The Rebel Doc. Susan Carlisle

       CHAPTER ONE

      ‘WHAT ON EARTH …?’ Ivy Leigh blinked at the image downloading to her inbox, pixel by tiny pixel.

      A … bottom?

      A beautiful perfectly formed, tanned, bare bottom. Two toned thighs, a sculpted back … a naked male body, in what looked like a men’s locker room. A tagline next to the pert backside read: Dr Delicious. As perfect as a peach. Go on … take a bite.

      She swallowed. And again. Fanned her hot cheeks. She might have imposed a strict dating hiatus but she still had an appreciation of what was fine when she saw it. But why on earth would her work computer be the recipient of such a thing?

      Maybe the spam screens on the hospital intranet server weren’t up to scratch. Adding a new note to her smartphone to-do list—Call IT—she let out a heat-infused sigh that had nothing to do with sexual frustration and everything to do with this new job. Two weeks in and yet another department she needed to pull into order. Still, she’d been employed here to drag this hospital into the twenty-first century and that was what she was going to do, no matter how many toes she trod on.

      Twisting in her chair to hide the offending but not remotely offensive bottom from anyone who might walk past her open office door, she sneaked a closer look at the image, her gaze landing on a pile of what looked like discarded clothes on a bench. No, not clothes as such …

       Scrubs?

       Please, no.

      Dark green scrubs bearing the embroidered name of St Carmen’s Hospital. She gasped, and whatever vague interest she’d had dissolved into a puddle of professional anxiety … her bordering-on-average day was fast turning bad.

      So who? What? Why? Why me?

      She slammed her eyelids shut and refused to look at the accompanying email message.

       Okay, big girls’ pants.

      Opening one eye, she took a deep breath and read.

      From Albert Pinkney. St Carmen’s Hospital Chairman. His formidable perfectly English pronunciation shone through his words. ‘Miss Leigh, what in heaven’s name is this? Our new marketing campaign? Since when did St Carmen’s turn into some sort of smutty cabaret show? This is all over the internet like a rash and is not synonymous with the image we want to present. The benefactors are baying for blood. We are a children’s hospital. You’re the lawyer—do something. Make it disappear. Fix it.’

      Because she was probably the only person who could solve this—when all else failed call in the lawyer to shut it down, or drag some antiquated law out and hit the offender with it.

      And, damn it, fix it she would. Although making it disappear would be a little harder. Didn’t Pinkney know that once something was out on the net, it was there for ever? Clearly he was another candidate to add to her social media awareness classes.

      First, find out who this … specimen belonged to. Now, that was going to be an interesting task. ‘Becca! Becca! ‘

      ‘Yes, Miss Leigh?’ Her legal assistant arrived in the doorway and flashed her usual over-enthusiastic grin. ‘What can I help you with?’

      ‘Delicate issue … You’ve been here a while and have your ear to the ground. You must know pretty much all of the staff by now. Have you any idea who this … might belong to?’ Ivy twisted away and made a ta-da motion with her hands towards her computer screen.

      ‘Oh, my…’ Becca fanned her face with the stack of manila folders in her hand. ‘Take a bite? I’m suddenly very hungry.’

      Me, too. ‘That is so not the point. Can you see our logo? Right there. We can’t have this sort of thing happening, it’s very bad for our reputation.’

      ‘Not unless we’re trying to attract a whole tranche of new nurses … No? Wrong response? Sorry.’ Becca gave a little shrug that said she wasn’t sorry at all and that, in fact, she was really quite impressed. ‘It’s very nice. It is kind of perfect. And it says it belongs to a doctor so we can narrow it down. We could do one of those police line-ups, get the main suspects against the wall and …’ She looked back at the picture, her voice breathy and high-pitched. ‘I’m happy to organise that.’

      ‘Get in line.’ But, seriously, how many years at law school? For this? This was what she’d studied so hard for? This was why she’d hibernated away from any kind of social life? Her plan had always been to get into a position where she could safeguard others from what she’d had to endure, to prevent mistakes that cost people their happiness. Not chastise