Chapter 1 #2
Behind me, the ER team continues their work, the beeping of the monitor confirming that we—I—saved a life today.
A fact that should fill me with professional satisfaction, not this sinking feeling in my stomach as Dr. Walker's gaze sweeps from my flushed face down to my rumpled clothes and back up again.
"And you are?" he asks, though the calculating look in his eyes tells me he already knows exactly who I am.
"Dr. Mia Phillips," I answer.
"You're one of my new fellows." It's not a question the way Dr. Walker says it, more like he's confirming a particularly unpleasant fact.
His eyes, dark and penetrating, haven't left my face, and I resist the urge to wipe at what I'm sure is a smudge of something embarrassing on my cheek.
Perfect. Day one, and I've already managed to perform unauthorized CPR in the lobby, commandeer hospital equipment, and earn the contempt of the man whose approval I've been seeking since med school.
"Yes," I confirm, fighting the urge to fidget under his scrutiny. "Diagnostics fellowship. I’m supposed to start at nine."
"And yet here you are—” he makes a show of checking his watch.
“—at eight-thirty, practicing medicine without hospital credentials, making treatment decisions without consulting staff, and creating a spectacle in the ER.
" His voice is low but with an edge that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
A nurse passes behind him, shooting me a sympathetic glance. Great. Even the staff knows I'm in trouble.
"Do you understand the liability issues you've just created?
" Dr. Walker continues, crossing his arms over his chest. The gesture stretches his white coat across his broad shoulders that I absolutely should not be noticing right now.
"Do you comprehend the protocols you've bypassed? The chain of command you've ignored?"
Swallowing hard, I try to maintain eye contact. This is not how I pictured our first conversation. In my daydreams, he was nodding thoughtfully at my brilliant diagnostic insights, not listing my professional transgressions like he's building a case for my immediate dismissal.
"I saw someone in distress," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "I acted."
"You acted without authorization in a hospital where you have no standing."
"I acted as a doctor," I counter. "Which is what I am."
"Not here. Not yet." His eyes flick to the clock on the wall, then back to me. "Not for another twenty-eight minutes, officially."
The beeping of monitors and hum of voices around us fade into background noise as we face off.
I'm acutely aware of every detail about him—the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, the controlled tension in his jaw, the way he holds himself like a man who never learned how to yield.
He's everything I expected from his reputation and nothing like I imagined all at once.
"Would you have preferred I let him die?" The question slips out before my better judgment can catch it. "Sir," I add, because I'm pushing my luck and I know it.
Something flashes in his eyes—surprise, maybe, that I'm pushing back. Good. Let him be surprised. I might be starstruck by his brilliant mind, but I'm not about to apologize for saving a life.
"What I prefer, Dr. Phillips, is a hospital that runs according to established protocols designed to protect patients and practitioners alike.
" He leans in slightly, and I catch the faint scent of coffee and something clean, like expensive soap.
"What I do not prefer is a fellow who believes their judgment supersedes hospital policy before they've even completed orientation. "
The frustration building in my chest threatens to spill over. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from saying something I'll regret, but I can't quite stop myself entirely.
"With all due respect, Dr. Walker, the patient's rhythm is back." I gesture toward the cardiac unit where they've taken him. "If I'd waited for proper authorization, he would be in the morgue instead of cardiac care. So while I apologize for the disruption to protocol, I stand by my decision."
His eyebrows lift fractionally. It’s the first change in his expression since he started listing my faults. "You stand by it."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "I do."
Dr. Walker studies me for a long moment, his gaze so intense I have to resist the urge to step back. I can almost see that brilliant mind of his working. What file is he mentally putting me in? Probably one labeled "Problems to Deal With Later."
"Your résumé says Johns Hopkins," he says abruptly.
The shift throws me. "Yes."
"Top of your class."
"Yes."
"Excellent recommendations. Particularly from Dr. Lenowitz in cardiology."
I nod, not sure where this is going. "He was very supportive."
"And yet." Dr. Walker's gaze sweeps over me again, from my messy braid to my rumpled clothes. "Your first act at Sierra Mercy is to create chaos in the lobby and challenge my authority in the ER."
"My first act was saving a life," I correct, unable to help myself. "The rest was... collateral."
For a split second—so brief I almost miss it—the corner of his mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. More like he's suppressing some reaction he doesn't want me to see. Then it's gone, replaced by that same stern assessment.
"I already know you're going to be trouble," he says, emphasizing the word in a way that makes it sound like a proper noun. A title. My new identity.
It settles over me like an ill-fitting coat. Trouble. Not brilliant. Not promising. Not even competent. Just Trouble, with a capital T.
"Dr. Walker, I—"
He holds up a hand, cutting me off. "Get upstairs to diagnostics. Get properly signed in, get your credentials, and get oriented before you decide to play hero again."
I should nod and retreat. I should be grateful he's not firing me on the spot. I should absolutely, positively not say another word.
"I wasn't playing," I say, because apparently my self-preservation instinct took the day off. "And I'd do it again."
Dr. Walker's eyes narrow slightly. For a long moment, he just looks at me, like he's seeing something unexpected. Something that doesn't fit his initial assessment.
"Upstairs," he finally says, voice clipped. "Now."
He turns and strides away before I can respond, his white coat billowing slightly with the force of his movement. Several nurses quickly find reasons to look busy as he passes.
I stand there for a moment, my pulse still racing from the confrontation.
Embarrassment, frustration, and a stubborn sense of rightness war within me.
I did the right thing medically. I know I did.
But I also just managed to make the worst possible first impression on the man who will determine the course of my fellowship—and possibly my entire career.
Trouble. The word echoes in my head as I finally turn toward the elevators.
A nurse passes by—the same one who was in the lobby—and pauses. "Hey," she says quietly. "For what it's worth, good call out there. Mr. Daniels has a history of cardiac issues. You probably saved his life."
Mr. Daniels. The patient has a name now. A history. A future, because I acted.
"Thanks," I manage, offering a small smile.
She glances in the direction Dr. Walker disappeared. "Don't let him get to you. He's... well, he's always like that. Brilliant, but..."
"Difficult?" I supply.
"That's one word for it." She smiles briefly. "Good luck up there."
I'm going to need it, I think as I make my way to the elevators.
The doors slide open with a soft ding, and I step inside, pressing the button for the fourth floor.
As the doors close, I catch my reflection in the polished metal—flushed cheeks, escaped curls framing my face, a determined set to my jaw that would make my father proud.
Trouble. If that's what Dr. Sebastian Walker wants to call me, fine. I'll show him what kind of trouble I can be. The kind that saves lives. The kind that solves cases. The kind he'll eventually have to respect, whether he wants to or not.
The elevator rises, and with it, my resolve. Day one isn't going according to plan, but then again, the best diagnoses rarely follow the textbook. I straighten my shoulders, tuck a stray curl behind my ear, and prepare to face whatever comes next.
Trouble is reporting for duty.