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“Okay, and what does that have to do with me?” Morgan questioned.
“If we take a personal doctor with us on tour, questions will arise. They’ll wanna know why? What’s wrong with her? And if they discover it’s panic attacks, they’ll have a picture of that mangled bus on the front page of every newspaper and glossy magazine you can think of. I won’t allow that to happen.She’s been traumatised enough by this. It’s my job to keep her public image intact as well as to make sure her private life is kept that way: private.”
“Right, I get that. So, what does that mean for me?”
“Simple, I need you to be there as something other than her doctor.”
Morgan frowned. “I don’t understand. What will I be other than her doctor?”
The corner of Francine’s mouth lifted. “If anyone asks, you’d be her lover.”
If she’d been drinking in that moment, she’d have just spat it all over the woman sitting across the table from her. “Are you serious?”
“As a heartbeat,” Francine replied. “It makes sense; she’s travelled with partners before. And she doesn’t flaunt it.”
Morgan leaned forward and in a low, quiet voice, she asked, “You want me to go on tour with Alex and pretend to be her girlfriend. You think that’s less of a headline maker than the real story?”
Francine nodded slowly. “Sure. If, and it’s a big if, anyone were to poke around and ask questions…” Francine smiled. “Look, we’re not against headlines, Dr Kelly, just the right ones. They’ll publish a photo or two, they’ll speculate and then you’ll be forgotten once the break-up occurs and it's back to business as usual.”
“The break-up?” She snorted. Francine had it all planned out.
“Sure, we’ll just put out a statement—”
“Hold on.” Morgan raised her hand, palm out. “So, let me get this right. You want me to take time off of work, go on tour around the UK with Alex for weeks, potentially have my face plastered over any and every news outlet. I’ll have to lie to everyone who asks about it, including my family and friends, colleagues et cetera, and then there will be an imaginary break-up, where I assume I’m painted as the bad guy and what—I just go back to my life?” She held her palms out and stared wide-eyed at the ludicrous idea.
Francine sighed. “We won’t paint anyone as the bad guy. It will just be a case of work differences and in a few weeks nobody will remember you.” She grabbed her bag. “So, I’ll see you this afternoon at the meeting to discuss everything?”
Morgan said nothing but walked her to the door. Turning quickly, Francine smiled.
“Oh, I almost forgot. You’ll earn £100,000. For the inconvenience.”
Chapter Ten
One hundred thousand pounds for less than a month’s work, and it wasn’t even work, not really, not when Morgan considered how hard she worked at the hospital every shift. Staying in luxury hotels, she didn’t even have to pay for her own meals. It wasn’t exactly a difficult proposal, was it?
But pretending to be interested in someone she was actually interested in, while knowing they weren’t interested but were also pretending. That was a mind fuck, wasn’t it? That had the potential to emotionally drain her, didn’t it? And yet, it was still appealing.
“One hundred thousand pounds,” she muttered under her breath. Saying it aloud made it feel even crazier.
She could pay off what was left of her student loan, pay her mortgage for another year, or more, without worrying. Maybe even buy a better car than the little Fiat that was one fix away from being written off.
All she had to do was travel the country, and be on call should Alex, or anyone else, require medical aid, and if needed, be seen in public with Sasha and let the press think they were more than friends.
How difficult could it be?
She’d earn more in those few weeks than she’d earn in a year as a GP when she was finally ready to take that step, and that was at least three years away still, if she even made it. Shewas already feeling the effects of burnout and considering her life choices most weeks.
It didn’t feel real.
Even as she’d sat back and watched Francine sell the idea to the head of HR – a man Morgan had never met before, but who would have the final say on whether this worked out for her or not – she couldn’t believe it wasn’t a dream.
George Eustace had clearly never met a woman like Francine Carlson before either. She went into that office with an intention, and she wasn’t leaving until she got what she wanted, at any cost. The cut of her very expensive suit should have given him a clue. She was on a mission, at all costs, and she took no prisoners.
“I noticed on the way in that the hospital is holding a fundraiser in order to buy a new MRI machine, am I correct?” she asked, holding his gaze. “One hundred thousand required, and you’ve raised what? Forty-five?” That was what the red-painted line said they were up to.
A woman sitting beside George leaned forward and smiled proudly. “Forty-six, actually.”
“Well, my client is willing to add what you need, a cool fifty-four thousand, as a gesture of goodwill and recompense for borrowing Dr Kelly.”
