LITMIR.BIZ

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a woman called out loudly from several feet away. This must be Freya. She was about Abi’s age, thirty or thereabouts, and of similar height, but that was about the extent of any resemblance. The closer Freya got the more the differences between them multiplied. Freya gave the immediate impression of someone who belonged here in the sun-kissed glamour of LA and the Hollywood Hills. She had a mane of dark hair that fell over her shoulders in natural surfer-chick waves. Her blue eyes were shining and her skin had a light tan, even at the end of winter. She had the typical LA cheerleader look—fit, trim and toned—and Abi doubted anything would have ever gone wrong in Freya Rothsberg’s life.

      In contrast to Freya’s glowing Californian beauty Abi felt like a pale imitation of an LA woman, even though she had been born and bred here. Her dark brown hair with mahogany lights was cut just below her chin and had been softly feathered to frame her oval face. Her porcelain skin always looked like it had never seen the sun and Abi had never felt particularly pretty or noticeable. Her best, most striking feature were her eyes and she noted Freya’s double-take when their eyes met as they introduced themselves. Abi was used to that reaction from people. Her eyes were a deep, rich amber, much like the glass eyes often found on a child’s teddy bear. They were an unusual colour and she knew that was what people remembered about her.

      ‘Hello, I’m Freya Rothsberg,’ she said as she shook Abi’s hand firmly. ‘It’s so nice to meet you! I hope you’ll love it here at The Hills. Hold on one moment,’ she said, ‘there’s someone I want to introduce you to.’ A man entered the foyer and Freya called out to him. ‘Damien!’

      The man started walking towards them and Abi’s first thought was that he was absolutely divine to look at. There was no other word to describe him. Was there no end to the beauty in this place?

      He had designer stubble, brown eyes, so dark they were almost black, and a full head of black hair, short and spiky. He was tall, lean and looked like a model. His black suit might have been tailor-made for him rather than off the rack. No tie, open-collar shirt. Incredibly smooth, unlined skin.

      ‘Abi,’ Freya said as he reached them, ‘this is Damien Moore, chief of reconstructive surgery.’

      Abi recognised his name. This gorgeous man was her new boss. She found herself looking for telltale signs of plastic surgery and hoping not to find any, hoping it was just good genes because, despite working in the industry, she didn’t find narcissistic men attractive. Not that she should care about what Damien Moore did with his body or his spare time.

      ‘Damien, this is Abi Thompson, the new addition to your surgical team.’

      ‘Dr Thompson.’ He greeted her with a slight nod of his handsome head. Everything about him was dark and intense. Serious. He sounded totally controlled or was he just underwhelmed? Abi’s lack of confidence made her question his expression before she could tell herself to relax. There was no reason for him to be unimpressed. He extended his hand but as Abi took it she felt a sharp shock as if there was a massive amount of static electricity between them. She felt as if her hand had been burnt and she withdrew it quickly, almost snatching it away, and resisted the temptation to check her palm for redness.

      ‘You’re a reconstructive and plastic surgeon?’ he asked, apparently oblivious to the shock. Had he not felt it? ‘Fully qualified?’ he added, and Abi felt herself bristling.

      What the hell did he mean by that?

      ‘Of course,’ she replied.

      ‘Your résumé is very extensive.’

      Was he accusing her of lying about her experience? Abi met his chilly stare head on and felt some of her old fire returning. ‘If you’d like to fetch my application I’ll wait and then we can compare notes.’ She could feel the steam coming out of her ears and knew her amber eyes would be flashing angrily, but if she thought that would scare him into apologising she was mistaken. So she carried on. ‘I have spent the past two years in Afghanistan, working in a CASH unit, putting soldiers back together. Making sure they have viable stumps for prosthetic limbs, repairing hands, sewing fingers back on that have been blown or shot off, holding chest walls together on the side of the road while under fire, so I think I’ll be able to handle working here. I’m sure your facilities and your clients won’t trouble me too much.’ A combat support hospital may not be the equivalent of the five-star set-up currently surrounding her but Abi knew the surroundings were irrelevant. She was good at her job, very good, and she refused to let someone denigrate her skills.

      Abi was aware that Freya was grinning and trying to suppress laughter but her cellphone rang before she could comment.

      Freya glanced at the screen and apologised to them. ‘It’s Mila. I’m sorry but I have to take this. We have to finalise the plans for the function this weekend. Damien, would you mind giving Abi a quick tour of the clinic? I was going to do it but I’ll catch up with you at morning tea instead.’

      Abi hesitated as a slight sense of panic crept up on her. ‘I don’t mind waiting,’ she said. It seemed a better option than going with Damien, who clearly wasn’t impressed by her and who was putting her on edge. She didn’t need to be stressed. Not on her first day. But Freya had already turned away to answer her phone, leaving Abi and Damien standing in silence, staring at each other.

      ‘Looks like you’re stuck with me.’ The prospect didn’t seem to bother him. ‘Come on, it’ll give us a chance to get acquainted. To see if we’ll be able to work well together.’

      Not an overly pleasing prospect. Abi was feeling increasingly nervous about the decision she’d made to take the Hollywood Hills job. Perhaps it had been a mistake not to have had a face-to-face interview and checked out not only the facilities but her new colleagues too.

      She needed to calm down, employ some of the coping strategies she’d been working on.

      She took a deep breath and fought for composure. She needed to present a professional, controlled demeanour. It wouldn’t do to fall to pieces in front of her new boss in the first five minutes of her first day.

      ‘How much of the clinic did you see when you had your interview?’ Damien asked her.

      ‘This is the first time I’ve been here. My interview was conducted over the phone, that’s why you read my résumé and why we haven’t met.’

      ‘I see. I’ve been on leave, I assumed this was all finalised while I was away. Didn’t you want to see where you’d be working?’

      ‘I know the clinic’s reputation. That was enough for me.’ In reality it was the closeted, safe and secure environment that she was most attracted to. She wasn’t ready for a large public hospital. She didn’t want to fight for funding or waste hours in meetings. She wasn’t ready to deal with emergencies and chaos and shift work. She needed regular patterns and habits. She needed regular sleep too if she was to get her life back on track. Well-mannered, exclusive and polite was what she wanted and she hoped that this job would be a peaceful environment compared to public-hospital and defence-force work.

      Damien showed her to her new office, which had light oak furniture, leather chairs and large picture windows with one-way blinds that looked out over Los Angeles. His office was beside hers and they shared a secretary who managed their appointment diary and theatre bookings. Damien introduced her to Jennifer and Abi expected that he would palm her off onto the secretary, but he surprised her by continuing her tour himself. Abi wasn’t sure what to make of that. Was he being polite or was he going to use this as an opportunity to cross-examine her further about her experience?

      Let him interrogate her, she decided. She’d answer any question he put to her.

      He showed her through the rehabilitation area, which included a gym and hydrotherapy pools used by the physical therapists on staff, before taking her into the operating theatres. The facility was amazing. Absolutely no expense had been spared and Abi couldn’t help but be impressed.

      ‘Different from what you are used to?’ Damien asked as he pushed open the swing door that led into an operating suite.

      ‘We have state-of-the

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