Page 23 of Prognosis Bad Timing

It felt heavenly.

Charlie stood framed in the doorway, watching her. The clinic had gone well. OK, Carrie hadn’t been as fast at things as Angela, but for a novice she’d excelled, and she’d had amazingly good rapport with the clients. Maybe that was a mother thing, but he didn’t think so. She had great people skills.

It was a shame that she was wasting them in management.

He watched her hand creep up and rub absently at her neck. He remembered her stretching earlier. She was, no doubt, used to ergonomically designed chairs and having to contend with a hard plastic seat was probably playing havoc with her spinal alignment.

She probably had kinks in her kinks.

He was hit by an overwhelming urge to knock her hand aside and take over but even as he thought it he knew how dangerous touching her would be. He’d thought about little else since he’d met her. To add the reality of her touch to his dreams would give him a permanent case of insomnia.

And it was hardly appropriate, anyway.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and went back to putting the treatment room to rights.

Carrie heard the door open and almost groaned. A late-comer? She opened her eyes to find a girl, a young woman actually, standing there, looking miserable. She had short spiky hair and sad, sad eyes ringed by thick black eyeliner.

She looked about seventeen.

Carrie sat up. ‘Are you OK?’ The girl nodded. ‘Do you want to see Ch...Dr Wentworth?’

The girl shook her head but Carrie recognised the look in her eyes. She’d seen it in her mirror often enough. ‘You just want to sit for a bit?’ Carrie patted the lounge beside her.

She eyed the space, strode across the room and flung herself down next to Carrie. ‘Men can be such pigs,’ she said vehemently.

Carrie looked for a response other than amen to that. Something that would encourage the girl to unburden but she’d never been very good at the psychology side of things. And with thoughts of Rupert never far away, what else could she do other than agree?

‘This is true.’

The girl looked at her, startled, as if she hadn’t expected to find an ally. “They suck.’

True again. ‘They can do, yes.’

Charlie’s ears pricked up at the conversation. He strained to hear more, tiptoeing closer to the door, uncaring if it made him an eavesdropper.

‘How could they be so...so...duplicitous?’

It was Carrie’s turn to be startled this time. She’d mistakenly judged this girl on her appearance. She obviously had an excellent vocabulary. ‘It’s a Y chromosome thing. Some guys go to duplicitous studies while we’re at common sense 101.’

Charlie wanted to protest on behalf of his sex but Carrie clearly had firsthand experience and hell if he didn’t know it to be true.

‘More like gullible 101,’ the young woman grumbled.

Carrie laughed. ‘Perhaps you’re right.’

‘So what do we do about it?’ the girl complained, turning beseeching eyes on Carrie.

Well, now, wasn’t that the million-dollar question? Carrie shrugged. ‘Believe in yourself. Believe that you’re worth it. And know that you don’t need a guy but that there are plenty out there who will treat you with the respect you deserve. And don’t settle for less.’

She sagged against the chair. ‘Oh.’

‘Sorry, no quick fix here. If you’ve got another suggestion, I’d be happy to hear it.’

‘I was thinking of making a voodoo doll.’

Carrie laughed. The idea of sticking pins into an effigy of Rupert was inordinately funny.

The girl laughed with her. ‘Nah, I suppose you’re right,’ she conceded after a while. ‘How long did it take you to figure it out?’

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