Page 13 of A Prescription to My Heart

Soren Calloway is an arrogant, insufferable man, Talia,I scold myself.Stop thinking about him.

I climb into bed, turning off the lamp.

The sheets are cool, the room dim. I close my eyes. But the electricity of the moment lingers.

And worst of all—Iwonder.

What would his lips feel like on mine?

Chapter 4

Soren

I’musedtopeoplelistening when I speak.

Nurses, residents, even some of the more seasoned doctors. When I give an order, they follow it. No hesitation. No questioning. No attitude.

Talia Vance, however, does none of those things. And it’sinfuriating.

“Clamp,” I snap, holding out my hand.

She doesn’t move.

The OR is cold, the overhead lights glaring down as I focus on the open abdomen in front of me. The patient’s vitals beep steadily in the background. Everything should be moving like clockwork—quick, efficient, precise. But Talia’s just standing there, scalpel in hand, staring at me like I’ve personally offended her.

I lift my head, locking eyes with her over my mask. “Vance.”

She tilts her chin up. “It’s already clamped.”

I freeze.

Slowly, I flick my gaze to the surgical site—and sure enough, the vessel is secured. No unnecessary bleeding. No reason for the clamp I just demanded.

I grind my teeth. “Next time, say something.”

Silence.

The resident surgeon assisting me clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable. He must have already done this. Without my directive? I’ll have a word with him later. Right now, I need to focus onnotletting Talia Vance distract me.

Just because she’s interested in switching her specialty to scrub nurse doesn’t mean I’m going to go easy on her. This is my OR. My rules. Shewillfall in line.

My blood simmers.

Talia holds my gaze, completely unfazed, before finally passing me the next instrument. We finish the procedure without another word.

I barely make it two steps out of the scrub room before she’s on me.

“You don’t get to bark orders when they’re unnecessary,” Talia says, keeping pace beside me.

I don’t look at her. “I wasn’t—”

“You were.”

I exhale through my nose. “I run my OR a certain way.”

“Well, maybe you should reevaluate it.”

That stops me short.

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