Pretty Woman
Although it’s not yet eight o’clock as Anna leaves the hotel, the day’s heat is already building. Anna slides sunglasses over her eyes for the short walk to the conference centre. The street is dominated by bulky, concrete walls supporting huge glass-fronted office blocks and the light is blindingly strong. A handful of spindly trees struggle to remind the workers streaming into offices of nature’s existence. Traffic is nose to tail, inching along. It is noisy, polluted, and deeply unpleasant.
Dressed for the aggressive air-conditioning of the hotel, Anna peels off her lightweight cardigan and drapes it over her bag. The sun prickles her skin, but it isn’t long before she reaches a shaded pedestrian concourse. Her dress is a neutral cream with navy trim in cool recycled cotton. The hem hits sedately above the knee, unlike Bella’s mini dress. Long enough to be acceptable in a workplace, not so long as to be frivolous. What a narrow line women have to walk in order to be taken seriously.
Her shoes match the dress, cream loafers with a low heel, allowing her to move quickly as she weaves between the workers scurrying to make it to their desks on time. Her phone buzzes and she pulls it out to check the message. A sliver of her hopes it’s a message from the Sexiest Man Alive, but it’s just a notification from the service provider, reminding her she is a long way from home.
She reaches her destination and enters through the wide glass doors. The sudden change from outside heat to the cool of the air conditioning makes her shiver. Sliding her sunglassesback into her bag, she crosses the auditorium to make her way to an official sat behind a table of lanyards. He takes a moment to locate hers, then tries to press a tote bag of goodies on her, but she declines. She won’t use any of it. Does anyone really need a stress ball in the shape of an American football imprinted with the name of a well-known drug? She imagines the maid service in hotel rooms all over Los Angeles, emptying them out of bins as the attendees pack to go home. Her younger sister Jasmine is an eco-warrior. Maybe some of Jasmine’s convictions have rubbed off on Anna over the years. Sometimes she sees the amount of waste generated in hospitals, in supermarkets, on planes, and she can’t help but shudder and wonder at the future of the planet.
Although rejecting the tat doesn’t stop it being produced, at least she won’t be carrying it around the entire day. She takes a photo of a printed map to find her session, then briefly considers going to the one James had earmarked for himself and likely to be the more important. But in-utero foetal resuscitation sounded so much more interesting. She decides on a compromise. If her talk is unimpressive, she will duck out and go to the other.
Except it’s fascinating and followed by another equally interesting talk on frailty. When the ten o’clock coffee break comes, she looks for James. But he is nowhere to be seen in the caffeine-hungry queues. She gives up and gets herself a tea and a pastry to feed her hungry brain. Just as she is about to enter her next session, she sees Bella push through the foyer entrance doors, clutching a coffee cup, closely followed by James, also holding coffee.
Anna is torn between pleasure at seeing her boss laughing happily, and irritation at James wasting her time. And that they didn’t think to get her anything. She wouldn’t want to intrude on their obvious mini-date, but a message telling her they weregoing to miss the rendezvous was surely not beyond either of them.
When lunch comes around and James is still missing, irritation takes the upper hand. Despite the location of the conference in Los Angeles, they aren’t on holiday. They are here to work, and this conference is a good part of her training for the year. She’s not totally useless and she can still achieve a lot without him, but his insight on some issues would be valuable. She messages him, and when there is no reply, she calls. His phone rings and goes immediately to voicemail, a sure sign he has rejected her call.
She gives up. She might as well use the allotted time for its intended purpose and get some food before the afternoon sessions. Picking up a tray, she joins the tail end of a queue. In front of her, three men with East Coast accents are discussing some sport result. She can’t tell if it is hockey, baseball, basketball, or football. The names and tactics mean nothing to her. One of the men gestures and the guy directly in front of her steps back. His heel lands on her toes and she yelps. He spins.
“Oh man! I’m sorry,” he gasps.
Anna is looking down at her feet, waiting for the pain to ebb. When she finally looks up, she sees him take her in.
“Are you okay?” he asks. “Because you’re in the right place if you need a doctor.” He grins large at his own joke.
He is handsome, taller than her but not freakishly so. Thick sandy hair flops down to meet clear blue eyes. His shirt bears an upmarket logo, the sleeves rolled to show strong forearms and a sprinkling of hair. He looks the type to have been a quarterback in high school and to have Harvard in his bio somewhere. His eyes run over her figure and his look turns appreciative.
Anna automatically checks his ring finger. Bare. “Only if one of them is in orthopaedics,” she says, flashing a practised smile.
“Bradley Harper, Massachusetts General.”
Bingo.
“Attending anaesthesiologist.” He holds out a big, manly hand.
“Quelle surprise,” Anna responds, placing her smaller, daintier hand in his.
“Is that foreign?” He holds onto hers a moment longer than necessary.
“French,” she replies. “Anna Mortimer.” She tries to match her role to the US equivalent. “I guess you would call me a Fellow in anaesthesiology.” She gives the name of the London hospital where she works.
“You speak French?”
“Un peu. Enchanté de vous rencontrer. Pleased to meet you.”
“Cleverandbeautiful.” He grins and Anna swears she sees his teeth glint. Calling her clever isn’t quite such a compliment, as it applies to everybody in the room. And beautiful is a given. But he is trying to flatter her, which indicates the direction his mind is running.
He’s an alpha male. Confident, easy, charming. Normally, a man like him would be catnip, someone to rub herself all over. But strangely, she isn’t feeling it. She thinks back to the tech bro in the airport lounge, nodding towards the restroom. This is his medical counterpart. She can see Bradley is attractive and desirable, but her body isn’t responding. All his charisma leaves her cold. Perhaps it’s just jetlag and tiredness.
Anna may not be up for an assignation, but she is happy to network. “Are you here for the whole conference? Or just stopping in for the day?”
But by now Bradley’s friends are crowding in. “Rob Walters.” He offers his hand. “Your accent is just divine,” he continues. “Are you English?”
Another friend elbows his way in front. “Seth Abernathy. Pleased to meet you.” Anna briefly shakes each hand in turn, surreptitiously wiping her hand dry after the last greeting.
“Are you all from Boston?”
“No. Seth here is local. He married a Californian girl, then abandoned civilisation and seasons for philistines and eternal sunshine.” Anna notes the smooth way Bradley eliminates any competition from his friend.
