Page 40 of The Love Operation

“You ready for the meeting next week?” Shephard says, his voice just cocky enough to be grating.

My not-so-favorite rival for Chief: Dr. Gavin Shephard (forties or fifties—looks like he’s had work done), trauma surgeon, technically gifted, with confidence permanently set to broadcast.

Chief identifying characteristics: Flashy. Charismatic. Knows how to work a room—and a committee. He’s been featured on the local news three times and drops phrases like “at the intersection of medicine and impact.” Loves a podium. Loves the sound of his own voice more. Constantly “bumping into” administration.

Physical exam: Tall, camera-ready White male. Salt-and-pepper hair that somehow defies OR caps. Wears a Patagonia vest like it’s a surgical credential. Incessantly checks his smartwatch and announces his steps. I’ve never once seen blood on his trauma scrubs.

Impression: Surgical showman. Not a bad surgeon, but he operates like someone’s always filming. Staff either adore him or roll their eyes hard enough to risk retinal detachment. He’s strategic—a master at turning crises into headlines. He won’t out-operate me, but he might out-network me. And that’s what makes him dangerous.

“Always,” I say, letting my own arrogance bleed through. “The real question is, are you?”

I throw a wink to the group and stride away, head high, pace steady, spine made of steel.

But beneath all that confidence, a truth simmers: Isaac could ruin everything for me.

As soon as I walk into Delenn’s office, she says, “So, what’s up with you and the COO?”

I step over to her desk and break off a piece of the biscuit she has there. Biscuit days are the best. I’d forgotten.

She picks up another biscuit, this one wrapped, and tosses it to me. “Here. I got you one.”

I catch it, touched despite myself. “Aww. Thanks.”

She narrows her eyes, fixing me with a glare.

“What?” I ask, feigning innocence. “You want me to pay you for the biscuit?” I jest. “I don’t have cash, but I can Venmo you.”

She levels me with a look. “Cord.”

I sigh. “He needed to talk to me. Chief stuff.”

“I wasn’t aware chief stuff included tongue.”

I choke. A large hunk of biscuit flies out of my mouth and onto her desk as I cough and sputter. “Why would you—” I pull a tissue from the box on her desk and wipe at the crumbs.

“After I left, I got worried,” she says. “I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you, so I went back.” She leans against her chair, watching me. “But then I saw you launch yourself at him, and I realized, if anyone, he was the one in trouble.”

I groan, flopping onto the edge of her desk. “Ugh. It was a mistake.” I forcefully rub my forehead, then have a thought. “Really, this is your fault.”

“My fault?”

“Yes, you know how I get when I’m tired. What kind of friend are you?”

She grins. “Please. No one can stop you when you want something. I wasn’t about to get caught up in that.”

I sigh into my hands.

“So, what, are you guys a thing?” she asks.

I spin toward her, knocking something off the desk. “Absolutely not!”

“Relax.” She holds up her hands. “You’ve been looking for someone. Not an unreasonable question.”

“We work together!”

“So?” She shrugs. “Two people can work together and be in a relationship. I’m married to Craig.”

“Craig is a pharmacist!”