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Carrie felt her spine stiffen. She was used to subtle male put-downs. Making her way in a male-dominated career had given her a thick skin and a very low tolerance level for fools. Why did he make ambition seem so dirty? Would he have asked her the same question had she been a male? Where was the man from last night who had so tenderly handed Dana to her?
‘Do powerful women threaten your masculinity, Charlie?’
OK. This conversation was bizarre. She was standing before him in her fashionable pinstriped suit—hell, pinstripes—that moulded curves he hadn’t even been aware of last night. Her collar was up on her soft, wine-red shirt—very chic—and it clung to the very interesting rise of flesh that strained against the buttons, barely succeeding in concealing her cleavage.
Indignation burned in her eyes behind trendy frameless glasses that sat high on her perfectly straight nose. She had some shiny gloss stuff on her full lips, the only make-up he could detect, and they glistened. Her wavy hair was pulled back, restricted in some kind of clasp thingy, not a stray hair in sight.
She was the epitome of a modern businesswoman. Composed. Professional. Collected. And a far cry from the cot case of last night. Pale. Shaken. Hyperventilating. Try as he may, he just couldn’t reconcile the two images. It was as if last night hadn’t even happened.
‘Not at all,’ he said dismissively. ‘Actually, I find powerful women very sexy. Hell, I even married one. I just couldn’t think of anything worse if I tried. Management.’ He shuddered. ‘All that paperwork.’
Carrie swallowed. Did he find her sexy? The idea was as seductive as it was preposterous. She reeled in her straying thoughts. What the hell did she care if he did or not? Whatever happened to asserting her authority? She was going to need to be twice as hard with this man now he’d already had her at a disadvantage. Now he’d seen her so vulnerable.
‘Yes,’ she said briskly, bringing the conversation back to the matter at hand. ‘Apparently paperwork’s not your forte.’
Charlie chuckled. Paperwork was the bane of his life.
Carrie pursed her lips disapprovingly. He could find this as amusing as he liked but it was just irresponsible as far as she was concerned. When you were running a business, particularly with someone else’s money, you had to be fiscally accountable.
‘It’s taken me a while to decipher some of your figures, particularly the last year’s, and a lot of it’s incomplete. To finish my investigation I’ll need to see all your business files, bank records, activity statements and so on.’
Charlie stared at her, his ire rising. She was looking so prim and proper. So together. So unlike the woman from last night. She held the upper hand and she knew it. The future of the clinic depended on the outcome of her report. ‘I have some of them ready. I’ll have to get the rest together for you,’ he stonewalled.
Carrie heard the flint in his voice. She glared at him. Did he think because he had already seen her at less than her best that she was just going to fold and meekly surrender? He needed to know now that the woman he’d seen last night had been a complete anomaly.
‘You’ve had over a week to get this information together,’ she growled, trying to keep her temper in check. ‘I don’t appreciate these stalling tactics.’
Tactics? ‘Lady, what the hell is it you think we do here all day? I don’t have time to scratch myself most of the time. Trying to locate five years’ worth of documentation with the few snatched minutes that I get isn’t possible. You know, I’m trying to practise a little thing called medicine here. Not that I expect you to understand that.’
Carrie felt the barb hit her in the chest and put her hand on her hip to steady herself from the impact. She’d wanted to be a doctor ever since she’d been able to say the word. Being judged by him professionally and found to be lacking was a new experience for her. Especially when he was basing his assessment on last night’s performance. That was hardly fair. It had been four years since she’d had a clinical role. Her management skills, on the other hand, were very highly praised. It was like comparing apples and oranges.
‘Please, don’t call me lady. Doctor or Carrie will be fine.’ The frost in her voice could have frozen a lake.
‘I guess it’ll have to be Carrie, then.’ If she wanted to be called Doctor she was going to have to earn it!
She got his meaning loud and clear. And ignored it. ‘I’ll start with what you’ve got,’ she said haughtily. ‘How about you show me around, allocate me an office and I’ll get started?’
