‘You decided,’ he emphasised.
She reached up and released her curls from their band, allowing them to fall around her shoulders. ‘I just pulled things together. That’s all.’
He folded his arms across his chest and moved in front of her, blocking her view of the ocean. The ocean breeze sent his aftershave drifting around her like some sort of protective cloak. His voice was low. ‘That’s not really an answer. Why don’t you want to lead the paper?’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘I just...’
‘Just?’ Now he was smiling, his eyebrows raised. It didn’t matter how much she hedged, he wasn’t going to let her off with this one.
She sighed again and pointed to the sand. ‘Let’s sit for a minute.’
He tilted his head to the side and gave her a curious glance then nodded his head. ‘Hmm, okay. Let’s sit.’
She waited a few seconds until he settled down next to her. She pushed her hand against the cooling sand. It was pressed down hard from the people who’d walked on the beach all day, so she dug her fingers into the sand and pulled some up to run through her fingers.
‘So, Dr Arissa Cotter,’ he said, ‘why on earth wouldn’t you want your name on a research paper that’s probably going to be widely read, have great acclaim and maybe lead to some money-making opportunities?’
‘I don’t care about the money,’ she said quickly.
He turned his head to face her. ‘I might have guessed that already.’
She kept playing with the sand, pressing it between her fingers and letting it grind together. ‘The truth is, there’s been a whole host of doctors working on this research. The project has lasted around a year. You know that the healing of an ulcer is always a slow process.’
‘But not the ulcers you’ve treated with the ointment,’ he said swiftly.
She gave a short laugh. ‘Ahh, you’ve been paying attention. But ulcers we’ve treated with the placebo—some of them haven’t healed at all, so to make a fair comparison I wanted to wait almost a year. I don’t want our research to be criticised for short-changing the alternatives.’
‘So, the findings are good. Isn’t it time to tell the world?’
She nodded her head slowly. ‘Yes, it is. But this ointment? It’s good. It’s really good.’
He shook his head again. ‘I don’t get it. If it was about the money, I could understand you wanting to hold off and get a product licence or patent on the product. But, if it’s not about the money, why the delay?’
She pulled a face. ‘I don’t think this ointment will just do well. I think it will do brilliantly. Just how long has the world waited for something that is more or less guaranteed to heal the biggest chronic leg condition in the world?’
‘Exactly. Arissa, what aren’t you telling me? Most doctors would be delighted to be part of this research. The prestige you’ll get from this alone is amazing.’
She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. ‘What if I don’t want the prestige?’ she whispered.
He frowned and reached over to touch her arm. ‘What?’
She shook her head. ‘I think this research will pretty much explode. There will be conferences and presentations. There will be expectations that I should chat to press about the research and the findings.’ She pressed her lips together. ‘That’s not me. I don’t like that. I don’t want to be in the public eye.’
He looked stunned. It was the only word to describe the look on his face.
Her stomach was churning. This was personal; it was a bit of herself she didn’t like to reveal, but she’d thought he’d understand—chalk it up to anxiety. So many of her friends and colleagues wouldn’t dream of being interviewed or standing in front of a room full of people to present research findings. And while that might not be her reason for resisting being lead publisher on the research paper, it was the one she’d fall back on for now.
‘That’s it?’ he queried again.
She nodded. ‘There are plenty of other doctors who have worked on this project who would love to be named on the research. I’m happy to step aside. I’m happy to let them deal with all the publicity around it.’
She let out a wry laugh. ‘And anyway, my speciality is paediatric oncology, not wound healing.’
But it was clear he wasn’t really buying it. ‘What you’ve done here is good. Just about any doctor I know would want to have their name attached to this.’
‘Including you?’ she snapped. She was getting frustrated now.
He spoke carefully, deep lines appearing on his face as he tried to keep things in check. ‘Arissa, this work could be monumental. Headline making.’
‘Exactly, and I don’t want to make headlines. I’d much rather be in the background.’
It was apparent he didn’t understand. ‘I just think credit should be given where it is due.’
‘Leave it, Philippe.’ She was tired. ‘I want the research out there. I just don’t want to be in the spotlight. I don’t want to be in the spotlight at all.’
His face became firm and her stomach flipped a little. For a while it had seemed as if they were about to get to know each other better. The walls around him had come down a bit and she wondered how much more there was to find out about Philippe Aronaz.
But her actions and words had just killed that chance.
She sighed as he stood up and brushed the sand from his trousers. Ever the gentleman, he waited for her to stand up too and put her sandals back on her feet.
The walk home was silent and she blamed herself for the painful awkwardness of it all.
‘See you tomorrow?’ she said as she finally reached her door. She couldn’t help the hopeful tone in her voice.
‘Of course.’ His answer was perfunctory and delivered with a sharp nod. She watched as he turned and strode down the quiet street.
After a few seconds she rested her head on her door and gave it a half-hearted thump. The guy had given up his holiday to help out at her clinic. He’d offered to help with the research so it didn’t fall behind. He didn’t need to do any of those things.
He’d taken her to dinner then asked her to go for a walk when it was clear she was still stressed. The guy should be getting nominated for some kind of sainthood. Her?
She’d behaved like Mrs Angry and Mrs Ungrateful. He couldn’t possibly understand her feelings because she hadn’t wanted to explain. She didn’t feel as if she could. She still couldn’t put her finger on it.
Maybe it was the fact she was trying to deny how good-looking and charming he actually was. She was fighting any possible attraction for reasons that only she could understand.
It wasn’t wise to mix business with pleasure—even
for such a short duration. Plus the fact she still thought there was a lot more beneath the surface of Philippe. There was the distinct impression he wasn’t telling her everything she might want to know.
Then, there was the underlying class issue. Money was an issue for her. She knew that people who had money acted differently from the rest of the population. She’d seen it. She’d witnessed it. She didn’t need or want to be around anyone that might make her feel ‘not good enough’ even if it was only in her head.
She sighed and looked up at the dark night sky above, fumbling in her pocket for her key. Every bone in her body ached. Her eyelids were heavy.
She couldn’t wait to get to bed.
Tomorrow was another day. She would wake with the intention of making sure Philippe knew she was grateful for his assistance.
It was time to start with a clean slate.
CHAPTER FIVE
PHILIPPE WOKE UP with a growing headache. He wandered over to the glass doors and pulled back the curtains. The turquoise sea was rippling next to the white sand beach decorated by luxury parasols and sunloungers.
He could spend the day there. He could find a book, some sunscreen and lie down for the day, sipping whatever beverage he decided would suit.
It made him want to laugh out loud, because, even with the headache, he knew he would never do it. He rifled through his luggage to find some paracetamol, swallowing them with some water as his concierge showed up with breakfast.
Toast and English breakfast tea. He had decidedly simple tastes.
He glanced at his watch and sat down. It was just past six a.m. His internal body clock just wouldn’t let him sleep any longer.
He glanced at his emails, dealing with a few from his father, brother, sister and his personal palace secretary, but, no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts kept drifting back to Arissa and last night.
He’d known that she was overtired. He could tell when she was on edge.
But last night’s conversation had gone in a direction he hadn’t intended or expected. There had been a real spark of conviction. Determination from Arissa. A real don’t-mess-with-me moment.