Hollywood Temptation

She wrinkled her nose at the sight of the password. Was that really twenty-five jumbled letters, numbers, and symbols? “Wow. This is a bit convoluted.”

He shrugged. “It’s the way things have to be. You’ll have access to most things except the private medical files and details—only the medical staff can see those. You can make appointments for patients here.” He pulled up a screen. “There’s a key at the bottom telling you how long each consultation should last. First appointment, forty minutes. Review appointment, twenty minutes.”

She nodded. Something straightforward. Thank goodness.

His grin grew wider. “Now, payment methods.”

Her stomach clenched. The rat bag was enjoying this.

He pointed her in the direction of the credit-card machine. “Do you know how to use one of these?”

She pressed her lips together tightly and nodded.

“We can also accept cash payments, or checks. But we don’t bill. So everyone pays before they leave. Is that clear?”

Those big, blue eyes were fixed on her, watching her squirm in the leather seat. Were those words aimed purposely at her because she hadn’t paid her bill?

Best to ignore him. Boss or not. She cleared her throat. “How do I transfer calls?”

He gave her a quick rundown, along with a sheet of telephone numbers and access to the schedules of everyone who worked at Seacliffe. They were all color-coded. Someone had had a field day with this system.

She ran over Colt’s weekly appointments and was more than a little surprised. He was very busy. Between consultations and surgeries he hardly had any free time. “What’s this?” She pointed at the block on the screen, which was blank but blocked off so no appointments could be made. “What do you do every Wednesday between two and five in the afternoon?”

He leaned forward and shot her a smile. “Aha. That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

She spun in her chair. “You’re not going to tell me? How can I do a good job if I don’t know where you are? What if a patient calls for you?”

He shook his head and folded his arms. “Nice try. If I’m not here and you need me, page me.”

Her brain was going into overdrive. What did he do every Wednesday? Play golf? Work somewhere else? Have a weekly date with some hot woman?

And why did that last thought make her stomach churn?

“How’s the head? Was everything okay last night?” She could feel his warm breath on her forehead as he leaned forward for a closer look.

She’d removed the tiny dressing and left the wound open to the air. The stitches weren’t too pretty, but it would probably heal better this way. “Everything was fine.” Then she paused tugging at a strand of hair. “Thank you.”

He shifted. His hand came into contact with hers on the desk, but he didn’t move it. He didn’t pull it away. His head tilted slightly. “You’re welcome,” he whispered.

His face was so close to hers. If this were the dream she’d had last night, she would grab him and kiss him. Wrap her legs around him, and…

No. He was her boss. She’d messed up enough already. She had a debt to pay. There was a definite line that shouldn’t be crossed—for at least a month.

“It’s always a pleasure to help a new member of staff.”

She pulled back a little. Which was a shame, as she’d liked how close they’d been. But his words hit a nerve. Did he help all new members of staff like this?

Did he know the effects he was having on her body? Did the man have a probe going straight into her brain?

And “thank you” was exactly what she needed to say to him. Not just for the inquiry about her wound. But for the leeway he’d given her and the chance to pay back what she owed. Not everyone would have done that.

He changed positions. Standing up and moving toward the door to his office. He’d obviously realized she wasn’t going to reply. “Oh, I almost forgot. The perks.”

Her ears instantly pricked up. “What might they be?”

He gave a wave of his hand. “As a staff member you get free meals and free use of the spa—evenings of course, once the clients are gone.” A hint of a smile appeared. “Now get to work. I’ll show you around at lunchtime and introduce you to the rest of the staff.” He disappeared inside his office, leaving her with a prime-time view of his firm, curved backside. Italian tailoring had a lot to answer for.

It was official. The man did have a probe inside her brain. Did he really know she’d been thinking about spending the next month in the car? Where to eat? Where to get tidied up?

She tried to run things through in her head. If she could get in here early enough in the morning, she could shower and sort her hair before starting at eight. And if she ate as much as she possibly could during the day, she wouldn’t need anything at night.

She could sleep in the car for the rest of the month.

A tiny weight lifted off her shoulders. Maybe she could last the month out here. Maybe things would actually be all right.

…

Four hours later things weren’t going according to plan. The phone never stopped ringing. It looked like LA’s richest clientele all came to the Seacliffe clinic and all expected personal and immediate attention. Heaven help her if she dare suggest she phone someone back once she’d found the answer to their query.

So far this morning, she’d seen three soap actresses, one faded pop star, and one health guru who claimed he got his beautiful body thanks to his workout DVD. Apparently not.

No wonder the clinic was worried about secrets leaking. This place held secrets like teenage girls kept diaries. What did Colt do every Wednesday afternoon? She’d need to ask around and see if she could find out, otherwise it would drive her plain crazy.

Then again, another half-dozen minor celebrities had phoned to cancel their appointments, taking their business elsewhere.

A sharp yelp attracted her attention, and she jumped from her seat as a little yappy dog ran around her ankles, its high-pitched bark echoing around the room. Were dogs allowed in here?

It had a pink coat and hair band in place. She shuddered. She hated yappy dogs. She liked big dogs, like sheepdogs or Labradors. Something you could actually get hold of.

“Is this someone’s dog?” she queried across the empty waiting room.

“Me, dear,” came the reply. There was a tiny woman still stuck in the elevator. Selena hadn’t even heard the door opening.

She hesitated. Should she go and help her? Keep the door of the elevator open? She didn’t do this kind of people stuff. It wasn’t really her forte.

She glanced at her screen. It was lunchtime, so there was no one due in the clinic right now, and to be honest, the elderly lady didn’t really look like a Seacliffe client. She walked slowly across the empty waiting room.

The old woman shuffled out of the elevator, leaning heavily on one stick. “Can you feed Toto?”

Selena couldn’t help but let her mouth fall open. “What?” She didn’t recognize the lady. Was she someone famous? A celebrity with a bizarre list of requests? Because in all the office jobs she’d applied for, she’d never seen this in the job description.

“The dog, dear. Feed the dog.”

Selena didn’t move for a few seconds. Not because she was stunned by the bizarre request, but because she was blinded by the amount of bling on the old lady. She had gold everywhere.

About forty chains of varying lengths hung around her neck. The bangles and bracelets around her wrist jangled with every step. She had a ring on every finger. And earrings almost as big as dinner plates hung from her tiny lobes.

She had never, ever seen anything like it. Unless she was at a costume party.

“Are you stupid, dear? I told you to feed the dog.”

Selena started. The walking, talking gold ornament had just been snarky with her. That didn’t go down to well with her. She paused for a second, resisting the overwhelming temptation to tell the old lady to feed her own dog.

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She’d give anything right now to say those words. Well, almost anything.

Except the chance to give up the job she’d just gotten her hands on.

The opportunity she’d gotten to pay back what she owed and hopefully create a good impression in the meantime.

If she did well here, they might give her a reference for somewhere she could actually earn a salary. And that meant more to her than the twitch currently going through her leg, urging her to shoo the dog away.

She gave her best LA smile. “I’m new here. No one told me where the dog food is kept.”

She looked downward, half in the hope that Toto might have moseyed off to find his own dog food. But Toto hadn’t budged. He was now trying to chew on her stiletto heels. Enough was enough.

She grabbed the furry creature around the waist—did dogs have a waist?—and deposited it on the desk.