Alexander looked up at the building on Sibyllegatan, one of the city’s most expensive and exclusive streets. A flag bearing the Medpax logo hung from the façade. Fancy address, he thought as he studied himself in the elevator mirror. He hadn’t partied the past few days, hadn’t even gotten drunk, and he looked refreshed. It felt odd.

Instead of drinking, flirting, and fucking, he had kept to his hotel room and gone to bed early each night. This morning he had taken a long shower, eaten a light breakfast, and dressed in one of his best tailor-made Italian suits.

He ran a hand over his freshly shaved chin and tried to remember when something similar had last happened.

He had literally hundreds of contacts in his phone, some of the world’s most sought-after women. They were supermodels, film stars, a couple of countesses, and a princess or two. Lovely, sexy women who appreciated the glamor and the notoriety that the infamous Alexander De la Grip brought with him. Several of them were in Stockholm at the moment. All he had to do was call any one of them, or simply walk down to Stureplan, and he would be set. But he hadn’t felt like it. Not since he’d met with Isobel, when he thought about it. That in itself was worth investigating more closely.

Rather than indulging in his usual vices, he had spent the past few days reading up on humanitarian organizations in general, and Medpax in particular. What he didn’t know now could hardly be worth knowing. Because that was how his brain worked. He focused on a subject, learned everything, and then quickly got bored of it again.

He straightened his jacket and put a hand on the elevator handle. Over the past few days, he had gone through all of his mail, come to grips with his finances, delved into aid work, and called a real estate agent. It was profoundly unlike him.

Maybe he was getting sick?

He smiled to himself and opened the door. Well, as luck would have it, he was about to meet a doctor.…

The lobby was dark and somber despite the sunshine outside. A young woman with a boyish haircut and a green lace jacket caught sight of him. Alexander walked over to the polished wooden desk. He went all in and turned on the charm.

“Hi there,” he said, giving her a brilliant smile.

Her eyes gleamed eagerly. “Hello. My name is Asta. What can I help you with?”

“I spoke to Leila Dibah,” he started, because he wanted to meet the woman with the husky voice and the impressive efficiency. Leila had sent to his hotel all the documentation and paperwork he had asked for. No fuss, no excuses, just a straight question about what he wanted, and then he had received it. “But I’m here to see Isobel Sørensen.”

Before Asta had time to reply, a black-clad woman with thick, gold jewelry and high heels came out of a wide doorway.

“I’m Leila.” She greeted him with a firm handshake. Sensual in a sophisticated way, but also commanding respect, with her piercing gaze and that voice, which made her sound as if she drank whisky for breakfast and chain-smoked the rest of her days away. Words like flint hard, no nonsense, and I eat people like you for breakfast came to Alexander’s mind. He remembered that this general secretary wasn’t a doctor, or a bureaucrat, but a trained psychologist. She didn’t look like any psychologist he had met before, though.

A moment later Isobel appeared. In contrast to Leila’s refinement, Isobel was wearing virtually identical clothes to the ones she’d had on last time they met. Practical and hideous. And yet there was something about her. It was so amorphous that Alexander had trouble putting his finger on it. But Isobel had a presence. Everyone else disappeared into the background when she was around. Maybe it was her height, maybe her flaming red hair. He had never seen a color like it.

“Hi,” she said.

And then something unprecedented happened.

Isobel Sørensen favored him with a smile.

A thrill coursed through Alexander’s entire body. It began in his chest, moving backward and outward, up his spine, to his hair and arms. It was unreal. The woman had a movie star smile.

“Hello again.” Alexander held out a hand, enclosing hers in a firm grip. Isobel’s skin was cool, her fingers almost cold, but when he fixed his gaze on her gray eyes, he saw something glittering. Isobel continued to smile, he continued to hold her hand, and they stood like that for a second or two too long.

“Isobel will look after you,” said Leila. “Right, Isobel?”

“Of course.” She withdrew her hand. She seemed completely unfazed by what had, for Alexander, been a handshake verging on the erotic. “This way.”

Alexander waited politely for Isobel to sit down before he did the same. When she caught him looking at her, she flashed him another smile. Her mouth was fantastic, wide and sensuous, pale pink lips dotted with faint freckles.

