Page 35 of The Potter

I take a step back, the heat of his body feeling like second-degree burns. “I know it’s hard for you to wrap your head around this, but some people take care of themselves. It’s called being middle class.”

His grin is sinister. “How were you going to change your dressings when you wouldn’t even have been able to bend without crying in pain?”

I hold my chin higher. “Pain and I are good friends. We know how to tolerate each other.”

“Doubtful.”

I hate him.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about how I will care for myself postoperatively since—listen close—I don’t want the surgery anymore.”

“You’re lying.”

“And you’re an asshole.”

I’m so over this day.

“That may be so, sweetheart, but at least I’m realistic. You moved to Texas for a consult with me, and you’re getting what you came for.”

My jaw clenches, but he doesn’t notice since he can’t seem to pull his furious eyes from mine.

“You can’t go through a surgery of this magnitude and go home to a goldfish. I won’t allow it. I’m responsible for your recovery just as much as I am the surgery.”

I’m not sure if that’s a personal responsibility or a customary one for surgeons, but I can’t think straight with him this close. “Are you saying if I find someone to care for me, you’ll do the surgery?”

Dammit, Halle! You just told him you didn’t want the surgery. But let’s be real, we all know I’m lying.

“Yes.”

One word that will change my life.

He said yes.

I cock my head to the side. “What if I can’t find anyone? My parents are older and can’t leave the farm.”

His watch beeps, and finally, he drops my hand and steps back. “Time’s up. Tell Serena to schedule a follow-up, and we’ll discuss further.”

“And if I decide on another surgeon in Texas?” I prompt, my face heating with anger that he didn’t answer my last question.

“No one else will take your case.”

I suck in a breath as he leaves the room without a backward glance.

The bastard.

I know he had to have made some calls. I called twenty-five surgeons in the area, and all of them reported they weren’t taking on new patients after I gave them my name.

Dr. Potter had to have done something. I’m not even surprised, honestly. What did I expect from a man wound so tight, he could wind a clock with his ass? He’s always going to win. You don’t get to be at the top of the food chain without learning how to crush the competition.

Now that Vance has decided he wants me as a patient, he’s determined to eliminate any competition. And I don’t know why this irks the hell out of me. I wanted Vance to be my surgeon, but now? I think I’d like to have more leverage so he doesn’t think he’s the only one who can fix a few scars.

No one should have that kind of power or ego.

Dr. Potter needs to be knocked down several notches, and personally, I’d like to be the one to do it.

“I thought Astor told you to go home?”

His rough voice drifts through the room, deep and low. Thankfully, it’s not as scary sounding as it was earlier. Still, facing him mid-eye roll would likely not be beneficial in keeping his calm demeanor intact. “I finished filing the charts,” I say, ignoring his question and continuing to pick up the gauze scattered across the floor.

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