3. Rookie Nurse

A mocking chuckle vibrated through Charles’s chest.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve for a rookie, Nurse Browne,” Charles murmured, straightening to his full, imposing height.

He took a step forward, using his tall body to crowd her into the glass side table.

“But let’s get something straight. This is my house. I dictate exactly what happens under this roof, not the other way around. I don’t care what kind of papers you signed. To me, you are a nobody. If I don’t want you here, you don’t stay.”

“And let me remind you of something,” Spirit countered, tapping her fingers against the badge pinned to her chest.

“I am a fully licensed professional. My residency status is a formality of training, Mr. Voss; it doesn’t diminish my authority, and it certainly doesn’t make me less of a nurse.”

Chris nodded in admiration, clapping his hands silently.

“If I walk out those doors,” Spirit continued, “I will be answering to the administration board and the state nursing council for client abandonment and gross negligence. I am not risking my license, my career, or my family’s future because three grown men want to throw a tantrum. So, unless you plan on physically throwing me past those security gates yourself, please sit down and let me check your pulse.”

Charles let out a frustrated growl. He grabbed the handle of the front door and slammed it shut, the boom rattling entire house.

Chris was the first to break the tension. He let out a soft, admiring whistle.

“You’ve got a hell of a mouth on you, Nurse Browne,” Chris said, lifting his hands in peaceful surrender.

He sat down on a nearby armchair, extending his left arm toward her.

“Look, I am perfectly okay. We all are. But go ahead and check whatever you need to check. I don’t want to get you into any trouble with Grandpops.”

A wave of relief washed over Spirit’s nerves.

Thank God, she thought, letting out a little sigh. At least there is one reasonable person in this family who is willing to make my job easier.

Without further ado, Spirit popped open the medical kit with a series of loud clicks. She pulled out an electronic blood pressure cuff and wrapped it around Chris’s upper arm.

She kept her eyes focused strictly on the digital monitor, forcing herself to ignore the unholy amount of muscle in her immediate periphery.

Chris remained perfectly still, watching her with a calm, intensely curious expression.

“Vitals are stable,” Spirit murmured, logging the numbers on her digital tablet. “Heart rate is normal. Blood pressure is excellent.”

“Told you,” Chris smiled, flashing a dimple. “Healthy as a horse.”

“Alright. Next,” Spirit said, turning her attention back toward the entryway where Charles had refused to leave.

She cleared her throat, pulling her professional look back over her face.

“Mr. Charles. It’s your turn.”

Charles didn’t move. He stood with his arms still tightly crossed over his chest, his face contoured in fury.

He looked at her with a glare that explicitly said I am going to destroy you the first chance I get.

“I’m not sitting down for a fake exam,” Charles snapped. “This is ridiculous.”

Spirit didn’t argue, neither did she wait for his permission. If she let him control the pacing of this interaction, she would lose the upper hand forever.

She marched straight up to his towering body, closing the distance between them. Before he could pull away, she reached out, grabbed his large right wrist, and pressed her index and middle fingers against his radial artery.

Charles stiffened instantly, his muscles turning to stone beneath her touch. He stared down at her, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle ticked violently in his cheek.

The heat and hostility radiating off him was dizzying, but Spirit kept her eyes fixed on her watch as she counted the seconds.

“Seventy-two beats per minute,” Spirit announced nonchalantly, releasing his wrist and stepping back to log the data.

“A bit elevated, likely due to your temper, but physically clear.”

Charles didn’t say a word. He just glared at her, his eyes tracking her movements like a predator mapping out a hunt.

Finally, Spirit turned toward back to the living area.“And lastly… Mr. Chase.”

In her twenty-four years of life, Spirit hated one type of man above all else: promiscuous, entitled womanizers.

Growing up fast in a harsh world, she had developed a sharp instinct for detecting toxic behavior, and it was blindingly obvious that Chase was a chronic offender.

She hated the arrogant smirk permanently plastered on his lips, and the disrespectful way he kept tracking her body from head to toe made her skin crawl.

To her fiercely protective self, men like Chase weren’t just annoying; they were dangerous.

She walked over to the sofa where he was now sitting again, keeping a strict, safe distance between them as she pulled out a pulse oximeter.

“Sit up, please,” she ordered, her voice completely clear of the warmth she had shown Chris.

Chase chuckled.

He slowly sat up, leaning his elbows on his knees. He didn’t offer his hand. Instead, he just stared up at her, his eyes brimming with a deeply unsettling, inappropriate intensity.

“Whatever you say, Doc,” Chase purred, finally extending his hand.

Spirit quickly clipped the pulse oximeter onto his finger, trying to finish the assessment as fast as humanly possible.

She hated how close he was, plus the strong scent of his cologne mixed with the warmth of his flesh.

“You’re clear,” Spirit announced sharply, reaching down to remove the device from his finger so she could pack up her kit and establish some physical boundaries.

But as her fingers brushed his to reclaim the clip, Chase’s hand snapped shut. He trapped her small wrist in a firm grip.

Spirit gasped, her heart leaping into her throat as she tried to wrench her arm back.

“Let go of me.”

Chase didn’t let go. Instead, a mischievous smirk stretched across his flawless face. He pulled her an inch closer, his voice dropping into a filthy, seductive whisper meant for her ears alone.

“How does it feel, Nurse Browne?” Chase asked, something lustful shining in his eyes.

“How does it feel touching men built like gods all morning? Does it make you wet? Are you dripping wet already?”

A flash of fury exploded in Spirit’s chest, completely blinding her.

The professional boundaries, the hospital guidelines, the five-thousand-dollar bonus—every damn thing vanished from her mind, consumed by rage.

Before she even realized what she was doing, her free hand flew through the air.

SNAP.

The sharp sound of her open palm connecting forcefully with Chase’s cheek sliced through the quiet mansion like a gunshot.

Chase’s head snapped to the side, his grip on her wrist breaking instantly as the force of the slap left a bright, burning red mark across his arrogant face.

The entire room plunged into absolute, dead silence.