Книга - The Doctor In The Executive Suite

The Doctor In The Executive Suite
Tina Beckett


Step behind the hotel room doors of the Chatsfield, London… Doctor Chelsea Serrano is never going on a blind date again. EVER! The food at the delectable and ultra-luxurious Chatsfield restaurant may be heavenly, but the company definitely leaves something to be desired…So when Chelsea is called upon to save the life of a guest, she jumps at the chance to escape her ‘date’. And having a mouth-watering bodyguard helping her as the drama unfolds? What girl could ask for more?! But when the curtain falls will she chose to live in the spotlight and reach for what she wants?










Step behind the hotel room doors of the Chatsfield, London…

Doctor Chelsea Serrano is never going on a blind date again. EVER! The food at the delectable and ultra-luxurious Chatsfield restaurant may be heavenly, but the company definitely leaves something to be desired…

So when Chelsea is called upon to save the life of a guest, she jumps at the chance to escape her ‘date’. And having a mouth-watering bodyguard helping her as the drama unfolds? What girl could ask for more?! But when the curtain falls will she chose to live in the spotlight and reach for what she wants?


DOCTOR IN THE EXECUTIVE SUITE

Tina Beckett


Contents

Cover (#ub0da4a4b-4b23-5639-b9c7-b4df30cec9fe)

Blurb (#ufbcd9af4-67ef-596b-9b43-2c7f82bd116d)

Title Page (#ub01b7702-2638-5830-a53e-f69d235bdd55)

Chapter One (#u7ca35431-ed73-5abe-9ecc-c0c4b4645ce7)

Chapter Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Discover the Chatsfield (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_d0f88bcd-db78-5c10-ad8c-c54912ab3fe0)

Conjugation of the word drone: I drone. You drone. He, she, it drones.

And boy could he drone. On and on and on.

Chelsea Serrano propped her chin on her palm, trying to tune out her date’s voice as she gazed at her luxurious surroundings. Elegant couples filled the tables around them with subdued conversation, while soft music and lights gave the room a sense of intimacy that belied its size.

So this was how the other half lived.

Thirty years old and fresh off her surgical rotation, Chelsea had barely gotten to see any of London, much less the famed Chatsfield hotel. So when her flatmate offered to set her up on a blind date with renowned architect Marty Brimmer she’d agreed. After all, she’d be dining at a Michelin-starred restaurant and conversing with a successful, intelligent man. How bad could it be?

Bad. Very, very bad.

Her attention shifted back to her date, and she did her best to concentrate on the individual words this time, instead of letting them gush past her in an endless stream.

‘...so I decided to base the whole structure on the Pythagorean Theorem.’ He flipped his champagne-colored napkin open with a deft shake of his wrist and settled it onto his lap. ‘You know what that is right?’

Don’t roll your eyes, Chelsea.

One thing was for sure. She was going to have one less friend once she got back to her flat.

She blinked a couple of times and feigned interest. ‘The Pythagorean Theorem. Is that the a² + b² =c² one?’

How could you design an entire building on a single mathematical equation? Why would you even want to, for that matter?

Marty’s brows came together, and his chest inflated, evidently not happy that he had one less thing to explain to her. ‘Yes, that’s the basic premise. But there’s so much more to the theorem than a simple equation.’

‘Oh really?’

Did she look that pathetic? It wasn’t like she hadn’t taken some serious math and chemistry courses on her way to becoming a doctor.

She gave an internal sigh and studied her date once again. At six-feet-two with a whip-thin frame and thick black glasses, he didn’t match her mental image of an architect. And he most certainly didn’t match Lila’s description of him.

‘He’s dreamy. Tall. Self-assured and successful. He’ll give you just the shot of confidence you need.’

If this was a shot of confidence, she’d hate to know her flatmate’s idea of an arrogant prick. Because she could think of two words that fit that particular description to a tee. Marty. Brimmer.

With only a couple months remaining before she returned to the US, this was probably one of the few chances she’d get to take in some of the local sights before boarding her plane. Although the only sight she’d seen so far tonight was the rhythmic twitch of Marty’s black mustache as the mouth beneath it pumped out word after word.

Worst blind date ever.

And the longest. They hadn’t even gotten their appetizers yet.