“Is this where you work?” he asked, leaning forward slightly and giving her his full attention. He looked her only in the eyes, didn’t make the mistake of allowing his gaze to fix on her mouth or move down over her body. Plus, he already knew: long, lithe legs, luscious curves. And then those freckles.

“No, not primarily. I work in a private health clinic. On Valhallavägen.”

Private? That was unexpected. Private health care was still rare in Sweden, still somewhat of a delicate issue in a country that prided itself on equal health care for all.

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. She was wearing flat, canvas shoes, and he wondered if she was one of those women who always wore flats so as not to be too tall. If so, it was a shame. She would be shit hot in high heels.

“I have a special arrangement there,” she said, and Alexander dragged himself out of his fantasies. “So I can leave at short notice.”

“Leave?”

“I also work for MSF—Médecins Sans Frontières, or Doctors Without Borders.”

Three jobs. He barely had one. “But it’s Medpax you’re passionate about?”

She furrowed her smooth brow. “I don’t like that phrase, passionate about. I’m involved in Medpax in my spare time.”

“But how do you manage? With all the work. And being out in the field?”

He had spent the weekend reading about the endless needs out there. She must have seen so much suffering, so many people die. It sounded unbearable.

“I make sure to remember the times things went well for my patients. The sunshine stories. That’s the reward, and that’s how I cope. Also, you have to have reasonable expectations of yourself.”

“And you do?”

She gave him a wry look. One of her feet bobbed. “That depends on who you ask.”

Alexander crossed his legs and smoothed his perfectly tailored suit, which had cost so much it could probably support more refugees than he wanted to think about. “It all seems so hopeless.”

“Helping people?” Her tone was mild, but he caught the steel beneath it.

“It’s so obviously never ending,” he said. “Do you never just feel like you want to give up, go home, and have a drink?”

“Often, yes. But each of us has to do what we can.”

That was almost word for word what Gina had said to him. It sounded equally naïve coming from Isobel’s lips. But it was clear she was serious, that helping people was, perhaps, the most important thing in her life.

Alexander had wondered why Isobel thought so badly of him from the first time they met. It had been last summer. He hadn’t been able to understand her hostility when he was trying to come on to her. But now, it was as though he could suddenly see himself through Isobel’s eyes. She gave up her comfort and her time to help other people. He was a superficial rich man with no interest in anything other than his own pleasure. She was practically genetically predisposed to dislike him.

“The worst is when you know you should’ve been able to save a patient,” she continued. “So many you could save if only you had access to what we have in any average neighborhood pharmacy. It’s tough.”

This entire conversation was tough.

Staying sober and learning about aid, had that really been such a good idea?

“You look different,” she suddenly said, studying him closely.

Alexander raised an eyebrow, glad that they had stopped talking about misery and death: “Good different or bad different?”

She made a gesture to his face.

“You broke it,” she said.

He automatically raised his hand to his nose. The plastic surgeon had been either incompetent or hungover, because he really hadn’t done a good job. Still, most people didn’t notice. People paid less attention to things than they thought.

“I used to box. The other guy got a direct hit.” It had hurt like hell, actually.

“Do you still do it?”

“Box? No.”

He had enjoyed boxing, liked how strong it made him, liked to fight, if he was honest. But there were limits to how often you could have vital parts of yourself broken, punctured, or bruised.

“Probably sensible. Sooner or later, the head takes a hit,” she said.

He grinned at her. “I don’t use it all that much anyway.”

She laughed, an open and sensual laugh that made Alexander’s toes curl in his handmade shoes. It was like talking to a completely different Isobel from the woman he’d met so many times before. This version was like the disapproving and angry Doctor Sørensen’s sexy twin sister.

“Tell me about Medpax. Tell me why you in particular deserve my money.”

“Because it’s the right thing to do?”

He gave her a sarcastic look. “You’re gonna have to give me more to work with than that.”

She nodded; it didn’t seem that she had taken offense.

“My mother and grandfather founded Medpax, but I guess you already know that.”

“Yes, but tell me anyway. I like to listen.”

“They were both brilliant doctors.”

