Chapter 6
Serena has an MBA from Harvard. Bernie forgets that sometimes; it is oddly compelling, watching Serena charm her way across a work fundraising function. A strategic laugh here, a candid hand on the forearm of some major donor there, a solemn nod as she listened to yet another board-member hold court with his undoubtedly expert medical opinion (Bernie hated them, hated the lot of time-wasting politicians masquerading as benevolent old fogies). Bernie watches no one else that night, barely noting Henrik Hanssen’s presence when he sidles up next to her. They nurse their drinks together for a while, and when Hanssen murmurs “magnificent, isn’t she?” and Bernie cannot help but nod her dumb agreement. Later, when Hanssen stalks away and Serena joins her at the bar, flushed with unholy glee and a triumphant purr of “guess who just scored yet another exclusive contract for Holby,” and parks herself flush against Bernie’s side (so warm, so warm and full of passion and victorious) it is all Bernie can do to take another sip of her whiskey, mutter a vague congratulations. And so it is that Bernie misses the sly look Serena throws her way, nearly chokes on her whiskey when she feels warm lips against her ear and a filthy, filthy promise and the vaguest hint of the nip of teeth at her jaw. She does not get much of a chance to recover before Serena is off again, the spice of her perfume lingering far longer than the smirk and wink tossed Bernie’s way.