Page 6 of Doctor’s Forbidden Match

Emmett: Lame. Just send the scores, loser.

Jameson: Remind me why we’re friends.

Emmett: Sends the score.

I scroll through. Rowan took first place with 18.3 pounds total. Second place, 14.8. He absolutely nailed it. Good for him.

Me: Nice! We meeting Sunday morning? Or are you two too busy bitching at each other?

Jameson: Sunday suits me.

Emmett: I’ll be there. My turn to bring beers.

I tuck my phone away and head to my office. The familiar space welcomes me—chestnut wood desk, a black leather chair, diplomas on the wall that I rarely look at anymore.

Adam knocks against the doorframe a few minutes after I settle in.

“Take a seat.” I gesture to the chair in front of my desk and place the laptop on the polished surface. “You can write them up. I’ll be here if you need me, but I think you can handle it.”

He doesn’t answer, just slides it closer to him. Good. I shift to the computer, ready to read through emails and reply. But first, I slip on my reading glasses and let the only sound between us be Adam tapping.

After ten minutes, he slaps his hand down on my desk, unnecessarily hard. I look up at him, eyebrows raised, but he doesn’t look pissed… he just did that because… who knows why?

Picking up the laptop, I turn it to read the notes. My jaw tightens at the mistake. I lower them and meet his tense gaze. “You need to add more details than that. You’ve skipped the drill tunnels in the femur.”

“Yes, sir.” His voice is clipped, but he keeps his expression neutral. I appreciate him not arguing with me because it shows respect.

He picks up the laptop. I return to the monitor, continuing to clear out the emails; I like it to be on zero before I leave. It’s satisfying keeping things organized.

Adam slaps the desk again, and this time, I’m so absorbed in reading that I jerk in my seat. Twisting around, I push up my glasses and grab the laptop with more force than necessary. My irritation spikes as I scan the notes. It’s better. But some minor details could still be added, like the positioning of the knee during drilling, the angle of the tunnels, the specific measurements.

“I think you could study three of mine and re-try.” But the thought of him disturbing my peace again irritates me. I can feel the tension creeping into my shoulders. “Take a break and finish this at the nurses’ station. Then bring it back for approval before we attach it to the chart.”

I hold Adam’s gaze, watching his jaw twitch, but he’s smart enough not to argue. I’m not trying to be an asshole on purpose. I just want him to be better, and this is how I got to be so good myself. By having a mentor who wouldn’t accept anything less than perfect.

Adam exits with a nod, pulling the door shut behind him, and my shoulders drop away from my ears. I exhale slowly and turn back to my computer, refocusing as I let the silence wash over me. This is what I love. The quiet that comes with order and being alone.

Chapter 3

Hannah

Channing is waiting out front, leaning against the black sedan with his arms crossed. I called him last night to arrange a ride to the site.

I grab my green blazer from the back of the sofa and throw it over my high-neck cotton shirt, checking my reflection in the bedroom mirror one last time. I’ll get my hair and makeup done on set, so I snatch my purse and head out.

“Good morning, Miss Morgan.” Channing smiles, a hint of warmth in his brown eyes.

“Morning, Channing.” I flash him a grateful smile as he opens the sedan door, and I slide into the back seat.

The drive takes maybe three minutes.

“Am I picking you up later?” Channing asks, glancing at me in the rear-view mirror.

“I don’t know the finishing time yet. I’ll call you when I’m done.”

“Of course. You’ve got my number.”

I smile as he navigates through the quiet morning streets toward the row of Victorian homes under renovation. Maple trees line the road, their leaves just starting to turn orange and gold. It’s picturesque in a way LA never is—too perfect, like a movie set. Which, I suppose, it is now.