-figure salaries, she was looking at everything. Receptionist jobs, admin assistants, research posts, even a librarian posting. There was the loud noise outside, someone keeping their hand on the horn. She pushed herself up from her chair and walked over to the window.
Josh Ridgeway. What a surprise.
Several of the staff from the spa had run outside to see what the commotion was. She watched as they oohed and aahed around Josh’s new set of wheels.
Her eyes narrowed. What was that, anyway? She tried to make out the badge at the front of the bright red car. Last time she’d paid any attention to a car was when she’d watched Back to the Future. If Josh’s car couldn’t fly and time travel, she wasn’t really interested.
But curiosity was killing her. Everyone else seemed impressed. So she picked up her phone and typed in the make and model.
How much?
She blinked. No. Surely not.
How could Josh Ridgeway afford a brand-new car like that? It was way outside of his pay grade. Even though he was already on an overinflated salary, it wouldn’t run to this.
She walked back over to her desk. Everything this guy did annoyed her, from his expensive new car, to his lack of obvious role around this place and his occasional inappropriate gestures around female staff.
What business was it of hers where he got his money from?
Helen Ridgeway had probably bought the car for her stepgrandson. She didn’t appear to have any problem funding the rest of his lifestyle. Why stop now?
She pulled up the surgery lists for tomorrow. She needed to collect the case files and drop them off downstairs for the anesthetist to review.
The first name leapt out at her. Magdalena.
She couldn’t help it. It was natural instinct. She looked to see what surgery Magdalena was down for.
A face-lift and brow surgery.
Colt’s name was on the schedule, along with a time span of three and a half hours. No wonder Magdalena needed the cottage booked for a week. Her face would be bruised and swollen following the surgery. She wouldn’t want anyone to see that.
Mrs. Perfect. If only the world really knew.
The thought of having Magdalena around for a week was unbearable. Hopefully, Selena would manage to avoid her. She wouldn’t imagine Magdalena would want to set foot outside her cottage once the surgery was over. Most of the staff would be at her beck and call. So maybe, for now, Selena was safe.
The phone rang, and she picked it up. “Seacliffe Cosmetic Surgery, can I help you?”
“This is Finn, Magdalena’s PA. I’ve got some instructions for you.”
Typical. She wasn’t even there yet.
Selena picked up a notepad and pen. “Go ahead.”
“The pillows must be goose down and Italian sheets eight hundred thread count.”
Selena wrote the requests with a sigh. She should have pulled out a bigger notepad.
“Magdalena insists on only one type of bottled water, it must be stored in a fridge in her apartment at exactly four degrees. She will need a personal masseuse for her stay. She wants a hand and foot massage every day. And the chef will be supplied with a list of her dietary needs. We’re e-mailing it to you as we speak. Now, flowers. You know about her preference for flowers, don’t you? Charlotte Armstrong deep pink roses delivered fresh on a daily basis. Magdalena insists they are an absolute requirement.”
“Anything else?” Selena was getting bored now. This could go on forever.
“I’ll e-mail the full list of my client’s requirements. Please confirm receipt.” There was a sharp click at the end of the line.
Selena stared at the phone still in her hand. What was it with people around here? It was bad enough Magdalena was stealing her home for the next week. She was also going to expect everyone to do her daily bidding.
Her in-box pinged and she opened the e-mail attachment and sent it to the printer. Out poured six pages.
She picked up the sheets. It would take all day to organize.
Time she didn’t really have. She needed to hide her bags and clothes somewhere around the clinic. And she needed to do it without anyone noticing.
Not exactly easy in a busy spa with extra security.
Particularly when Colt seemed to constantly be at her side.
Colt. Even the thought of him brought a smile to her face.
Ever since the fund-raiser he’d been more than attentive. But due to Colt’s on call commitments and how busy the clinic had been they hadn’t yet had a chance to recapture that night.
Colt. He had a natural way of making her feel good about herself. Making her feel important. Making her feel like she was the only woman in the world. And when you’d no money and no place to stay, that suddenly took on a whole new value.
It was a pity this couldn’t last. Because working and sleeping with the boss was quickly getting addictive…
A few hours later her bags were safely stashed and most of the clientele and staff away to their homes. Or so she thought.
“Selena, what are you doing here?”
She froze, her foot midair as she bent to dry herself.
Darn it!
It was such a sticky, clammy evening that the spa pool had seemed like a good idea. Not only that, she had her clothes merrily whirring away in the washer. Trouble was, she’d left the door wide open. How could she explain being in the laundry room?
Talk about being caught with her pants down.
“Hi, Cole. I stayed a little late. I wanted to have a dip in the pool.” She pulled the white towel tighter around her breasts. It’s not like he hadn’t seen it all before, but this felt entirely different.
He looked into the room, and his gaze clocked in her various bags and accoutrements around her. “Selena, what’s going on here?”
She bit her lip and tried to rack her brain for a reasonable, rational explanation as to why she would be here, surrounded by her worldly goods.
Noooope. None sprung to mind.
She’d had to scurry across the parking lot that morning, hauling her bags behind her and stashing them in various places around the spa. Her pristine clothes were hanging up in two of the lockers with the keys in her drawer upstairs. But as for the rest of her stuff…
He planted his hands on his hips. “Well?”
“Well, nothing. I’m about to get changed. Could you give me some privacy?”
He glanced at his watch. “Selena, it’s after eleven. What are you doing at the spa at this time of night? And why is all your stuff here?”
It was obvious he wasn’t planning on going anywhere. She sat down on one of the benches as the whirring machine came to a halt. Oh no, she needed to get that stuff in the dryer.
He turned his head as the washer stopped and pressed the button to spring the door open. His hand reached in and grabbed the first thing he came across. A bright pink thong dangled from his fing
er.