One Night...with Her Boss by Annie O'Neil

Author:Annie O'Neil [O'Neil, Annie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2015-01-26T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

“SO, HAVE THINGS improved with Tate?”

In a manner of speaking...

“They’re going all right.” Ali crossed her fingers, relieved that her friend and new head of En Pointe couldn’t see her face. She was a terrible liar. They were having their weekly “clinic catch-up” chat, and keeping Aidan off of the topic list was getting harder.

“When I worked with him he was definitely a hard nut to crack—definitely keeps himself to himself—but I thought you two would hit it off.”

That’s one way to put it.

Better stay on safer territory. “So, what have you done to my practice? How has the team taken to your new-fangled American ways?”

“Oh, I’d say I’ve been dragging this little house that Ali built into the twenty-first century!”

“What?” Ali sat bolt-upright. She had a Class A clinic and knew as well as her former classmate did that it was miles ahead of other clinics in the city, let alone the country. He was lucky she trusted him so much.

“Chillax, Lockhart. Don’t worry. I’ve actually dragged it back a few centuries. One of the girls—the Russian one—”

“Which Russian one? There are heaps of them!” Ali couldn’t help but laugh.

“I don’t know—Katarina, Alexandra, Olga—anyhoooow...” Cole Manning drew out the word in his usual leisurely Southern drawl. The man sure could drag out a story. “I got an acupuncturist in to help her with some of the tendonitis. Seems to have made a difference.”

“That’s great! It’s probably Alexandra—the ballet doesn’t have many Olgas. At least not the way you say it.”

“How do I say it?” Cole was laughing now, too.

“Like anyone called Olga is a troll. Does she have long blond hair?”

“What do you want from me, Ali? They’ve all either got long blond or long black hair. The least you could’ve done was color-code them a bit more for me!”

“Listen, mister!” Ali cried, despite the laughter burbling away in her throat. “If you mess with my clinic—”

“Hold on, girl. Don’t you mean my clinic? That was the deal, wasn’t it? I get you a top locum position Up North and you keep your mitts off while I have my wicked way with En Pointe—Britain’s number one destination for ballerinas and gymnasts on the mend.”

“Cole Manning—you just remember I have put my life’s work into that place. If you—”

“Easy, there, tiger. I’m only messing with you. Everything’s fine. The clients are fine—the list is growing, in fact.”

“What? Who?” Ali sat up straight. She loved a new challenge as much as the next doctor, but equally she knew all of the local prima ballerinas personally—and a new client meant a new injury. An injury that could spell the end of a career.

“Erm—let me have a look.”

She could hear papers being shuffled across a desk. “You haven’t made my—your—desk a complete pigsty, have you, Cole?”

Ali grinned at the phone as she spoke the words. Of course he had. The man was a certified genius—but he scored in the negatives when it came to tidiness. So much for the “tidy desk, tidy mind” adage.

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