Page 5 of Dr. Roz Harrington
And Roz hated anchors. They weighed you down and stopped you from moving forward. But she couldn’t deny the admiration bubbling just beneath the surface, even as it annoyed her.
She flipped a file open, scanning the notes inside without really seeing them. Why was she still thinking about Sam Quinn? It wasn’t as though the woman had done anything extraordinary. She’d been protective of her patient. Stubborn, yes, but hardly unique.
Except...she had been.
Roz tapped her pen against the desk, her jaw tightening. Sam’s discipline and strength were at odds with Roz’s relentless need for control, but it was exactly that difference that intrigued her. Roz prided herself on never letting anyone challenge her authority, not in surgery, not in life. Yet here she was, distracted by a firefighter who had the nerve to stand toe-to-toe with her in the emergency room.
It wasn’t just frustrating, it was unsettling. And Roz didn’t like being unsettled.
She glanced at the clock on the wall, noting the time. Another surgery awaited her, another chance to reclaim the focus that Sam Quinn had so annoyingly shaken. With a determined breath, Roz stood and grabbed her lab coat.
She’s just a firefighter, Roz told herself as she strode out of the office, her steps as sharp and purposeful as ever. A disciplined, stubborn, irritatingly memorable firefighter. That’s all.
But even as she headed back to the OR, Sam’s blue eyes followed her, unrelenting and unforgettable.
Roz adjusted the lapel of her tailored blazer for the third time that evening. The fabric was impeccable, a deep navy that fit her sharp frame perfectly, but she still felt uncomfortable. Charity events weren’t her scene. Too much talking, too many forced smiles, too many people with nothing interesting to say. She could be in the OR right now or reviewing patient charts or doing literally anything more productive than standing in a grand ballroom filled with delicate chandeliers and the soft hum of a string quartet.
The event was a collaboration between Harrington Memorial Hospital and the city’s emergency services, meant to raise funds for trauma care and first responder resources. Roz had been cornered into attending by the hospital board, who insisted her presence would reflect positively on the neurosurgery department. She could already hear her mother’s voice in her head: “It’s good for your image, Rosalind. You represent the hospital’s excellence.”
Roz scoffed quietly to herself as she picked up a glass of sparkling water from a passing waiter. Excellence doesn’t need to schmooze. She let her eyes wander across the room, filled with a mixture of hospital staff, firefighters, paramedics, police, and wealthy donors eager to flaunt their generosity.
That’s when she sawher.
Roz froze mid-sip, her eyes locking onto a familiar figure across the ballroom. Sam Quinn stood near the bar, dressed in her firehouse dress uniform. The dark navy jacket, adorned with precise rows of medals and a crisp white undershirt, accentuated her broad shoulders and powerful frame. Her hair was pulledback neatly and her posture was impeccable, exuding the same commanding presence that had struck Roz in the ER.
But this time, there was something else.
Sam wasn’t surrounded by chaos or dust or blood. She was polished, composed, her expression calm yet observant as she engaged in quiet conversation with a group of firefighters. Roz felt her breath catch, an unfamiliar jolt running through her chest. For someone so grounded in discipline and logic, Roz suddenly found herself momentarily untethered.
It wasn’t just admiration. Roz had plenty of that for the people she worked with, the ones who excelled in their fields. No, this was something else entirely. Something Roz wasn’t used to feeling.
Attraction.
The realization struck her like a rogue wave. It wasn’t just Sam’s strength that caught her attention; it was the way she carried it, like it was effortless. Her uniform fit her perfectly, every button and crease a testament to her disciplined nature. And then there was her face, strong, angular, with sharp blue eyes that seemed to take in everything without giving too much away. Those same eyes had questioned Roz’s judgment in the ER, and now, across the glittering ballroom, they held an intensity that Roz couldn’t look away from.
Roz’s lips parted slightly, but she caught herself quickly, her expression snapping back into its usual aloof mask. She took another sip of her water, as if that would wash away the thoughts racing through her mind.Get a grip, Rosalind.
Sam shifted slightly, turning her head, and Roz’s stomach tightened. For a fleeting moment, she thought Sam’s gaze might sweep across the room and land on her. Roz felt the ridiculous urge to look away, but she forced herself to stand her ground. She wasn’t some schoolgirl with a crush. She was Dr.Rosalind Harrington, a world-class neurosurgeon. She didn’t get flustered.
But as Sam’s head turned back to her conversation, Roz felt an odd mix of relief and disappointment.
Why am I even thinking about this?Roz chided herself, shaking her head slightly. Sam was just a firefighter. A confident, sharp, ridiculously attractive firefighter, but still...nothing more. And yet, Roz couldn’t seem to take her eyes off her.
“Dr. Harrington,” a voice interrupted her thoughts, pulling her back to the present. She turned to see a hospital board member approaching, hand outstretched in greeting. “So glad you could make it.”
Roz pasted on her professional smile, shaking his hand. “Of course,” she replied smoothly, though her mind was still halfway across the room.
The conversation droned on about funding initiatives and donor engagement strategies, but Roz’s attention kept drifting back to Sam. She noticed how Sam nodded thoughtfully as she listened to her colleagues, the way her lips curved into a polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Roz wondered if Sam felt as out of place as she did in this overly polished setting.
As if sensing Roz’s gaze, Sam suddenly glanced up, her eyes sweeping across the room before landing on Roz.
For a second, Roz forgot how to breathe.
Sam’s expression didn’t change, but her sharp blue eyes lingered on Roz, studying her in a way that felt deliberate. Roz held her gaze, refusing to look away, her professional mask firmly in place. But beneath the surface, her pulse quickened.
It was Sam who broke the moment first, her attention returning to the firefighter beside her. Roz exhaled quietly, her grip tightening slightly on the glass in her hand. She felt likeshe’d just been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to, and the realization irritated her.
She had no business being distracted by Sam Quinn. The woman was infuriatingly stubborn, overly cautious, and far too comfortable challenging Roz in her domain. And yet, Roz couldn’t deny that Sam had left an impression, one that refused to fade no matter how much she tried to ignore it.