“Just like you?”

Isobel shook her head. “No, no, those two have always been special.”

“Are they still alive?” he asked, though of course he knew the answer.

“Mom is. My grandfather is dead. He died a heroic death.”

“Sounds like there are lots of heroes in the family.”

“You have no idea,” she said. “My father died a hero’s death in a plane crash while he was on a mission for the UN. And his father was a Danish war hero. Sometimes it almost feels like it’s expected of me, too. That I should die while I’m doing something really heroic, I mean.”

A chill went through him, and he brushed an invisible thread from his pants to hide his reaction. “That’s so macabre,” he said lightly. “I would never be able to care so much about something that I died for it. Other than champagne, maybe.”

And sex, he added silently to himself. Especially sex with this fierce woman.

Isobel flashed him that new smile, the one he thought he could easily get used to. She was dangerous when she was like this. She made him want to flex his muscles and lay down prey at her feet. If it was an act, then she was damn good at it. When had he last felt that he wanted to impress a woman so badly?

Don’t kid yourself, Alex. You want to sleep with her, that’s all.

“The truth is that the money Medpax receives has a direct correlation to life and death. Our hospital in Chad needs everything. Staff, equipment, medicine. The patients’ needs are, as you already mentioned, practically inexhaustible. We’re a small organization, we have low administrative costs. Most of our staff are volunteers.”

“And you? Do you get a wage? Sorry to ask.”

“It’s okay. No, I’m not paid.”

“What do you earn with Doctors Without Borders?” The woman could hardly exist on nothing.

“Around eleven thousand. It’s meant to cover expenses only.”

“But that’s not enough to live on.”

“That’s why I do temp work at the private health clinic. People with that kind of health insurance can afford to pay me a lot.”

If he hadn’t been studying her closely, he would have missed it. But now he saw it. The conflict inside her. Christ. It couldn’t be easy being Isobel Sørensen.

“I’d like to apologize for being so rude before,” she said. Her voice was as warm as a Caribbean breeze. When she spoke like that, he wanted to just skip all the aid talk and throw her down onto the rug instead. Peel those shapeless, utilitarian clothes off her, uncover skin and her secrets, kiss her, drink in her sultry laugh.

“What do you mean? Specifically, that is,” he asked. He had to clear his throat to regain control of his voice. It was clear that Isobel had adopted a new strategy since they’d last met. It was quite thrilling. He was looking forward to seeing how far she was willing to go for his money. Not very nice, perhaps, but then he wasn’t an aid organization hero.

“When we met …”

“In Skåne, last summer,” he suggested helpfully.

She fell silent and furrowed her brow. “Yeah, then too. But I mean …”

“On the airplane from New York? Or at the airport maybe?”

She looked embarrassed. “I suppose so. I didn’t realize I’d been so rude so many times. What I meant was when we met the other day, at your foundation. I was impolite, and I’m really sorry about that. I’m glad you’re giving me a second chance.”

He looked at her earnest face and decided that he wasn’t going to fall for this little performance at all. All the flirting and the twirling of her hair around her little finger affected him, that went without saying—she was, after all, an enormously attractive woman—but he wasn’t quite as easily duped as Isobel seemed to think.

“What?” she asked, smiling, her voice all but a purr.

It was time to raise the stakes. “I thought we could continue this discussion. Over dinner and drinks?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m happy to continue here and now.” The purr was gone.

“I don’t have time. I have to go get my nails polished,” he said with a straight face. Judging by Isobel’s expression, she didn’t have too high an opinion of men who got manicures. “And I have an appointment with my color coordinator. Don’t want to end up wearing the wrong tie,” he added.

“You’re kidding.”

Of course he was. “A date. You could tell me more about Medpax and why we should give you money.”

Money he knew they desperately needed. Leila hadn’t said anything concrete about the organization’s financial situation, of course, but Alexander was neither stupid nor without his contacts. He could guess how things looked for them. Columns of red, donors who had jumped ship. It wasn’t a pretty picture. He stretched out his legs, showing off the superb tailoring of his suit. He was wearing his signet ring today, bearing the family crest, glittering faintly.

Isobel’s eyes narrowed even farther.

