Survival Guide to Dating Your Boss Read online

  ‘Marcus.’ Tilly could see him in her mind as clear as day. ‘He’s six-four, blue eyes, dark curly hair and built like a brickie’s labourer. Great genes.’

  ‘Ohhhh.’ Ellie’s eyes shone.

  ‘You sure you don’t fancy him, Till?’ Ruby was watching with those knowing eyes.

  Tilly swallowed the rest of her beer and dropped the lime skin in. ‘Not my type.’

  Ruby and Jess exchanged amused glances. Ellie wasn’t included because she was still off in dream-land, populating the world with miniature dark-haired brickies. ‘Sounds like everyone’s type to me,’ Jess said.

  ‘So how long’s he staying?’ That was Ruby.

  ‘No idea. Conversation flagged after the police car drove off.’ Tilly looked up and saw the laughter in her friend’s eyes and she had to chuckle. Parts of the encounter had been funny. But the fact that he obviously hated her—would like to see her boiled in oil probably—wasn’t amusing at all.

  CHAPTER TWO

  MONDAY morning sunshine streamed into the open bedroom window as Marcus towelled his shoulders. As he turned away from the streaky mirror he caught a glimpse of the purple bruises on the backs of his legs.

  At least he wasn’t limping today, no thanks to the red-headed witch next door. He hadn’t gone for a run today just to give his legs a chance to heal. But he could have done with one to rid himself of the snatches of nightmares that had included dear Matilda. He didn’t know why she’d made such an impression on him—apart from the physical imprint of assault.

  He hung the towel evenly on the rail and walked naked into the bedroom. His aunt had been twinkling at him most of last night because it was all so-o-o funny. And he’d heard enough about Matilda with the legendary handywoman skills to make him dislike her even without the gnome.

  But he wasn’t wasting thought on annoyances because today was a big day. His mobile phone beeped twice, an appointment reminder that he had an hour until work, and as usual he was on time.

  He’d worked hard for this. Not just the early stuff, sweating over a restaurant stove between uni classes, extra shifts right through his internship, and the study he’d put in for his O&G exams—it was the effort put in to give him the right to make policy changes.

  To have a say.

  To protect women and babies from idiots and poor out comes and poor practitioners. An oath he’d sworn as a heartbroken child.

  Now finally to be the consultant in charge of an obstetric unit, a small one by city standards but one with a brilliant reputation, and he knew exactly how he wanted it run. His mothers and babies would be the safest in Australia.

  A snatch of song, a woman’s voice drifting up from the garden below with a soft Irish melody that made the hairs prickle on the back of his neck. He lifted his head. The tune was pure and incredibly seductive and Marcus slung the towel around his hips and leaned out of the window.

  His head whipped back in when he saw who it was. St Matilda in a bikini top with a towel around her waist. Long red hair crinkled wet from the sea like a siren’s.

  She was like a gnat, buzzing outside his conscious decision not to think about her, and he wanted to swat her. And that delicious backside of hers.

  Whoa! Where had that come from? Heat descended to his groin and he backed farther away from the window.

  He’d been working so hard these past few years he hadn’t had time for anything but brief flings. It was obviously just a physical need he should think about addressing again. Maybe he’d have time soon but certainly not in that neighbourly direction.

  Plus she was too young for him. Though he had to admit just then he’d felt younger than he had in a while. He grinned then his leg twinged as he reached for his clothes and he thought of the gnome. Best to avoid the pain.

  Two hours later Marcus surveyed his two residents, his registrar, and the MUM, Midwifery Unit Manager, in his new office as he outlined his plans. And it felt good.

  They’d had a ward round on each floor, the gynae floor on top and antenatal beds next down with the antenatal clinic. Then the neonatal nursery floor and on the ground the birthing units and theatres.

  He’d done a double take when Gina, the midwife in charge, had proudly pointed out the new large baths in the labour ward for pain relief in labour. Apparently they’d been put in from fundraising by one of the new graduate midwives but he hadn’t commented as yet on that. No doubt she’d noticed her announcement hadn’t been greeted with shouts of joy.

