But the third...
The third photo makes the bile rise in my throat.
It was taken through the window of Giovanni’s tailor shop. I am on my knees in front of Jax. My hands are on his thighs. From the angle, it is explicitly intimate.
"You had me followed," I whisper.
"I had to ensure the 'research partnership' was legitimate," Sterling says, his voice dripping with false concern. "Imagine my surprise when the private investigator reported that the methodology involved... this."
"Alistair won't care," I bluff, though my heart is hammering. "He likes Jax. He knows we're close. He’ll tell you to go to hell."
"Alistair likes a winner," Sterling corrects sharply. "But you know what Alistair hates? Lawsuits. Public embarrassment. Sloppiness."
Sterling taps the photo of the tailor shop.
"This isn't a relationship, Maxwell. In the eyes of thehospital bylaws, this is Quid Pro Quo. You are the Chief. O'Connell is your subordinate. You just secured funding for him. You saved his job. And now, I have proof that he is sleeping with you."
"It's consensual," I hiss.
"It's illegal," Sterling snaps. "It's sexual harassment waiting to happen. If I release these to the Board, they won't see a romance. They will see a liability. They will see a predatory Chief of Surgery and a trauma surgeon who slept his way into a grant."
He leans in close.
"Alistair might approve of the man, Maxwell. But he won't back a sex scandal. If this goes public, he will cut you both loose to protect the York endowment. You know he will."
I grip the edge of the sink. I know he’s right. Alistair supports strength. If we become a PR disaster, Alistair will destroy us himself just to clean up the mess.
"What do you want?" I ask.
"I want control," Sterling says. "I want you to dissolve the merger. You remain Chief of Cardio in title, but Trauma reports to me. The shared office ends. The 'team' ends."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then I file a complaint with the State Medical Licensing Board against Dr. O'Connell."
I freeze. "What?"
"I don't need to fire you, Maxwell. You're a York. You bounce back," Sterling says coldly. "But O'Connell? If I submit these photos with a formal complaint of Unethical Conduct and trading sexual favors for career advancement... he loses his license."
Revoke his license.
"He will never practice medicine again," Sterling says. "He’ll be lucky to get a job driving an Uber."
The trap is perfect. Sterling knows he can't hurt me—my father protects me. So he has targeted the one thing I cannot protect.
"Leave him out of this," I whisper.
"Then fix it," Sterling says. "Prove to me—and the hospital—that this is over. Break it off. Publicly. Brutally. Make it clear that he is nothing more than a subordinate."
He checks his watch.
"If I see you two together again—if I see a smile, a touch, a shared coffee—I file the complaint. If you try to run to your father, I file the complaint. You stay here, under my thumb, and you treat him like an employee."
Sterling puts the photos back in the envelope. He tucks it under his arm.
"You have an hour, Dr. York. Clean up your mess."
He walks out.
