Page 38 of Clinically Delicious

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I could do this. I could focus. I could be the competent, controlled physician I’d spent years becoming.

I would absolutely not think about Cate.

Or Fitz.

Or Cate with Fitz.

Or the way she’d looked this morning, standing in my hallway, her eyes meeting mine with an expression that had made my pulse spike and my carefully maintained control slip just enough to mutter “I’m going to kill him” under my breath.

Monday, I decided, was going to be a very long day.

And it wasn’t even nine AM yet.

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