I was 22 and in my final year of medical school, doing a prestigious internship under Dr. Damien Cross.Dr. Cross was 41, extremely handsome, and known as one of the best cardiologists in the city — tall, broad-shouldered, with salt-and-pepper hair, piercing gray eyes, and a commanding presence that made everyone nervous. He was strict, brilliant, and notoriously hard to please.Tonight, we were the only two left in the hospital after a long shift. He had asked me to stay behind for a “private teaching session” on advanced cardiac procedures.We were in his private office on the top floor. The lights were dimmed, and the city lights sparkled through the large windows.“Take off your coat, Intern,” Dr. Cross said, leaning back against his desk, watching me with those intense gray eyes.I removed my white coat, leaving me in my tight blue scrubs. The top was a little too snug across my chest, and the pants hugged my curves.Dr. Cross’s gaze lingered on my body a moment too long.“Good,”
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