Page 17 of Playing the Field

“Not anymore,” I snap. “You’re off the team. Effective immediately.”

Novak’s face hardens, his jaw tightening. “You’re overreacting. You can’t just⁠—”

“Yes, I can,” I cut him off. “You’ve crossed too many lines, and this is the last straw. I don’t care how talented you are. Your behavior is toxic, and I won’t have it poisoning this team.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but I’m already signaling for security. Two burly guards appear, flanking him.

“Escort Mr. Novak off the premises,” I instruct, my voice cold. “Now.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Elias snaps, his voice dripping with venom as the guards grab his arms. “You’re gonna regret this, Callahan. You can’t just replace me!”

I step closer, lowering my voice so only he can hear. “Watch me.”

As security drags him down the hall, his protests echo behind him, but I don’t look back. My chest heaves, adrenaline still coursing through my veins.

I turn, ready to head back to my office, and freeze.

Anastasia is standing a few feet away, her arms crossed, her green eyes locked on me. I hadn’t noticed her there. From the expression on her face, she saw the entire confrontation.

For a moment, neither of us speaks. The hallway feels too small, the silence stretching uncomfortably. I swallow hard, struggling to find the right words.

“How much of that did you see?” I ask finally, my voice quieter than I’d intended.

“Enough,” she says evenly. Her tone doesn’t give away much, but her gaze is piercing, searching my face for something.

I rub the back of my neck, feeling suddenly exposed. “Look, I⁠—”

“You didn’t have to do that for me,” she interrupts, her voice softer now. “But… thank you.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I nod, unable to meet her eyes. “It wasn’t just for you. Novak’s been a problem for a while. This was overdue.”

She takes a step closer, her expression softening. “Still. It means something.”

Her words linger in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. I can’t tell if it’s gratitude, admiration, or something else entirely, but it twists something deep inside me. I force myself to hold her gaze this time, even though it feels like she’s seeing more of me than I’m comfortable showing.

“Anastasia,” I start, but whatever I’m about to say gets lost in the intensity of her stare.

“It’s Dr. Bellows,” she corrects, her lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile. Then she turns and walks away, leaving me standing there, the weight of her presence still pressing against my chest.

For the second time today, she’s left me completely off balance.

And I hate how much I like it.