She lifted her cut glass goblet and took her first sip of wine, welcoming the way the ruby-colored liquid slid down her throat. She wasn’t driving, so what the hell. Maybe she could drink her way into oblivion after an hour or two. A girl could hope, anyway.

Having Marty pick her up at the flat had not been her smartest idea, because as it stood now, he’d be driving her back there at the end of the evening. Unless she could figure out a way to take a taxi, instead.

As it was, she wondered if he’d even care. So far, he knew her name and occupation. But other than that, he’d not asked a single question about her background or her work. Or even about where she was from in the States.

She knew a whole lot about Marty, though. And not from her flatmate either. No, he’d told her all about himself in excruciating detail. He was rich. His black Jaguar was his most prized possession. Oh yeah, he had two sisters, neither of them as intelligent as him—although admittedly he hadn’t said it quite as baldly as that. Just that one was a housewife who had no ambition and the other was an actuary.

Boring as hell, Marty had pronounced.

Yeah? Bore... boar. Homonyms that meant completely different things. And yet, she was pretty sure that Marty fit both of those words. And a few others she was better off not naming.

And what was she doing thinking about conjugations and homonyms, when she was supposed to be on a wildly romantic date? Some romance.

Lila had even found another place to sleep for the night. Just in case Chelsea wanted to bring him back to the flat and...‘you know’. Her friend had said the words with a big wink.

Ugh. She’d found Marty attractive in quirky hipster kind of way when she’d first opened the door. But hipster was not how she’d describe him now. And the thought of the man touching her...

She washed down the spurt of bile that rose in her throat with another swig of expensive wine. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for the dating scene. Medical school had consumed her every waking moment for so long that she’d forgotten what it was like to live in the normal world. Or to dream of visiting luxury hotels like the Chatsfield.

And now here she was, sitting almost directly beneath the largest chandelier she’d ever laid eyes on.

Branching out in ten different directions, the light fixture was probably bigger than her entire bedroom back at the flat. Hundreds of delicate crystals sent a flurry of rainbows throughout the space, one of which was nestled on their red tablecloth. Chelsea’s gaze returned to that tiny arc of light again and again, imagining all kinds of possibilities. She could use her spoon and reflect the beam to nearby diners as a type of distress signal, but that would probably be frowned upon not only by Marty, but by the staff as well.

Maybe she could at least ask to see the rest of the hotel before she left. Surely as an architect, her date would be interested in the stately old building. Although, according to him, he designed modern structures. Chrome and glass and shiny new surfaces.

Chelsea, on the other hand, loved the history and charm of older buildings.

A red-suited server arrived, a linen towel draped over one arm and an artfully arranged dish of escargot-stuffed mushrooms balanced on the palm of his other hand. He gave a slight bow. ‘Your appetizers.’

Chelsea smiled up at the man, grateful for the interruption no matter how brief. As Marty instructed him on where to place the platter and how he wanted the dish served, she edged her spoon toward the spot of light on her table, then slid it beneath the light. It flashed, the reflected beam sailing somewhere, although she had to force herself not to glance around to try to find where it had landed.

‘More wine, Madame?’

The waiter’s voice carried a hint of pity...or maybe that was just her imagination.

‘Yes, please.’ Her glass was still half full, but she had a feeling she was going to need a few more refills to get through the rest of the evening. When she glanced up to smile again, she noted that man’s eyes had shifted to another part of the room. Quick as a flash, his attention was back, and he was just as courtly and professional as he’d been seconds earlier. He refilled her glass and gave another quick bow. But not before looking past her again to something behind her, his brows drawing together.

Wonder what that’s all about. A woman? Or a table that’s livelier than ours?

She shrugged away the thought. Lila had complained about her self-defeating attitude many times before. Chelsea had to admit the nurse had a point. Her friend would have taken charge of the conversation with Marty and somehow wrestled the subject onto things she was interested in, rather than allowing the man to ramble on and on about his life and work.

It was pretty obvious he found nothing about her interesting. No doubt her name would soon be added to his Book of Boring Individuals. Actually that book was probably hundreds of pages long by now.

She stabbed her appetizer fork into the nearest mushroom and lifted it toward her mouth.

‘What are you specializing in?’

