Page 63 of Doctor’s Forbidden Match

Sources close to Pulse Point Medical Centre report that Dr. Sterling, 45, one of the hospital’s senior orthopedic surgeons, was placed on disciplinary probation four months ago, following a heated confrontation with a patient’s family member. Witnesses describe the altercation as “explosive,” with one insider claiming security had to step in before it escalated further.

Sterling has reportedly remained on thin ice ever since, with sources suggesting his current high-profile assignment—acting as personal physician to TV host, Hannah Morgan, during her recovery—may be less reward and more last chance.

My eyes scan faster, my chest tightening with each line. Disciplinary probation. Last chance. Explosive. The words blur together.

Then I click the second link, and my blood runs cold.

Miss Morgan unable to cope with Pulse Point?

It seems she’s fainted on set and had to go to the hospital to be checked out and rehydrated. Rumor is, she might lose her job…

Ouch.

Dr. Whisperer

“How do they find out this information?” I breathe into the phone. My chest feels tight. “I’ve told no one. There’s no way Dr. Sterling is talking to the press, is he?” Even as I say it, I shake my head. No. Not Zac. He’s too professional, too rigid about boundaries.

“No way,” Brooke confirms. “I’ve seen the way these gossip sites operate. Half of it’s just hospital staff with loose lips and a phone, or someone on set talking too much after a few drinks. It could be someone from the production. Doesn’t this breach some patient confidentiality?”

“Technically, they didn’t name the hospital or use medical details. Just that I fainted.” Luckily, it’s nothing worse they’re writing about. Nothing about the medication, the actual diagnosis, the specifics. “I better go call my parents before they see this and freak out. Mom has a Google alert on my name.”

“Okay, but keep me updated. Especially about Sexy Sterling with the mysterious past.”

“Will do. Bye.”

“Bye,” she replies and hangs up.

I immediately pull up my mom’s number, and she answers. I spend the next twenty minutes reassuring her that I’m fine, that it was just dehydration and exhaustion, and that, yes, I’m eating properly, and no, I’m not overworking myself. My dad gets on the line and makes me promise to take it easy, the worry clear in his voice, even though he’s trying to hide it.

I’m still on the phone, my mom now telling me about my cousin’s engagement, when the front door opens. Keys jingle, plastic bags rustle. I look up to see Zac backing through the door, his arms loaded with grocery bags, at least six of them hanging from his hands and forearms.

I start to push myself up, reach for the crutches, following the automatic urge to get up and help, but he sees me and immediately waves me off, mouthing, Stay on the phone. You’re not helping me.

Like he’s worried I’ll hurt myself more if I try to stand.

I sink back down, watching as he makes two more trips to the car. He moves efficiently through my kitchen, unpacking.

My mom is still talking, now about my aunt and uncle’s cruise to the Caribbean as I watch Zac, the concentrated furrow of his brow as he organizes everything.

He catches me looking and raises an eyebrow in question and mouths Everything okay?

I nod and give him a small smile.

“Mom, I need to go,” I finally interrupt gently. “I need to put some laundry in and read my lines before bed. Early call-time tomorrow.”

“Okay, sweetheart. Take care of yourself. And call us if you need anything.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I hang up and immediately text Channing.

Me: Pick me up at 4:30 a.m. tomorrow? Back to work.

I hit send, then remember Zac. I don’t want Channing out of a job, so surely Zac will understand and tag along.

Channing: You sure you’re ready?