Falling for Her Impossible Boss

by Alison Roberts

  She grabbed one from the rail in Lady Dorothy’s room and was back within seconds.

  Wally was still having his seizure. The longer it went on the more serious it was likely to be and it looked quite bad enough already. Wally must have bitten his tongue because there was blood-stained foam coming from his mouth. What if he was in status epilepticus? Oliver was signalling another nurse and calling for a drug trolley.

  ‘I should have done something this morning,’ Bella groaned. ‘I told Sally I thought he needed a scan or something.’

  ‘What?’ Oliver was close beside where Bella was crouching now. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘He’s been having headaches and this morning he said his vision was blurry. And now this…’ Bella could feel tears stinging the back of her eyes as she looked up at Oliver. ‘He might have a brain tumour, mightn’t he?’

  ‘So you’re a neurosurgeon now?’ But the words were not sarcastic. If anything, the look that Oliver gave her was reassuring. And there was something else in his glance. Something that made Bella feel oddly warm. Had he been impressed with the way she had handled this emergency?

  ‘We’ll have a good look at him, Bella, and find out what’s going on. I take it he doesn’t have a history of seizures?’

  Bella shook her head. A nurse had arrived with the drug trolley but it seemed that chemical intervention wasn’t going to be necessary to halt the seizing. Wally was lying still now. Bella wriggled to where she could control his airway and cushion his head with the towel. She used a corner of it to wipe the foam from his chin.

  Wally groaned.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Bella told him. ‘You’re safe, Wally.’ She stroked his forehead. ‘We’re looking after you. It’s OK.’

  ‘Find a stretcher,’ Oliver ordered another staff member. ‘And call CT and see if they can fit in an emergency case.’

  Bella almost gasped. Oliver was going to look at Wally right now? Her smile wobbled a little.

  ‘Thank you so much,’ she whispered. ‘I know he’s getting on but he’s such a sweetheart and I know he’s deaf but he’s still as sharp as a tack.’

  Oliver had hold of Wally’s wrist, taking his pulse. ‘You’re really fond of him, aren’t you?’

  Bella nodded. ‘I didn’t expect to enjoy Geriatrics this much,’ she confessed, ‘but you know what?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They’re as good as babies in their own way. You can’t help loving them.’

  Wally was coming out of his post-ictal state reasonably quickly. With plenty of assistance, staff got him onto a stretcher and ready to be taken to the CT lab.

  ‘Go with him.’ Lady Dorothy had been watching the drama from her bed and anyone could see that Bella was torn when she went back into her patient’s room. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Go,’ Oliver agreed. ‘I’ll come down and see what the results are as soon as I can.’ He lifted a hand in farewell to his mother and followed Bella out of the door.

  ‘About before,’ he said quietly. ‘You have every right to say no to my mother. And if you have any doubts about accepting the position she’s offering, that’s exactly what you should say.’

  * * *

  If she had any doubts?

  What about his doubts? The frank disapproval that had radiated from him the other night when Lady Dorothy had first mooted the subject? Had he changed his mind? He couldn’t have missed the bond that had developed between herself and his mother over the last few days and Oliver Dawson clearly loved his mother. And he’d witnessed her dealing with an emergency with another patient today. Did he, in fact, think she might be the right person for this important job now?

  Approve of her, even?

  The very idea made her head spin all over again. Why was it suddenly such a desirable thing to have Oliver approve of her? Bella tried to shake it off as being no more than a way of redeeming herself for the klutzy mistakes she seemed to have been programmed to make in front of him up till now. A desire to prove that she wasn’t incompetent and irresponsible. The way she had today?

  Wally had had his scan now. A procedure that had shown Bella’s inexpert diagnosis to be correct. There was a growth in the elderly man’s head that was causing his symptoms. He was scheduled for an MRI scan and the more detailed results would determine whether the tumour was operable.

  He was resting comfortably in his own room now and Bella was back with Lady Dorothy, testing her blood-sugar levels again.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about what Oliver had said, though. And now she was fighting a desire to win more of his approval.

  It pulled her back in time. To those way too familiar episodes of being desperate to win back the approval of her father. Or Kate. But, then, Oliver wasn’t family. She wasn’t even attracted to him, except in that pining after a movie-star, unattainable kind of way.

  Letting herself think for a moment that that unattainability might be up for negotiation was guaranteed to make her head spin to a degree where she might do something really silly so Bella made a determined effort to plant herself firmly back in reality. She focussed on what Lady Dorothy was now saying. Oliver had been right. His mother wasn’t giving up on trying to persuade her to become her private nurse.

  ‘You’d love it, I promise. We have access to a beach that’s so cut off other people can only get to it by boat so it’s virtually private. And…’ Lady Dorothy reached out to touch Bella’s hand ‘…it would mean so much, dear. To both me and Oliver.’

  Really?

  ‘Your son thinks I’m an idiot,’ Bella heard herself blurt out. Well, maybe he didn’t think she was quite as stupid as he had done but it wouldn’t take much to wipe out the better impression he’d gained today, would it? Bella knew perfectly well she was highly likely to do something else that he would think ill-considered. Or irresponsible.

