Page 38 of Dr. CEO (The Doctors)

I give out an attractive snort-laugh combination. “Really?” Vincent seems like a consummate seducer…or at least he was with me. Wasn’t he? “You think he’s trustworthy?” I ask. “I mean…he’s offered me a job. In the hotel. When it’s done. You think I should work with him?”

Am I really considering his job offer? With the rest of the villagers on Team Vincent, what other choice do I have?

“My husband doesn’t work with people who aren’t trustworthy,” she says. “He’s a good guy. And it’s not like Vincent’s going to stick around and be the hotel manager, is it? Your direct contact will only go so far.”

The dull ache in my heart deepens and I shift my weight from foot to foot. “I guess not.”

“You know the thing he’s not good at?” she says.

My body stiffens, almost in loyalty to him. “What?”

“Detail. It’s very hard to get him to make decisions about the design of things. He just wants me to get on with it, but it’s hard without a little direction. I try and use Michael as a go-between, but he’s so busy. I just hope it doesn’t hold things up.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Vincent is focused on the things he—and the project manager—see as a priority. Right now, that means the planning permission, appointing the main contractor, getting housing sorted out for the staff who live on the estate. I get it, I really do. But I need him to tell me I can commission the rugs for the library and morning room because they’ll take about ten months to fabricate. Same goes for the material for all the drapes across the house and extension. With the quantity we need, lead times are horrendous.”

Before I can ask more questions, Vincent approaches. “Kate, can I get Beck to show you the floor plans for the new houses?” he asks. “Or even better, we can do a site visit. I just mentioned it to Sacha, but she’s tied up, and so is your granny. Do you have time?”

“Visit the new houses?” I’ve not had any time to think about leaving the estate. I’m not in the slightest bit prepared.

Beck joins us. “It’s a bit muddy down there, but we have one fully built, so you’d be able to see the space, rather than just look at a plan. Foundations have been laid in some of the others.”

Maybe I’ll feel better if I see the new houses. Better yet, maybe I’ll still be able to see Crompton from the new housing development. If I could look out my window and see the estate, I might not feel so…unmoored.

“It will be fun,” Stella says. “And you’ve got your wellies on already.”

I glance down at my feet and then back up to Vincent. “Are you going?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Absolutely.”

It’s no big deal. Just a few minutes in a car. It’s not like I’ve never been to the village before. Except I can’t quite remember the last time I went into the village. Ever since Meghan’s cousin started a grocery delivery service, I haven’t had to leave the estate on a consistent basis. Try as I might, I can’t recall why I last left, let alone when.

Soon, I’ll be coming in and out of the Crompton gates every day. Getting in a practice run today can only help.

SIXTEEN

Vincent

It’s the fake smile that tips me off about Kate’s anxiety. I haven’t known her long, but from what I’ve seen, she doesn’t fake anything. Usually. But now, as we head down to Beck’s construction site, she’s smiling as if the corners of her mouth are pulled apart by some invisible vise. She’s totally faking it.

“You okay?” I ask.

She’s been gripping the edges of the seat like she’s expecting the car to take off into the air at any second since we drove through Crompton’s gates. “Fine,” she says, her smile still firmly in place.

“I thought you said it was behind the car park,” she says as I get to the stop lights in the village. Her voice sounds thinner than usual. Strained.

“It is,” I reply.

“Well we just passed the car park.”

“I’m just turning left here and then the entrance to the site is a little farther down.”

“How much farther?” she asks.

The light turns green and I turn left, my peripheral vision completely consumed by Kate and her obvious discomfort. Although I could be blind and still feel her anxiety. Is it the thought of moving, or me? Maybe she doesn’t like cars.

“We’re nearly there,” I say. The entrance to the site is about three hundred yards from the lights. I slow down, getting ready to turn.

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