Dr. Sebastian Walker.
And he does not look impressed.
He towers over me, all six-foot-four of him radiating cold disapproval. His dark hair is slightly disheveled, like he's run his hand through it in frustration. His jaw is set in a hard line beneath that perpetual five o'clock shadow. He's wearing a white coat over a charcoal button-down, no tie. He looks exactly like his photos, except more... everything. More intense. More intimidating. More unfairly attractive while glaring at me like I've personally offended him.
"I—" I start, but he cuts me off with a raised eyebrow that somehow speaks volumes.
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 butwith 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 starstruckby 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."