  Lady Dorothy was silent for a moment. ‘Oliver didn’t have the happiest childhood,’ she said then. ‘He learned self-control and responsibility at an age when most children were simply having fun.’

  She sounded sad about it. As though she considered it a failing on her part as a mother. Bella found herself curling her own hand around Lady Dorothy’s. Very gently, so she didn’t hurt the still red, swollen joints.

  Oliver had had an unhappy childhood? Bella had always found that sadness was very contagious.

  ‘He’s brilliant at what he does,’ Lady Dorothy continued, ‘and I couldn’t be more proud of him but…’ She lowered her voice. ‘He’s just a little bit stuffy, don’t you think?’

  Bella gasped. This was as outrageous as Oliver making jokes about his mother.

  In fact, there was an amused gleam in Lady Dorothy’s eyes that reminded her very strongly of the one she’d seen in Oliver’s.

  ‘It would do him good to get shaken up a little,’ Lady Dorothy murmured. ‘To have some fun.’

  Oh…but that concept appealed to Bella no end. The streak of mischief that she knew she really ought to grow out of was firing up right now. Alert and sending delicious, persuasive bursts of energy through her body. Teasing Oliver Dawson?

  It had often worked with her father.

  And Kate.

  But to try it on Oliver? No-o-o. It would be like playing with fire. Lighting matches near something when she had no idea what the result might be.

  A disappointing fizzle?

  A conflagration?

  An explosion that could cause all manner of collateral damage?

  Hmm. Not a good idea. That temptation would have to be filed under the other reasons that weren’t quite morally acceptable.

  Like solving the problem of moving out of Kate’s house to give her and Connor some privacy as they started the rest of their lives together.

  Like living in some amazing mansion that had an indoor swimming pool
and a private beach.

  Like having enough money to make her overseas experience one long holiday instead of small snatches of time sandwiched between jobs.

  Bella was still holding Lady Dorothy’s hand. Stroking it very, very gently. Feeling the shape of her joints and knowing how much pain and frustration they were causing her.

  And then she looked up and caught Lady Dorothy’s gaze and suddenly everything fell into place with a very obvious clunk.

  This wasn’t about any financial incentives.

  It wasn’t about Oliver Dawson.

  It was about a woman who just happened to be his mother and the look in this elderly woman’s eyes. The plea in them. It could be her beloved nanna looking at her right now.

  She’d been too late to do much for Nanna. To help her get to a space where she could still have a good quality of life for however many years she had left. But she could do it for Lady Dorothy.

  She wanted to do it. More than she wanted anything else that was on the immediate agenda, like working with babies or heading for Europe. Six months would be long enough to make a real difference, wouldn’t it?

  It seemed long enough to be able to accomplish anything.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ she said softly. ‘I’d really like to be your nurse, Lady Dorothy.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  IT HAD been one of those days.

  Oliver Dawson wanted nothing more than to retreat to his favourite place in the world—the old, slightly ramshackle summer house that had been tucked into the cliffside at the bottom of the garden, just beside the steep, overgrown steps that led down to the beach.

  The semicircle skeleton of iron and wood had long since been taken over by roses and jasmine and honeysuckle and at almost any time of the year there was a glorious perfume. The built-in seating was wide enough to be used as a bed and if the cushions were well past their use-by date, it didn’t matter a bit. Not when the view was so compelling. Mile after mile of sea. A view that pulled you into its enormity and made everything else irrelevant.

  A place of complete relaxation. No pressure. No disappointments. No expectations at all, just a blessed nothingness. Exactly what he needed after a day like today.

  Not that he was complaining, of course. Having a crisis appear from nowhere and demand so much skill and concentration that he was left feeling drained was precisely the kind of thing that had drawn him to neurosurgery in the first place.

  It had been fifteen-year-old Tyler this afternoon. The innocent victim of a gang-related drive-by shooting, he’d had surgery for his head injury two days ago. Routine surgery. All it had needed had been a bit of debridement and a careful check to make sure there was no major damage. And there hadn’t been. Tyler had been incredibly lucky.

  When he’d had a seizure completely out of the blue that afternoon, Oliver had been paged instantly. He’d arrived to find the boy’s level of consciousness had deteriorated and there were other ominous signs, like the one-sided drift when he was asked to close his eyes and hold his hands palms upwards. The diagnosis had been obvious. A post-op bleed happening just behind the surgery site had been an emergency that couldn’t wait a minute longer than absolutely necessary. A theatre had needed to be found and staffed. They’d had to lift the bone flap, excavate the clot, find the source of the bleeding and make sure it stopped.

  It had been a battle with a time limit and the tension had made the case all the more exhausting to end a day with.

  All the more satisfying that it had appeared to have been successful but Oliver wouldn’t be completely satisfied until he was sure that Tyler hadn’t been left with any lingering neurology and it was still too soon to tell. That meant that some of the tension was still with him. The buzz of the race against time was still there too. He might be absolutely drained but Oliver was still far too wired to relax. He needed the summer house. Maybe a good workout in the gym first, to get rid of the kink in his neck and the ache in his back and to burn off the last of the adrenaline he could still feel coursing through his body. He knew exactly what he needed to do in order to centre himself again because it was a well-practised and cherished routine.

