One Night, Twin Consequences. Annie O'Neil

with him. Just a few more minutes and she’d have their china pattern and curtains all picked out.

      She ran a hand through her blonde pixie cut, jutting out her lower lip as she did so to blow some air up into the fringe. Another sexy move she’d crafted in how-to-look-like-an-idiot class.

      “Nice to meet you, Sister.” Matteo held out his hand, which she took and pumped up and down too hard because she was already picturing her cobweb-laced spinsterhood spreading out before her now that she’d ruined any chance of marrying the man of her dreams.

      “Harriet’s fine—uh...” She made her, yeesh, I don’t know what to call you face.

      “Matteo works—or Dr. Torres if you prefer. I know how formal you Brits are.”

      “Yes, well...yes.”

      Was it too soon to dive into the nearest broom cupboard?

      “Harriet,” Dr. Bailey interjected. “Perhaps you’d like to show Dr. Torres around the hospital? Give him your perspective on how St. Nick’s works. He’s been trying to track you down for the past fortnight and for some peculiar reason has found it near impossible to find you.”

      “Excuse me?” Harriet tried her best to wipe the horrified expression off of her face, realizing in an instant she hadn’t been successful.

      “Seeing that you could be working together in the longer term, it’s probably a good idea to get to know each other.”

      Harriet’s jaw dropped again. Who’d stolen Dr. Bailey and replaced him with this man who was yanking away all her safety blankets?

      Matteo grinned, a glint in his eye betraying something akin to frustration. “Dr. Bailey didn’t tell you?”

      “Tell me what?” Her voice was so strangled she was pretty sure the dogs of London would be howling in unison if she continued.

      “This trip—my ‘visit’ here...” He left a small silence to see if she could fill in the air quotes, but there was nothing jostling away the question marks careening round her mind.

      Dr. Bailey jumped in. “Harriet, I was going to tell you all about this in good time, but—”

      “It looks like—in the hope of some funding—you might be coming to Buenos Aires,” Matteo finished for him, an appraising eyebrow arching upwards as he spoke. “To assess me.”

      His expression shifted into something strangely neutral. It was difficult to tell if he was pleased by the scenario or resentful. Something told her it was the latter. Great. Five seconds with Mr. Perfect and already he hated her.

      How did one respond to that? Her head swung from Dr. Bailey’s consternated face to Matteo’s unreadable smile. Funding was very dependent on conditions. Lots of i-dotting and t-crossing—

      Uh-oh. Wait a minute. She forced her brain to play catch-up.

      Was he saying she was the condition? She sought each of their faces for answers, feeling a bit like she was watching a tennis match at close range minus the tennis bits.

      “Buenos Aires?”

      She had been hoping to sound casually interested. Noncommittal. What came out instead was a high-pitched, dog whistle screechy thing. Not really what she’d been going for. Particularly since a trip to Buenos Aires would be about the scariest, most exciting, incredibly interesting, totally top of the list of things she’d never be brave enough to ever consider doing sort of trip. Which was why she had barely ever left the hallowed borders of London town.

      “Don’t worry.” Matteo waved away her response. “I know what it’s like to be handed something unwelcome when you least expect it.”

      “I didn’t even know I had been invited anywhere and now I’m unwelcome?” She didn’t mean to sound churlish, but c’mon! Every single speck of this was news to her.

      “No, no. It wasn’t meant like that—but don’t worry. It might not even happen. Nothing’s set in stone.”

      “What if I wanted to see the stone? Part of the stone even?” Harriet pinched her fingers into her best little-bit visual aid. Could you miss something you hadn’t even known was going to happen?

      * * *

      Matteo considered Harriet a moment before answering. Apart from looking entirely different from what he’d anticipated, she struck him as a woman who preferred facts over spin. Action over coddling. Someone he could, potentially, work with. Which made a change from most of the research-based medical personnel he came in contact with.

      “It’s all to do with a possible expansion. More of a new build, actually,” Matteo corrected himself. “A clinic. A proper one. And one that’s dependent, I am afraid, on charitable donations. Strangely, homes for pregnant teens and orphaned babies aren’t big money spinners.”

      Matteo enjoyed seeing the light enter Harriet’s blue eyes at his words. The click of recognition. The spark of interest.

      “If they did, I bet Casita Verde Para Niños would rake it in!”

      “You know it?” Impressive. Most people couldn’t name an orphanage in their hometown, let alone one on the other side of the world.

      “Of course I know it!” She gave an embarrassed giggle. “Even if I can’t pronounce it properly.”

      All tension dropped from her face and was replaced by utter engagement. Work talk, it seemed, put her at ease. Interesting. Maybe the stories floating round St. Nick’s were true. All work and no play made Harriet Monticello a delightful woman—because work was her play. The pretty blonde was a far cry from the dried-up nun he’d been picturing.

      “Didn’t you single-handedly drag children’s homes in Argentina into the twenty-first century?”

      “Well...” Matteo felt an unfamiliar wash of modesty come over him. “People don’t usually see what I do that way.” Particularly his socialite parents, whose business dealings saw more money change hands in a single day than he had as annual budget. “Black hole with no economic return” was the more frequently used description. “Of course, you’ll know it’s quite specialized. It’s a place pregnant teens can receive the support they might not be getting at home or are afraid—” He caught himself on the brink of speech-making and held back. “It’s nice to hear someone thinks highly of the Casitas.”

      She gave him a flustered smile and looked away, sidetracking Dr. Bailey with a question about rosters. Matteo examined Harriet again. Given she didn’t look a thing like the mental image he’d conjured up, it was little wonder he hadn’t singled her out over the past couple of weeks. Particularly given the role her bosses seemed keen for her to play: The Woman Who Would Deign Him Worthy of Funding.

      And now she didn’t know a thing about it? If the joint clinic meant that little to the board of St. Nicholas Hospital, he may as well turn around and go home. He’d enjoyed the two-week secondment to the high-tech hospital’s obstetrics unit, but his main aim was a clinic for his own. Then again... Harriet knew Casita Verde and the work he did without so much as a prompt. Best not to be too hasty...

      He’d been prepared to go into his usual charm offensive routine. It worked a treat in Argentina’s moneyed circles. The elite of Buenos Aires rarely if ever went for earnest, over-keen do-gooders. Appearing as though he could live with or without their money always seemed the best tack. That, and a lavishing of compliments. He had yet to meet an ego that didn’t like to be fed. Something told him cocktail-party chatter and superficial compliments wouldn’t work with this woman.

      She was pretty, in a completely natural way. Gamine, honey-blonde hair, a single swish of mascara on lashes overhanging a doey pair of bright blue eyes. A sweet splash of pink grew on her cheeks when she realized he was looking at her. She seemed...kind. A far cry from the dolled-up heiresses his parents wished he spent more time courting.

      “You can’t expect your grandfather’s trust fund to keep Casita Verde’s