Kiss Me Under the Mistletoe. Fiona Harper

woman feels she ought to introduce herself before you say anything else,’ Olivia interrupted, her voice ice-cold. ‘I’m Olivia Mackenzie, your new pen-pushing clinical director.’

      Jerry let out an anguished groan, but Seth didn’t look one bit discomfited. Instead, he met her gaze squarely.

      ‘I suppose you’re expecting an apology?’

      ‘Well, your manners could certainly do with some work—’

      ‘We don’t have time for manners in A and E, Dr Mackenzie, not when our patients are often bleeding like stuck pigs.’

      ‘No, but you seem to have plenty of time to bad-mouth a colleague behind her back,’ she snapped. ‘For your information, I worked for ten years in the A and E department of the Edinburgh General, and even if I hadn’t I would have expected you to extend me the courtesy of at least meeting me before you tore my character to shreds!’

      A wash of bright colour flooded across Seth’s cheeks, and Olivia only just restrained herself from punching the air in triumph. She’d taken the wind right out of his sails, and it hadn’t been hard. In fact, it had been easy. She could be the in-your-face type after all, and it felt wonderful.

      ‘I…um…Our shift finishes in half an hour, Dr Mackenzie,’ Jerry Swanson said, far too brightly. ‘Would you like to stick around, join us for coffee in the staffroom?’

      Seth didn’t second the suggestion. From his rigid expression she reckoned he was probably too busy wishing her dead.

      ‘I’m afraid I can’t,’ she said, summoning up her most gracious smile for the specialist registrar. ‘I told George I wouldn’t be long, and he must be wondering where I am.’

      And with a nod to Babs and Tony Melville, she turned on her heel and walked out of the examination room, knowing Seth’s eyes were following her the whole way.

      ‘Arrogant, rude, obnoxious man,’ she muttered to herself as she drove home. ‘Somebody should have chopped him down to size years ago, and I don’t take back a word of what I said. I don’t.’

      George clearly agreed with her when she told him all about it. At least, he followed her into the kitchen, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on her, which sort of suggested he agreed.

      ‘It’s not a bad department, George,’ she told him as she slid a chill-cook curry into the microwave. ‘Their treat and street times are far too long, and the waiting room is a disgrace, but at least they all seem to know what they’re doing. Even Seth Hardcastle.’

      Actually, especially Seth Hardcastle, she thought, pausing as she reached for two bowls. He was obviously a first-rate consultant. A first-rate and now extremely angry consultant. Maybe she shouldn’t have been quite so in-your-face. Maybe she ought to have approached the situation differently. Maybe….

      Oh, for crying out loud. Who’s the new clinical director here—you or him? He had no right to be talking about you behind your back, so stop being a wimp. You were a wimp for two years with Phil, and look where that got you.

      She glanced down at George. ‘Do you think I went too far—said too much?’

      He stared back at her uncomprehendingly for a second, then put his shaggy head down on his paws, and she sighed.

      That was the trouble with dogs. No verbal reassurances, no bracing words of encouragement when you most needed them. They might be more loving and loyal than the average husband, but great conversationalists they weren’t.

      Unlike her sister, she thought when the phone rang and she went out into the hall to answer it.

      ‘I just thought I’d phone to wish you the best of luck for tomorrow,’ Deborah exclaimed, bright and cheerful as always.

      Her sister thought she needed luck? Maybe after meeting Seth Hardcastle she did. No, she didn’t. She was the new super-confident, in-your-face Olivia Mackenzie. ‘Deb—’

      ‘Harry says he still can’t understand why you had to move from Edinburgh to Glasgow. He says there’s lots of clinical directors’ posts in Edinburgh in nice hospitals in nice areas.’

      Her brother-in-law the snob. ‘Deb—’

      ‘Liv, all I want is for you to be happy. I know Phil dumped you for a twenty-four-year-old blonde with a 36D cup and an eighteen-inch waist, but that doesn’t mean you should give up on men. You’re bright and kind, and lots of men prefer brains to looks.’

      Olivia met George’s gaze. She’d been wrong. Talking to a dog was sometimes infinitely preferable to talking to a human being.

      ‘Deb, I have to go—my dinner’s ready,’ she lied.

      ‘OK, but promise me you’ll keep your eyes open for any dishy-looking men. Ciao, Liv.’

      The phone went dead before Olivia could tell her sister that nobody said ‘Ciao’ or ‘dishy’ any more, and that the last thing she wanted was a man, dishy or otherwise.

      You won’t even have to look, a little voice at the back of her mind reminded her as her microwave pinged. As from tomorrow you’ll have the most incredibly dishy-looking man working right under your nose.

      ‘Terrific,’ she said without enthusiasm, and George wagged his tail in agreement.

      CHAPTER TWO

      ‘THAT has to be the most ridiculous suggestion I’ve ever heard!’ Seth exclaimed, and Olivia gritted her teeth until they hurt.

      A week. She’d been at the Belfield Infirmary for exactly one week, and Seth Hardcastle had disagreed with every plan she’d put forward to improve the running of the department. Good grief, he’d even argued against redecorating the waiting room when it must have been obvious to anyone that the place was a dump.

      ‘It is not a ridiculous suggestion,’ she said with difficulty. ‘The health department has conducted a survey—’

      ‘Oh, well, if they’ve conducted a survey.’

      ‘And sixty-five per cent of the general public object to their names being written up on a whiteboard,’ she continued, deliberately ignoring his sarcasm. ‘They feel it’s an invasion of their privacy.’

      Seth leant back in his seat and folded his arms across his chest. ‘An invasion of their privacy. Right. And if we remove the whiteboard, just how—precisely—are we supposed to identify patients?’

      ‘By communicating with each other, of course,’ she snapped, and saw his lip curl.

      ‘So, on a busy Saturday night, when we’re full to capacity, and somebody’s bleeding to death on one trolley and somebody’s having a coronary on another, we’re supposed to make time for these illuminating conversations, are we?’

      Olivia dug her clenched fingers deep into the pockets of her white coat, but it didn’t help. Why did their morning meetings have to always end like this in acrimony and disagreement? The rest of the A and E department had made her feel welcome, but Seth…He never stopped arguing, and it wasn’t just the arguing which was getting her down. It was his unerring ability to make her feel small and stupid. A feeling which wasn’t helped this morning by her sneaking suspicion that he was right about the whiteboard, and the health board’s directive was crazy.

      ‘Whether you approve of the whiteboard coming down or not, it is coming down,’ she said tightly. ‘And speaking of coming down,’ she continued as he opened his mouth, clearly intending to argue. ‘Watson Forrester.’

      He stirred uncomfortably in his seat. ‘What about Watson?’

      She picked up one of the folders on her desk and extracted a sheet of paper from it. ‘According to this, he’s been to two seminars, three conferences and four courses this year.’

      A faint flush of colour seeped across Seth’s