“So that’s it for Medpax unless I go out with you?”

Oh, she really did want to have her low opinion of him confirmed. But Alexander didn’t plan on giving her the satisfaction, had no intention of making her think worse of him than she already did.

“Isobel,” he said, “that really wasn’t meant as some kind of provocation. I’d like to get to know you better, understand how Medpax works. And call me conceited, but I’d also like the chance to convince you to like me.”

“But I do like you,” she replied, a tad too quickly.

That might have been the most dishonest thing Alexander had ever heard. “Right, sure,” he said dryly.

“But the fact remains—you want a date in exchange for us getting our money.”

“No, I’ve already authorized it,” he said. “I did it before I came. The money only stopped because of an administrative error. They made the decision without consulting me.” That sounded slightly better than admitting he hadn’t signed any Swedish papers for the past six months because he’d been too drunk. “The money should start up again soon. And it’s retroactive, too. Someone from the bank is probably on the phone to Leila, telling her the good news now. So if you say no to a date with me, it won’t make any difference.”

Her face relaxed. “Okay, I’ll say no then,” she said, sounding relieved. “And thanks, your money will make a huge difference.”

“But I’d be willing to give you much more if I could take you out on a real date.”

She fell silent. Was motionless.

“Would lunch do?” she asked finally, sounding hopeful. “I’m really busy.…”

He shook his head. “Sorry, it’s dinner that’s on the table.”

She bit her lip. Seeing how much she wanted to say no, he had to hide a smile. He didn’t normally have to pay women to go out with him. Romeo would have died laughing. But Alexander had found Isobel’s weak spot. She was passionate about her little organization.

She shook her head. “I can’t date a donor.”

It was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. “Of course you can.”

“No.”

And with that, he saw it, utterly crystal clear. Isobel enjoyed being better than everyone else, being untouchable. Now there was no chance in hell he would give in. What would it take to get her to abandon one of her absurd principles?

He leaned back in the chair. “You don’t even know how much you’re saying no to,” he said slowly.

“Makes no difference.”

“Come on, aren’t you curious?”

“Is it just dinner and drinks we’re talking about?”

“Of course.”

Unless you want more, that is. He could easily imagine her naked beneath him. Eyes dark with passion, that husky laugh. Christ, the thought alone turned him on. He shifted in his chair.

“How much?” she asked, her chin in the air. “Purely theoretically. How much would you give Medpax for one single date?”

He hid the feeling of triumph that surged through him. Isobel Sørensen was sitting there, thinking about selling him a piece of her spotless soul.

He loved it.

“Give me a figure,” he said nonchalantly.

She studied him. He waited. He was a professional card player. And he had been a paratrooper during his military service. Had lain in pits, behind rocks, alert. If he had to, he could wait for hours, days.

“One hundred thousand,” she said calmly.

Alexander didn’t bat an eyelid. He had burned more than that on some of his wildest nights. A bit immoral, perhaps, but then he had never aspired to be the conscience of the world.

“Okay,” he said. He had the great pleasure of watching Isobel Sørensen lose a bit of her cool doctor’s composure.

“You’re crazy.”

He laughed. “Tell me something I haven’t heard before.”

She squirmed in her chair. “Merde, I should’ve asked for more.”

“Don’t push it,” he said as he thought that he probably would have agreed to double that amount.

She chuckled, and the throaty sound sent a wave of lust coursing through him.

Maybe he had gone crazy after all.

But Isobel was both beautiful and intelligent. That in itself would have been enough to catch his eye. She disliked him, and that was another irresistible challenge. But there was something else about her. Something he caught a glimmer of every now and then, something secret and incomprehensible and maybe even a little chaotic, as though Doctor Sørensen had some kind of power she didn’t quite have full control over.

“It’s a date, then,” she said.

He met her gaze. Her storm-gray eyes sent a thrill through him. It was the same feeling he’d had as a child, when he hadn’t learned how to swim but had been nearing deep water where he couldn’t touch the bottom. Isobel was a serious woman, one who commanded respect, who held responsibility. In other words, not his usual type at all.

He smiled. “It’s a date,” he agreed.

This should be fun.