‘Yeah. Hours ago, actually.’ My gaze darts to the patient he’s left unattended. ‘Can I help you with something?’
In one swift cocky motion, Harrison flicks his dark floppy hair back, revealing eyes so brown they’re almost black. ‘Go out with me.’
It’s not so much a question as a demand. Harrison Hughes is clearly used to getting whatever he wants, or should I say, whomever he wants. Arrogance radiates from his every pore. Confidence. Entitlement. Wealth. Power. Some women may find that attractive. Not me. Being raised by a single female and having attended an all-girl school for most of my life, I find the inflated masculinity he projects borderline aggressive.
My clogs scoot the final foot to the door as I muster an apologetic smile. ‘Thanks, but I don’t think so. Have a good night, though.’
Ithasto be a full moon.
The female changing room is empty. I peel off the blue scrubs and drop them into the central laundry basket, safe in the knowledge the hospital’s wonderful washing fairies will have stacked three fresh pairs in my cubicle before my next shift.
Removing my favourite shampoo and conditioner from my locker, I tiptoe across the freezing cold tiles to one of four communal showers and let the soothing hot water run gloriously over my head.
Twenty minutes later, dressed in an off-the-shoulder cream silk dress and suede ankle boots, I stroll down the hospital corridor towards the family waiting area where my bodyguard, Jared, awaits.
Jared conforms to the stereotype. Tall, broad, stocky and serious. As usual, he’s chewing gum hard enough to break his teeth.
He shoves his phone into his trouser pocket and leaps to his feet at the sight of me. ‘Doctor Sexton. I was beginning to get worried.’
‘Busy day,’ I shrug as he steps in line beside me.
He’s the thirteenth bodyguard I’ve had in five years. Vince, my original assignment, barely lasted a month. Apparently, he signed up to save lives, not offer a babysitting service while I tried to get drunk with my classmates. Or laid. Unsuccessfully, I might add. I stuck out like a porn star’s prick with a meaty-looking mountain man permanently stationed within five feet of me, twenty-four-seven. No fresher was willing to take that on. Would you blame them?
Around midway through my second year, I discovered it was easier to host house parties than to try to keep up with the student pub scene. At least I could lock myself in my room with whomever I chose, for a short while at least.
The year Ryan and Sasha’s movie was released was the only time I took my security seriously, willingly shutting myself away for three months until the press coverage ceased. But when it finally did, boy, did I make up for it! In the six months after that, I managed to rack up six different bodyguards. I was wild.
Now, at the age of twenty-three, I like to think I’ve gained a little wisdom. Jared’s been with me for four months. We struck a deal as soon as he arrived. He accompanies me to and from my hospital shift but doesn’t remain in the building for the entire twelve hours, confident in the hospital’s own security measures and that my mask and scrubs provide me with a degree of anonymity.
If I go to a nightclub, he waits outside in the car, insisting I call him to meet me at the exit before I step out onto the street.
He lives on the ground floor of my house, and wouldn’t dream of climbing the stairs to my private area unless I screamed for him to come up. As far as having a permanent security detail goes, he’s the best I’ve had. Though I’m not sure my sisters would agree if they discovered our arrangement.
We walk side by side out of the Royal Infirmary and, sure as God, a full moon looms ominously in the sky overhead. I fucking knew it!
My black SUV is double-parked at the back doors. Having a super famous family does offer some benefits. Jared unlocks the vehicle, politely opening the passenger door for me, before strolling round to the driver’s side.
Eying my outfit, Jared says, ‘I take it we’re not going home?’
‘No. George Street, please. I’m meeting Libby and Melanie for a glass of wine. A girl’s got to get her kicks somewhere.’
Fifteen minutes later, we pull up outside the gilded high entrance of one of the most prestigious bars in Edinburgh. A queue a mile long lines the street.
‘I’ll be right here,’ Jared promises, removing his phone from his pocket, presumably to watch Sky News. The man is addicted to scrutinising and dissecting every depressing headline.
That, or he’s about to play Tetris, something which reveals more about his age than he’d care to admit.
‘Thanks Jared. I appreciate your discretion.’ I pat his arm before slipping out of the car and straight to the front of the queue. I know the doormen. More importantly, they know me. Another perk, I’ll reluctantly admit.
Inside, it’s pandemonium. Sweaty, gyrating bodies jostle against mine as I force my way through the overcrowded dance floor to the VIP area where I’m certain my friends are waiting with a chilled bottle of wine and a comfortable seat.
‘There she is!’ Mel screeches like a market trader flogging knock-off handbags. Dainty fingers shove her huge thick glasses back up onto the bridge of her tiny button nose. No wonder they’re perpetually slipping. She doesn’t exactly have a lot to hold them there. Her short pixie hair is spiked up into its usual style, freshly dyed a unique shade of scarlet. Chartreuse eyes glint with devilment.
Libby, my other best friend, leaps up to greet me in a much more graceful manner, kissing each of my cheeks. ‘Darling! We thought you’d never get here.’ Her long blonde hair cascades loosely to her tiny waist, half-masking the sequinned midi dress that clings to her womanly curves. Bright blue eyes glitter.
Libby’s like an adult-sized Barbie doll with an IQ on par with Einstein himself. Her sunny personality and unwavering solidarity at clinic makes it impossible to begrudge either her beauty or her brain.
I glance down at my own dress. I’d been aiming for sophisticated, but next to these two stunners, I feel a tad dowdy. Nothing that a glass of wine won’t fix. Or three.
