Found: A Father For Her Child. Amy Andrews
‘OK, stop right there.’
‘I know, I know. It’s crazy. I shouldn’t be thinking like this.’
Joe laughed. ‘Relax, Charlie. It’s just the celibacy talking, man. In two weeks’ time the tests will come back negative and you can get back on the horse. No man can think straight after a year of no sex.’
Charlie nodded. His friend made a very good point. ‘Right.’
‘Right. So…see you soon?’
‘Right.’
Charlie hung up the phone and checked his watch, his thoughts returning once again to Carrie. Damn it! He drummed his fingers more loudly.
Carrie was late. It was unprofessional and rude. She tried the number again but was blocked by yet another busy signal. Last night’s accident had sure thrown a spanner into the works. Having to arrange insurance and quotes and organise a hire car this morning had not been conducive to punctuality. And she’d slept badly, tossing and turning and thinking about Charlie all night.
She stood in front of the drab-looking building that she’d been assigned to and felt uncharacteristically depressed. A faded sign on the front announced it was the Valley Drop-In Centre. God, I’m tired. She pushed through the mesh reinforced glass doors and looked around the room.
‘Dr Wentworth?’ she asked a couple of bored, tatty-looking teenagers. They pointed to a closed door and she approached it briskly. She had a job to do and regardless of her near-death experience last night, she needed to put it aside and concentrate on today. Concentrate. The chipped nameplate said ‘Dr Charles Wentworth’. She thought of Charlie and then shook her head disgustedly. Concentrate, damn it!
She gave a brisk rap.
‘Come in.’
Carrie took a deep breath, pushed the door open and walked into the office. She stopped in mid-stride, knowing instantly who the tall rangy man with the shaggy downcast head sitting behind the desk was and gave a startled gasp.
Charlie looked up at the noise, his pen stilling in surprise. ‘Carrie?’
‘Charlie?’ A sinking feeling formed in the pit of her stomach. He couldn’t be. ‘You’re Dr Charles Wentworth?’ she asked, hoping desperately that he was just there doing some locum work for the good doctor who she’d assumed to be years older.
‘The very same.’ He nodded. Surely she wasn’t his appointment? ‘And you’re…Dr Douglas?’
Carrie nodded, temporarily unable to form words.
Charlie stared in dismay at her smart businesslike suit. Navy blue. Rich, red, silky blouse. Pinstripes. No tie-dye in sight. Pinstripes—hell! ‘And you’re here to…’
She nodded again. ‘Audit you.’
The wall clock ticked so loudly in the silence it might as well have been a bomb. Charlie recovered first, ignoring the ominous ‘A’ word and its implications to the viability of the centre. He’d lived under the cloud of closure since he’d opened the clinic five years ago.
‘You’re a doctor?’ What the hell?
Carrie lifted her chin. She’d never had to justify her title before and she was damned if she’d do so now. For the next month she was in charge here so it was imperative that she assert her authority immediately. Having him think less of her qualifications, ones she’d worked long and hard for, ones her parents had worked two jobs and re-mortgaged the house for, rankled. ‘Yes, I am.’
Charlie was flabbergasted. He couldn’t have been more surprised than if she’d told him she was a hooker. ‘A medical doctor?’
‘Yes, Charlie, a medical doctor.’
‘You could have fooled me.’
She shrugged, trying for nonchalant when in reality her heart was hammering madly in her chest. Surely he could hear it? ‘I’ve been in management for a while now.’
‘I thought only middle-aged has-beens went into management.’
No. Sometimes young has-beens did, too. ‘It’s a legitimate career option these days. I’m on track to become the youngest hospital MD in Australia.’
Whoa—real party girl. ‘So, what, when other little girls wanted to be fairies and princesses, you decided to chose something more—’ boring ‘—practical?’
Carrie felt her spine stiffen. She was used to subtle male put-downs. Making her way in a male-dominated career had given her a thick skin and a very low tolerance level for fools. Why did he make ambition seem so dirty? Would he have asked her the same question had she been a male? Where was the man from last night who had so tenderly handed Dana to her?
‘Do powerful women threaten your masculinity, Charlie?’
OK. This conversation was bizarre. She was standing before him in her fashionable pinstriped suit—hell, pinstripes—that moulded curves he hadn’t even been aware of last night. Her collar was up on her soft, wine-red shirt—very chic—and it clung to the very interesting rise of flesh that strained against the buttons, barely succeeding in concealing her cleavage.
Indignation burned in her eyes behind trendy frameless glasses that sat high on her perfectly straight nose. She had some shiny gloss stuff on her full lips, the only make-up he could detect, and they glistened. Her wavy hair was pulled back, restricted in some kind of clasp thingy, not a stray hair in sight.
She was the epitome of a modern businesswoman. Composed. Professional. Collected. And a far cry from the cot case of last night. Pale. Shaken. Hyperventilating. Try as he may, he just couldn’t reconcile the two images. It was as if last night hadn’t even happened.
‘Not at all,’ he said dismissively. ‘Actually, I find powerful women very sexy. Hell, I even married one. I just couldn’t think of anything worse if I tried. Management.’ He shuddered. ‘All that paperwork.’
Carrie swallowed. Did he find her sexy? The idea was as seductive as it was preposterous. She reeled in her straying thoughts. What the hell did she care if he did or not? Whatever happened to asserting her authority? She was going to need to be twice as hard with this man now he’d already had her at a disadvantage. Now he’d seen her so vulnerable.
‘Yes,’ she said briskly, bringing the conversation back to the matter at hand. ‘Apparently paperwork’s not your forte.’
Charlie chuckled. Paperwork was the bane of his life.
Carrie pursed her lips disapprovingly. He could find this as amusing as he liked but it was just irresponsible as far as she was concerned. When you were running a business, particularly with someone else’s money, you had to be fiscally accountable.
‘It’s taken me a while to decipher some of your figures, particularly the last year’s, and a lot of it’s incomplete. To finish my investigation I’ll need to see all your business files, bank records, activity statements and so on.’
Charlie stared at her, his ire rising. She was looking so prim and proper. So together. So unlike the woman from last night. She held the upper hand and she knew it. The future of the clinic depended on the outcome of her report. ‘I have some of them ready. I’ll have to get the rest together for you,’ he stonewalled.
Carrie heard the flint in his voice. She glared at him. Did he think because he had already seen her at less than her best that she was just going to fold and meekly surrender? He needed to know now that the woman he’d seen last night had been a complete anomaly.
‘You’ve had over a week to get this information together,’ she growled, trying to keep her temper in check. ‘I don’t appreciate these stalling tactics.’
Tactics? ‘Lady, what the hell is it you think we do here all day? I don’t have time to scratch myself most of the time. Trying to locate five years’ worth of documentation with the