Brant’s jaw tightens.
“And just to be clear… I would never touch Mason.”
His eyes narrow slightly.“Mason, not Dr.Gould, I see.”
I step closer, probably a little too close because from here, I can see his pupils are slightly dilated, but I don’t move.“If you’re not going to make my coffee, then order one for me.Either way, I’m asking.I make yours every single day.”
He crosses his arms.“I don’t ask you to.”
I smile sweetly, ignoring the fire in my chest.“And yet, you drink it.”
The air between us tightens, and I swear I can almostseethe battle behind his eyes.Pride versus… something else.
He exhales through his nose, mutters something under his breath, and grabs his phone.
“Fine,” he says, tapping the screen.“What do you want?”
I grin.“Our usual.”
His fingers pause mid-order.He lifts his gaze.“We don’t have a usual.”
“We do.You just haven’t admitted it yet.”I say, sinking into the chair behind his desk like I own the place.
He finishes the order and shoves his phone back into his pocket.“This doesn’t make us even.”
“Oh, I know,” I say, twirling a pen between my fingers.“You’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”
Brant leans against the edge of the filing cabinet, arms crossed again but not in that closed-off way from earlier.This time, there’s a twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“Do I always boss people around like this?”he asks.
“Only when they don’t listen.”
A knock sounds at the door, and my muscles tense at the interruption.A nurse pokes her head in.“Dr.Thomas?You’ve got a chart consult in ten.Dr.Harrison, they’re prepping OR for an emergency.”
“Thanks,” I say as she disappears again.I’m ready to move on and get to work.I glance at Brant.“Guess the countdown starts now.How’s it feel being my assistant?”
He gives me a look.“Temporary.Like a stick-on tattoo.”
I laugh as I rise, brushing past him, closer than necessary.“You sure?I think it suits you.”
He mutters something that sounds suspiciously likebratunder his breath, but I catch the glint in his eyes.He’s not mad anymore.Not really.
Ten minutes pass when his phone buzzes.
“Your drink has arrived,” he says flatly.
“You’re the best,” I say as he opens the door.A to-go cup sits outside it.
“I know.”
We step out together, and for a second, it feels like we’re walking into battle side by side.
I take a sip and hum in appreciation.“Damn.You might actually be good at this.”
“Don’t get used to it,” he says, but he’s fighting a grin now as he walks off to the theatre.
After my ward round and his surgery, we’re back and setting up for our office consults.I reach for the last pack of sterile syringes in the supply closet next to the office at the exact moment Brant does.His fingers curl instinctively around mine instead of the box.Instead of pulling my hand back, I leave it there, waiting to see what he’ll do.
