Page 118 of Ten Day Affair

The smile she gives me could frost windows. Polite while also dismissive. It's the kind of greeting that saysI see you, but I'm not particularly thrilled about it.

"Morning."

Neil Brooks, a second-year surgical resident, doesn'teven look up from his phone. He's slouched against his locker like he's allergic to standing upright while his thumbs fly across the screen.

His scrubs look like he slept in them. Which he probably did.

I fumble with my combination lock, trying to look casual. I'm trying to appear like I've been here forever instead of three days. The metal is cold under my fingers, and my hands shake slightly.

“Does anyone know if OR2 is cursed or just poorly ventilated?"

The joke falls flat. Tracy's laugh sounds forced. Neil doesn't bother to react at all.

Jesus.At Good Samaritan, Kip would have had a comeback ready. He'd say some off-color joke about how the ghost of a patient who died from surgical complications haunts that room. We'd be laughing within seconds.

Here, there are only crickets.

My jaw clenches involuntarily. The tension crawls up my neck, settling behind my ears like a vise. My hands curl into fists inside my pockets.

They know.They know I transferred from Palm Beach, probably assuming the biggest trauma I saw was a yacht accident. They know I'm Samuel Taylor's daughter, that I come from money and connections. They know I've never worked a shift where gunshot wounds outnumber broken bones.

Now I'm questioning every reason I thought coming here would be a good idea.

"First trauma rotation?"

Tracy's question sounds innocent enough, but there's something underneath it. It almost sounds like she's making fun of me.

"Yeah. Looking forward to it."

Lie.I'm terrified. The case load here makes Good Samaritan look like a spa weekend. But I'd rather eat glass than admit that.

Neil finally glances up from his phone. "Hope you're ready for the real world, princess."

The nickname hits like a slap. My breath catches, shallow and quick. Heat floods my cheeks.

He's lucky I don't pull him up by his wrinkled scrubs and slap his smug face.

I want to tell him I've worked my ass off to get here, that I chose Grady specifically because it would challenge me.

Instead, I just nod. "Ready as I'll ever be."

My pager buzzes against my hip, cutting through the awkward silence. Trauma bay. Thank God.

"Duty calls."

I close my locker and head toward the surgical floor, forcing my shoulders back and willing my steps to be confident.

My heart pounds with each step, and I miss the easy comfort of home so much it physically aches in my chest.

The trauma bay is controlled chaos that smells like blood and iodine. My sneakers squelch against floors that don't seem completely clean.

I report to the charge nurse, who assigns me to Dr. O'Brien for an appendectomy. I spot Neil and Tracy. I wonder if they knew we would be on this together and just chose not to mention it.

Dr. Fiona O'Brien stands by the sink, already scrubbing. Her posture screams military precision even in surgical scrubs. When I approach, she doesn't look up.

"You're Taylor."

It's not a question, but a fact filed away and dismissed. Sweet, I traded Dr. Grimaldi for her evil twin.