  ‘Diligent observation with strict documentation, a medical officer for each birth if possible, though I do understand sometimes babies come in a rush. But I’d like admission foetal monitoring on all women until the baby’s wellbeing has been proved. Risk assessment on every woman will be an area I’ll scrutinise thoroughly.’

  The medical officers all nodded, though Gina didn’t look impressed. Well, tough. The buck stopped with him. ‘Any questions?’

  Gina spoke up. ‘This isn’t a training hospital for midwives. My girls are all qualified and very observant, up to date and extremely diligent already.’

  ‘I’m sure they are.’ But… ‘Not all midwives have the same level of experience.’

  Gina wasn’t finished. ‘I thought the studies said admission foetal monitoring increased a woman’s risk of unnecessary intervention?’

  He’d heard it before. ‘I’m glad you asked that.’ He knew what could go wrong. ‘I’ve seen the studies but I’m not convinced. I’ll leave some less publicised clinical trials for you to look at.’

  When Tilly walked in for the afternoon shift handover there seemed an unusual quietness over the ward. There were a few gloomy faces from the students, the senior midwives were in a huddle with the MUM, and the other new grad, her friend Zoe, who’d almost finished her shift, drifted across.

  ‘Why so glum?’ Tilly looked at her with raised eyebrows.

  ‘Dream’s gone,’ Zoe said sadly. ‘Our new broom has arrived and we’re not happy, Tilly. Ward meeting in five.’

  Tilly frowned. At least she’d hear the worst instead of imagining it. They’d been so excited about the new consultant, too. With a younger man appointed to the post there’d been great hopes of a shift away from the medical model of over-monitoring and early intervention. How come the basic concept that women were designed to have babies had been lost somewhere in the teaching of new doctors?

  Their previous consultant had been old school and a bit dithery, so you could almost understand his reluctance to change, but now it looked like they were worse off.

  She followed Zoe into the meeting room. ‘So he’s not young and modern?’

  Zoe pulled a face. ‘He’s young, majorly good-looking in a serious way, but not much of a sense of humour.’

  Sounded like someone she’d met recently but this was not the time to think of social disasters. This was work and the thought of going backwards into a more medical mode of midwifery sucked big time.

  Gina called them together and outlined the new directives. ‘Full electronic monitoring of babies on admission for the moment, please, where possible. And he doesn’t like the idea of the baths, but will tolerate them for pain relief as long as no babies are born in there, until we’ve reassessed the policy.’

  Tilly couldn’t believe it. ‘After all our work? What’s to assess? New South Wales Health said, “Make pain relief in water an option.”’

  Gina sighed. ‘I hear you, Tilly. Just make sure your women have been well informed, have signed consent, and agree to a land birth before they get in. We don’t want that option of pain relief taken away until we can change his mind about the actual birth.’

  That double-sucked. The last thing most women about to give birth wanted was to move, especially out of a warm, buoyant bath into a cool room and a hard bed.

  Tilly chewed her lip and as the meeting broke up Gina drew her aside. ‘This probably affects you most, Tilly. I know you put a lot of work into the fundraising. You have the same passion and instincts as your mot
her and all I can say is go slow.’

  Tilly sighed and accepted she’d have to pull back. ‘Doesn’t sound like he’d appreciate Mum’s philosophy.’

  Gina smiled. ‘Perhaps not that enlightened yet. We’ll work on him.’

  It didn’t occur to Tilly not to grind her teeth. Control was overrated. ‘It’s offensive that we have to work on any body. Back to being handmaidens. We should all be here for the women—including him.’

  ‘Give him time.’ Gina was always the voice of reason—a woman aware that passion needed nurturing and sometimes steering into less controversial paths. ‘We’ll show him we can provide safety and support as well as an optimal environment. Then he’ll understand.’

  The shift passed quietly, two normal births who arrived at the last minute, no time for excessive monitoring or to call for medical help, Tilly thought with satisfaction, and no sight of the new head of obstetrics.

  Tilly went home consumed with curiosity and not a little disappointment. She wanted to see this man that had everyone quaking in their boots but she’d just have to wait.

