Chapter 7
POV: Marina
I forced myself to breathe.
He was just another resident.
That was the lie I repeated in my head.
I turned back to the room, letting my spine straighten, letting my voice settle into the tone I had spent years cultivating—calm, precise, unquestionable.
There was a blonde woman with a tight ponytail sitting straight, hands folded, blue eyes bright with anxiety and ambition. Another woman with brown hair, not enthusiastic at all.
Two other men beside her—decent-looking, competent, forgettable.
And then there was Brennan.
He didn’t try to be the center of attention.
He didn’t have to.
He sat back, shoulders relaxed, gaze steady, like the room naturally belonged to him. Like the air adjusted itself around his presence.
Focus.
“I run a tight service,” I said. “You will report directly to me. No surprises, no excuses. If something happens, I hear about it immediately. I expect punctuality, discipline, and excellence,” I continue. “If you embarrass yourself, you embarrass me. And I don’t tolerate embarrassment.”
A few nervous laughs.
Good. They should be nervous.
I started pointing.
“You and you—rounds with me this morning.”
“You—ER consults.”
“You—ward coverage.”
Their eyes widened, pens scribbling.
Then my finger stopped on him.
“You,” I said.
The room went very still.
“With me. Now.”
A ripple of curiosity passed through them. Of course it did. Everyone had heard the rumors. The prodigal cardiology goddess back in town. The widow. The legend.
I looked back at the group.
“Move.”
My voice cracked like a whip.
They jumped to their feet, chairs scraping, scattering in different directions like I’d fired a starting gun.
He followed me into the corridor without speaking.
I stopped near the glass wall overlooking the atrium and turned on him.
My hands curled into fists.
“What the hell, Brennan?”
His expression didn’t change.
“You knew I was coming here. You knew I’d be your attending.”
He tilted his head slightly. “Everyone knew. The hospital hasn’t talked about anything else in months. The cardio goddess is back.”
My jaw tightened. “And you still—”
“And I still what?” he asked quietly.
I swallowed.
“You still slept with me,” I said. “Knowing I would be your boss.”
His arms crossed slowly over his chest.
“You didn’t complain,” he said.
I stared at him.
“You knew,” I pressed.
He nodded once. “Yes.”
Silence stretched between us.
“And you still—”
“I already told you,” he said calmly. “You didn’t ask me to stop.”
Anger flared hot in my chest.
“I did,” I snapped. “I was very clear when I said it wouldn’t happen again.”
He waited. Unmoved.
“So let me make this painfully clear now,” I said, voice dropping, every word carved from steel. “It won’t happen again. It can’t. I am your attending. I am your boss.”
He didn’t flinch.
“Our relationship from now on is completely professional and strictly so. You will answer to me as my resident. I don’t accept less than absolute respect.”
His gaze didn’t leave mine.
“I have never disrespected you,” he said. “And I never will.”
Something in his voice tightened—not angry, not defensive. Just… certain.
“If you want this professional,” he continued, “then that’s what it will be.”
“Good.”
But my eyes betrayed me.
They dropped.
To his mouth.
To the line of his jaw.
To his chest beneath the scrubs.
Then back to his eyes.
He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
His lips curved slowly. Not a smirk. Not a grin.
A knowing, infuriating, intimate smile.
Like he could read every thought I was trying to bury.
My pulse spiked.
He leaned in slightly—not close enough to touch, but close enough that I felt him.
Then he straightened.
“See you on rounds, Dr. Meyer.”
He turned and walked away, utterly unbothered.
I stood there, breath uneven, knowing two things with terrifying clarity:
I had just drawn a line.
And he had absolutely no intention of staying on his side of it.
I barely made it three steps into Angela’s office before the door closed behind me.
Then locked.
Then she slowly turned in her chair, steepling her fingers like a villain in a soap opera.
“Okay,” she said sweetly. “Talk.”
I dropped into the chair across from her desk, heart still hammering from rounds. From Brennan. From the universe clearly hating me.
“Look like you just saw a ghost.”
I exhaled. Long. Heavy. Dramatic.
“The guy from the bar,” I said.
She blinked once.
“Neighoor son, right?”
“Yes, and he’s one of my residents.”
Then choked on her coffee.
Full-on coughing, sputtering, nearly dying on hospital-grade espresso. I stood up to pat her back, but she waved me off like I was the inconvenience.
“The guy,” she wheezed, “from the bar? The neighbor’s son? The holy hell, Marina, how is he real guy?”
“That’s the one.”
She stared at me like I’d confessed to murder.
Silence.
Then she slowly, slowly slid down in her chair until only her eyes were visible over the desk.
“This hospital,” she whispered, “is going to eat you alive.”
I buried my face in my hands.
“I swear I didn’t know. I thought he was just… a man. A hot, normal man.”
Angela burst into laughter. Actual, loud, unprofessional laughter that probably echoed down the hallway.
“A hot normal man,” she repeated, wiping tears. “In this economy?”
“Shut up.”
She leaned forward, elbows on the desk, eyes bright with malicious delight. “So you slept with your resident.”
“I did not know he was my resident.”
“But now he is your resident.”
“Yes.”
“And you just told him it’ll never happen again.”
“Yes.”
“In a hospital,” she continued, voice dropping into a dramatic whisper, “where literally everyone is fucking everyone in on-call rooms, stairwells, supply closets—”
“I AM NOT THAT KIND OF DOCTOR.”
She laughed harder. “You’re exactly that kind of doctor. You’re just pretending you’re not.”
I groaned and leaned back. “I’m serious. This is not happening again. I’m his attending. His boss. It’s done.”
Angela tilted her head, considering me like a specimen under a microscope.
“You’re telling me temptation wrapped in navy-blue scrubs, with that voice and those arms, is going to walk around you every day, call you ‘Dr. Meyer,’ look at you like he already knows how you taste—”
“ANGELA.”
She grinned, unrepentant. “—and you’re just going to be professional?”
“Yes.”
She stared at me for a beat. Then burst into laughter again.
“Okay,” she said, holding up her hands. “I believe you. Mostly because you’re emotionally traumatized enough to ruin your own happiness for the sake of ethics.”
“That’s not—”
“It is exactly that.”
I stared at the ceiling. “He knew. He knew I was his attending.”
“And still slept with you.”
“Yes.”
Angela slapped the desk. “God, I love this job.”
I groaned again. “This is not funny.”
“It is extremely funny.”
She leaned back, still smiling. “Relax. You’re a grown woman. He’s a grown man. You had consensual, probably incredible sex—”
“Angela.”
“—and now you’re going to be a professional goddess and ignore him. You’ve handled worse."
I thought of my husband. Of years of sacrifice. Of the way I’d reshaped myself around another person’s dream.
“This is different,” I murmured.
She softened, just a little.
“I know,” she said. Then, immediately brightened again. “Still funny, though.”
I laughed despite myself.
“Okay,” she said, spinning back to her computer. “Go be terrifying. And Marina?”
“Yes?”
She looked at me with a wicked grin.
“If you accidentally end up in a supply closet with him, I expect details.”
“Angela!”
She just winked.