Page 6 of Intense (Beneath The Blaze #3)
FINN
“ D r. Miller. A word?” My tone is clipped.
But I’m furious.
The past couple of days, she’s been acting differently. Less confrontational, which, to most, would be a good thing.
To me? It means something’s up.
And the fact she nearly fucked up a cardiac bypass in there, something I’ve seen her do on many occasions over the years, is unacceptable.
It’s not like her.
She follows me into the locker room. I shut the door behind her, but she doesn’t turn to face me.
“What the fuck was that in there?” I hiss.
She turns and frowns but stays quiet. I don’t like this version of her. I like the spunky, sassy, nothing-held-back Stephanie. That one keeps me on my toes.
This quiet, reserved version?
Makes me livid.
Over the past nearly six years, I’ve become accustomed to many versions of Stephanie. All of which seem to hate my guts, but all equally fascinating versions of her.
“Oh, come on, Dr. Miller. I know you can speak. Tell me.”
I step in front of her, and she slowly looks up, into my eyes.
“I’m just exhausted.”
“Go on vacation then. Don’t offer to do a surgery when you clearly can’t concentrate.”
She scowls at me.
“What would you have done if I wasn’t there to save your ass, Stephanie? Seriously?”
She rolls her eyes, and I have to physically stop myself from pinning her against the lockers. I can’t fucking stand when someone rolls their eyes at me.
“Dr. Quinn is always there to save the day.” There it is, that spite on her tongue.
She’s returning. And that stirs something inside my chest.
“Someone has to be, clearly. Whatever’s going on, get it fixed. If it starts to impact your work, I’ll have no choice but to write you up.”
Her eyes go wide.
Ah, there it is—fear. That rare flicker I barely ever see from her, but when I do?
I bask in it. And threatening the one thing she loves most in the world seems to bring it out.
“It won’t happen again, Dr. Quinn.”
I shake my head.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Dr. Miller.”
She scowls at me, like I’m the worst person in the world to her.
Just as I suspect I have been since day one.
I made myself her enemy without so much as opening my mouth the day I joined the cardiology department.
And every day since, I’ve studied her.
She is my favorite patient to assess.
When she bites her lip, my eyes zone in there.
There’s a fine line between lust and hate.
And we dance it like it’s second nature.
I allow her to despise me, because it keeps us both sharp. Keeps her at my level.
It’s a dance I want to keep doing.
I pull out the black marker from my pocket with a grin.
“Really? Now?” she snaps.
“You know damn well it’s time.” I hand her the marker.
She huffs and stomps over to the whiteboard.
Week four hundred and eight.
Total tally: Dr. Quinn, three hundred. Dr. Miller, one hundred and seven.
She puts a line under this week’s chart. Make it three hundred and one.
I can feel the anger rolling off her in waves. It’s silly really, a tally chart that I completely fix every week. It can be something as mundane as a decent joke or as raw as bringing someone back from the dead. These lines on that board mean nothing and everything.
“Good work, Dr. Miller,” I tease.
I can’t help it. Any opportunity I get to rile her up, I take it. It’s a habit now. Even after she flawlessly saved my brother’s life, I still can’t help it.
If I wasn’t who I am, I would have let her win that entire leaderboard for the rest of our careers for giving me Conan back. I can never really thank her enough for that.
I knew making that call to have her do the surgery was a bold move. I thought I’d never live it down.
Yet, much to my shock, she doesn’t throw that one in my face too often. Maybe that is her limit with me. She’s the only one who has seen me almost fall apart.
I think she knew. And chose to stay silent. As if she likes this power play between us. Perhaps she thrives in it as much as I do.
Maybe we need it to survive here.
I’ve spent most of my life pushing people away.
Yet with Stephanie, I push and I push, and she never moves out of my orbit.
She stands her ground.
Maybe that’s why I gravitate to her.
“I really don’t like you,” she says, almost sweetly, as she tosses the marker at my chest.
I catch it with a smirk.
“Really? I had no idea,” I say, sarcastically.
She darts around me. I watch the sway of her hips as she heads for the door—like being near me sucks the life out of her.
“Go get some rest before the award ceremony. I’ll see you on the airstrip!” I call out.
She swings the door open.
“Fucking rich boy,” she whispers under her breath.
I pull out my phone when the door slams shut and note this interaction down, chuckling to myself.
She hates failure. But hates needing help even more.
Her constant obsession with independence might just be the thing that breaks her.
Dr. Miller feels a lot. She is quite the opposite of me. I’m numb on the inside. She isn’t. She’s a fucking ball of fire waiting to erupt.