  The next morning, like most mornings since she’d moved into Hill Street, Tilly headed for the ocean. She couldn’t help her glance up at the guest-bedroom windows in Mrs B.’s house.

  Her dreams last night had been populated by a particular tall, dark and dark haired policeman who seemed to catch her speeding every time she drove onto a particular country road. No doubt there was something deep and meaningful in there somewhere but Tilly had been left with a feeling of anticipation and the wish that she actually owned a car to give her the chance of it coming true. Shame he wasn’t younger than she was and she could try for a fling.

  Maybe she should just paint the hallway. And refix the falling picture rail. That would keep her mind where it should be.

  As Marcus jogged back up the hill after his run he saw three young women leave the house next door. The annoying one wasn’t with them.

  The crash and muffled scream happened as he passed her gate and the repeated swear word, not a bad one in the scheme of things, floated out the window towards him. He sighed.

  Obviously she was alive, but his Hippocratic oath demanded he at least check she wasn’t about to do more damage. ‘Hello?’

  The swearing stopped.

  He called out again. ‘It’s Marcus from next door. Just checking. You all right?’ Marcus tilted his head and listened at her front door, which he could see was unlocked. Typical. Why’d she do that? Didn’t she read the papers? Foolish woman.

  ‘Um. I’m okay. Thanks.’

  She didn’t sound it. In fact, if he wasn’t totally mistaken he had the feeling she was almost in tears. ‘Can I come in?’

  He heard the scrape of furniture and a muffled sob. Nothing else for it, he had to check.

  ‘I’m coming in.’

  She was sitting on the floor, the ladder was on its side and the annoying one was sitting beside it with her foot in her hand. He hoped to hell she hadn’t fallen off the ladder.

  He crouched down next to her. ‘Matilda, isn’t it?’ As if he didn’t remember. ‘What happened? Did you hit your head?’

  ‘Hello, Marcus.’ She brushed a long tangled spiral of hair out of her eyes and his hand twitched at the unexpected desire to catch a tendril she’d missed. How did it spring all over like that and still be so soft?

  ‘No. I wasn’t up the ladder when it fell. But the hammer was. It landed on my toe.’ She bit a decidedly wobbly lip.

  He looked away, not because he wanted to gather her up in his arms and comfort her, certainly not. He looked away to professionally assess her injury and saw one already bruising big toe. He glanced at her woebegone face then back at her toe.

  Her gaze followed his. ‘It throbs.’

  ‘I imagine it would. I won’t touch it until you get a bit of relief.’ He glanced around the open room towards a doorway that looked like it led to the kitchen. ‘Do you have any ice?’

  She almost smiled and he almost melted. ‘Always.’

  He stood up. Quickly. ‘I’ll grab some from the freezer then.’ Marcus stepped around the ladder and righted it before heading for the kitchen. He couldn’t help a little peek around as he went. The house was very tidy.

  He guessed that was one thing in her favour, though he supposed it could be any of the girls who had the clean fetish. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t want to stack up good things in Matilda’s favour and refocussed on the task at hand.

  Freezer. He saw the unopened bag of frozen peas and decided it would mould better around her foot. He grabbed a tea towel that was folded on the bench.

  When he crouched back down beside her she looked more composed and he mentally sighed with relief. He mightn’t have coped with her tears. ‘I’ve brought the frozen peas. Less square.’

  She took them and lowered them gingerly onto her bruised toe. They both winced. ‘Ow-w…’ she murmured as the green plastic bag settled around her foot.

  ‘Where would you like to sit? Somewhere comfortable, maybe. With your leg up?’ She couldn’t stay there on the floor, which was cold tiles.

  Her big green eyes, still shiny with unshed tears, so completely captured his attention he wasn’t sure what she was talking about when she answered. ‘Um…I’ll try for the sofa.’

  So far? So far so good? Sofa. Right. Move somewhere more comfortable. What the heck was wrong with him this morning? She lifted the ice and he helped her up and he saw her grit her teeth to take a step.