  Having parked his luxurious but entirely practical BMW sedan in the garage complex, Oliver opened the front door of his house, threw the keys into the antique beaten silver bowl on the hall stand and then stopped dead in his tracks.

  He could hear music.

  Country music.

  He actually closed his eyes for a long, long moment. In the comfort to be found in anticipating his wind-down routine, he had completely forgotten how much things had changed in his home.

  His mother was still in the early stages of rehabilitation and coming to terms with any new limitations she would be left with. He couldn’t just greet her in passing, knowing that she understood that he would be back to spend time with her when he’d dealt with any aftermath of his demanding job.

  And that was only the thin edge of the wedge of change. Bella was living there. She had been there for a week now. And she was the only person who could possibly be responsible for the sound of Johnny Cash wafting from the conservatory. Part of Oliver wanted nothing more than to block his ears and ignore the sound but he knew it was impossible. Just as impossible as ignoring the fact that Bella Graham was living in his house.

  If he’d had the slightest inkling of how pervasive her presence would be, he would have somehow talked his mother into hiring another nurse. He only had himself to blame, didn’t he? He’d been entranced by the instinctive people skills Bella seemed to possess and then he’d been overwhelmed by a sense of relief that a way forward, albeit temporary, had been found. One that was making his mother happier than he had seen her for a long, long time, which was extraordinary, given what she was having to deal with now.

  He’d thought it wouldn’t impinge on his own life at all. His own wing was virtually self-contained and he could eat out instead of using the main kitchen facilities. Surely Bella wouldn’t be on duty twenty-four seven so he probably wouldn’t encounter her very often when he popped in every day to check on his mother.

  How naive had he been?

  Bella’s presence was like…a sound or a scent or something. It trickled into and lingered in spaces she hadn’t even entered. It bubbled and fizzed in odd corners with an effervescence that was disturbingly refreshing. It made his mother happy so he was quite prepared to tolerate it.

  But Johnny Cash?

  Not acceptable. On any level.

  * * *

  Lady Dorothy had finally nailed The Electric Slide.

  Bella was grinning from ear to ear as she held up her hand. ‘High-five,’ she commanded. ‘You are a legend.’

  How many seventy-something women would be prepared to high-five someone? Bella’s grin widened even further as her palm made contact—gently—with Lady Dorothy’s.

  How many would be determined to learn to line dance, for that matter? Or be prepared to throw herself into rehabilitation with the kind of guts that her private patient was demonstrating? This was already the most rewarding job she’d ever had and if Lady Dorothy kept up the kind of progress she’d made in the last week, Bella’s plans to head overseas in six months’ time wouldn’t need to be disrupted at all.

  ‘Let’s do it once more,’ Lady Dorothy said. ‘So I don’t forget by tomorrow.’

  ‘No worries. Some more Johnny Cash?’

  ‘No. Let’s have that “Achy-breaky heart” again.’

  The smooth tones of Billy Ray Cyrus filled the conservatory and Bella took her place beside Lady Dorothy.

  ‘OK. Step right. Cross behind with the left foot. Right foot out. Stomp left and clap.’ Bella made her clap extra loud to make up for the fact that Lady Dorothy wasn’t allowed to risk injuring the healing joints in her fingers. She even added a ‘Woohoo!’ as they turned to face t
he next wall and do the short routine again.

  Only they both stopped before the next step right.

  Staring at them from the door of the conservatory was Oliver.

  ‘Hello, darling.’ Lady Dorothy raised her voice to be heard over Billy Ray. ‘You’re just in time. Come and join us.’

  Bella could see the balloon over Oliver’s head that had Not in this lifetime printed inside it.

  ‘Please,’ Lady Dorothy said. ‘It’s not really line dancing when there’s only two of us.’

  The request was sweet but Bella could detect the determination not to accept no for an answer. What had Oliver said about his mother having a core of reinforced steel?

  Come to that, what had Lady Dorothy said about her son needing to be shaken up a little? To be forced to have some fun?

  And what better fun was there than line dancing?

  ‘Come on.’ Bella tried her most winning smile. ‘You’re a brain surgeon. This will be a doddle.’

  ‘It’ll only take a couple of minutes.’ Lady Dorothy was sounding firmer now. ‘I want to show you how good my balance is getting.’

  ‘I’ll watch from here.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be so stuffy, Oliver,’ Lady Dorothy said. ‘It’s fun.’

  Bella hid her smile as she saw Oliver’s chest heave in a long-suffering sigh before he discarded his jacket, loosened his tie and rolled his sleeves up.

  ‘Five minutes,’ he growled. ‘I’ve got a workout to get to.’

  This was obviously something that was so far out of Oliver Dawson’s comfort zone Bella almost felt sorry for him.

  But it would do him good, she decided. He might be a brilliant surgeon and he definitely loved his mother and that was all very commendable but there was no denying that he was stuffy.

  He needed shaking up and she was just the woman to do it.

  Bella beamed at Oliver. ‘Follow our steps. We just turn three hundred and sixty degrees and do this little routine at each turn. Ready? OK. Step right, like this…’

  * * *