The question startled her so much that a snail—precariously perched on top of the mushroom—almost slid off onto the table.

‘I’m sorry?’

Marty’s pale blue eyes were focused on her. Right on her. And his mustache had finally gone still. Now that she got a good look at it, there were a couple of straggly hairs that needed a trim.

‘I asked what you plan to specialize in.’

Wow. The conversation had taken an unexpected turn. She’d finished her general studies, so she was already a doctor. But she planned to go even further, into something that was near and dear to her heart. ‘Pediatric oncology.’

‘Oncology.’ The frown was back along with the twitchy facial hair. ‘Why would you want to do that?’

Why? Why?

She could have asked him why he planned to build a metal structure using only the damned Pythagorean Theorem as a guide. Or why he didn’t do something that would be of use to mankind. But she hadn’t.

And suddenly telling him about her kid sister who’d been taken from her at far too young an age seemed disrespectful to Patty’s memory.

She lifted her chin and belted out a bold-faced lie, instead. ‘I’m actually doing it for the money.’

Shocker of shockers, Marty relaxed in his seat with a smile big enough to turn his mustache into a sideways parenthesis. ‘I can respect that.’

Okay. She was done with the man, Lila or no Lila.

The light gleaming on her spoon caught her attention. Her little cry for help was still being sent out into the universe. Maybe Patty would see it and come to her rescue.

Or maybe it was time to realize that no one was coming to her aid. It was up to her.

But first, she was going to eat a few bites of this appetizer. Surely she’d earned that much. She popped the bite into her mouth, just as Marty went off onto another topic involving his firm and their charitable giving to underprivileged children in developing countries. Ironic, considering his reaction to her doing-it-for-the-money statement.

Closing her eyes, she focused on the smooth cool feel of the fork as it slid across her lips...on the tang of garlic and herbs as it combined with the earthy tones of the snail and mushroom.

Mmm. Wonderful. Not at all what she’d expected.

At least her date had good taste when it came to food—she swallowed and chased it down with another sip of her wine.

Maybe she could wait this out just a little bit longer. She dragged her spoon out from beneath the beam of light and forked up her second escargot, a renewed sense of hope coming over her. She even managed a smile for Marty, who blinked, his gaze dipping to her mouth and then beyond, to where the scooped neckline of her silk dress exposed a little bit of skin. When his eyes came back to her face, there was a definite gleam of interest. ‘Green looks good on you.’

Huh? Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

The last thing she wanted was for him to get the wrong idea about where this night was headed. Because once she hit the door to her flat, their time together was over. Forever.

Okay. New rule. No smiling at her date. ‘So tell me more about this Pythagorean building. Does it have a name?’

He settled back into his seat. ‘Not officially. But I’m calling it The Equation for now.’

‘Very clever.’

He dove back into the subject with gusto.

Their server was now over by the dark paneled wall, conversing with a woman in a grey pencil skirt and matching jacket. A hotel employee? Probably from the looks of it. Their interaction didn’t last long, but she could swear the server glanced in Chelsea’s direction once or twice before the two split apart, going in opposite directions. His steps seemed quicker than they’d been the other times he’d approached their table. He didn’t stop to check on any of his customers, just paused to say something to one of the other servers.

This time she was sure he’d glanced her way, as did the other member of the wait staff. Her spine straightened. Was there something wrong with her hair? Did she have a piece of snail stuck between her teeth?

Or maybe he was laughing at her poor choice in men.

He hadn’t come back to the table since they’d started eating. In a place like this, that seemed a bit unusual.

Marty was still talking, totally oblivious to the fact that she wasn’t paying attention to him.

Across the room, another woman joined the pair of waiters. This one was dressed in a maid’s uniform, her hands tightly clasped together as she said something and then left.

Chelsea glanced around. No one seemed alarmed or found their behavior out of the ordinary. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Especially when she spotted two men in black suits come to attention. They were seated a few tables away and she’d thought they were CEOs at first having a business lunch, but when one touched his ear—where a dark cord coiled down the side of his neck—she swallowed.

Security for the hotel?

The men both got up at the same time, dropping their napkins onto the table and walking away, their plates still half full of food. There was no leather binder on their table indicating they’d gotten their bill either.





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