  This was crazy. ‘Here.’ He picked her up easily in his arms and took the few strides to the three-seater lounge. She felt decidedly pleasant against his chest and it was with strange reluctance that he put her down.

  Not sensible. He knelt down and looked quickly at her toe again as she prepared to replace the ice. The bruising was mainly below the start of the nail and he ran his finger along her slender, cute phalanges. He cleared his throat. ‘I don’t think anything’s broken. Just bruised.’

  She nodded then looked away from him and he suddenly realised he was still holding her foot. He almost dropped it in his haste to stand up. ‘Well, if nothing else is hurt, I’ll be on my way.’ He unobtrusively wiped his hand on his trousers to rid himself of that warm and tingly feeling.

  Big, solemn eyes looked up at him. ‘Thanks for checking on me.’

  The sooner he got out of here the better. ‘My aunt would kill me if I didn’t.’

  She nodded. ‘Of course. Thanks anyway.’

  Marcus left. Quickly.

  Tilly watched him go, her toe a dull throbbing ache that was being replaced by a dull throbbing ache from the cold peas, but the rest of her was still dazed from being picked up and carried as if she were a baby.

  Scoop and go with no effort at all from him. It had been a very strange feeling to be held against that solid, manly chest and one she would have liked to have savoured for maybe a little while longer just for interest’s sake.

  Only to see why women liked it, of course. She almost got the reason. She could still smell the faint scent of virile man. Maybe guys did have some short-term advantages.

  She glanced around at the flat-headed copper nails that had spilled out of the box and the hammer lying beside them. No more repairs this morning. Her toe was feeling better already and she’d be sensible to keep it up before work that afternoon.

  She needed to remind herself that this guy qualified as an ‘older man’ and he pressed too many of her attraction buttons to be anywhere near safe as a platonic friend.

  CHAPTER THREE

  TILLY’S toe wasn’t too bad by afternoon, probably that quick packet of peas, because she squeezed into her shoe with only a little tenderness before she caught the bus up the hill to work, rather than walk.

  Tilly, along with the rest of the afternoon staff, had just finished their walk around the ward to meet the patients and for clinical handover when the phone rang.

  Gina picked it up, listened, and then waved. ‘There’s a patient with f
oetal distress, first baby, coming in by ambulance.’ Gina assessed the staff on duty. ‘Home birth. Probable emergency Caesarean. You take her, Tilly.’

  ‘Yep. Thanks.’ Tilly felt the clutch of sympathy in her stomach and glanced at her watch. ‘How far away?’

  Gina looked at the wall clock. ‘Ten minutes. Josie Meldon’s the mum, from Randwick, and the midwife is Scottish Mary.’

  Tilly was already moving. ‘Who’s the doctor on call?’

  ‘The new consultant.’

  So she’d get to meet the man. ‘I’ll page him and get the papers ready for Theatre.’ More than anyone, Tilly understood the efficiency and reliability of home-birth midwives. And Mary was one of the best.

  Tilly’s mother and grandmother had both been heavily involved in the home-birth movement all their lives and Tilly had been born at home, naturally, as well as growing up holding placards at dozens of home-birth rallies.

  She’d known Mary for years and if Mary said Caesarean, which she hated with a passion, that was what was needed.

  She dialled the pager number for the new consultant then scooped a pile of preprepared theatre papers from the drawer on her way to the filing cabinet.

  The cabinet held all the bookings of pregnant women in their catchment. Eastern Beaches Maternity Wing, or EB as it was known, had great rapport with the local independent midwives and in the last six months since Tilly had graduated she’d made extra efforts to liaise between the two areas of maternity care.

  Tilly’s goal had been to increase the mutual respect between hospital and private midwives, and while not missing, rapport hadn’t flourished either.

  Gina, a progressive manager and long-standing friend of Tilly’s mother, had encouraged her. Now EB had brief admission papers of even the home-birth clients in case of emergencies such as this to streamline unexpected admissions. This benefited everybody, especially the incoming mums.

  As Tilly lifted Josie Meldon’s file the phone rang and Tilly picked it up. ‘Maternity, Tilly. Can I help you?’