Chapter 2: The Stick Strikes Back

Carol’s POV

"Doctor Anderson, I have such a terrible headache. Could you please examine me?"

I was laying on my best damsel-in-distress act, voice all shaky with a flutter of eyelashes for good measure. I'd spent a solid hour getting ready—low-cut cashmere sweater hugging my curves just right, short black skirt showing off my legs, and makeup that made my eyes pop with that wide-eyed innocence.

Nicholas glanced up from his clipboard with that same stone-cold expression that drove me nuts. We were in the ER at Millbrook General, and I'd timed it perfectly—10 AM on a Tuesday, when things were usually dead.

"Miss Wilson," he said in that flat, clinical tone that made me want to scream. "What seems to be the problem today?"

Miss Wilson? Are you kidding me? We lived under the same roof, and he was gonna act like we were total strangers? Fine. Game on.

I pressed the back of my hand to my forehead like some dramatic soap opera star. "It's this pounding headache, Doctor. Started this morning and it's killing me." I leaned forward a bit, giving him a prime view down my sweater. "I was hoping you could make me feel better."

For a split second, his eyes dipped down before snapping back to my face. Gotcha, you jerk.

But nope, he went full doctor mode, whipping out his penlight. "Any nausea? Dizziness? Blurry vision?"

"A little dizzy," I lied, stepping closer and letting my fingers brush his arm as he shined the light in my eyes. "And I've been feeling so... tense lately. You know how it is when you live with someone you can't stop thinking about."

He stepped back like I'd shocked him, clicking off the light. "Based on your symptoms, Miss Wilson, I'd suggest rest and staying hydrated. If it keeps up, you might want to swing by psych—they handle stress-related stuff."

I blinked, my jaw dropping. "Excuse me?"

"Sometimes anxiety shows up as physical symptoms," he said, cool as ice. "Have a good day, Miss Wilson."

And just like that, the asshole brushed me off. Suggested I see a shrink! Like I was some psycho instead of a hot college girl trying to get his attention.

I stormed out of his office, cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and fury. Did he really just call me crazy? That son of a bitch!

I was fuming down the hallway, dreaming up revenge plots, when voices drifted from the nurses' station. I slowed, pressing against the wall to eavesdrop.

"...God, Dr. Anderson is so freaking hot," one said. Anya, the redhead with a massive crush on him. "Did you see him in the break room yesterday? Those scrubs are criminal."

"Anya, get over it already," another laughed—Lucia, the sassy Latina with zero filter. "Half the nurses have shot their shot, and he shuts 'em all down. Remember Sarah last month? Girl basically threw herself at him, and he treated her like air."

This was gold. I leaned in closer.

"Maybe he's gay?" Anya said, sounding hopeful.

"Nah, I doubt it," Lucia replied. "I think he's just picky. Waiting for someone on his level, you know? Like that new doc, Sadie Morrison. Now that makes sense."

My stomach dropped. "Sadie Morrison?"

"Oh yeah!" Anya squealed. "She's perfect for him. Rich family, blonde bombshell, killer surgeon. They'd have the cutest kids."

"Plus, her dad's got his hands in half the hospitals on the East Coast," Lucia added. "Total power couple."

It hit like a gut punch. Of course Nicholas would go for someone like her—polished, successful, not some "stick" like me from college.

Well, screw that.

By the time I got home, I was reeling, barely noticing Dad and Bessie rushing around the living room with suitcases.

"Carol! Just in time," Dad called, zipping up a bag. "We gotta talk to you and Nicholas."

"What's up?" I asked, clocking their stressed vibes.

"Work crisis," Bessie said, glancing at her watch. "David's got a huge case in Philly—a merger going to hell. I'm tagging along."

"How long?"

"Two weeks, maybe more," Dad said, raking a hand through his graying hair. "It's last-minute, but the client's paying big bucks."

Bessie grabbed my hands, all serious. "Sweetie, you and Nicholas need to look out for each other while we're gone. I know you two butt heads sometimes, but you're family now."

Family. Yeah, right. If she only knew the dirty thoughts I'd been having about her son.

"Don't worry," I said with a sweet smile. "Nicholas and I will take real good care of each other."

They bolted after hugs and a million instructions, leaving the house feeling huge and empty. I paced the kitchen, mind buzzing with ideas. Two weeks alone with him. Two weeks to prove I was way better than some snooty surgeon.

I heard his car pull in around six. Showtime.

I'd switched to my killer outfit: a thin white tank that left nothing to the imagination and tiny denim shorts that barely covered my ass. If he wanted to call me a stick, I'd show him curves he couldn't ignore.

He walked in looking wiped, dark hair tousled, gray eyes scanning the room. They flicked over me quick before he hit the fridge.

"Rough day at the hospital?" I asked innocently, hopping onto the counter so he'd have to notice my legs swinging.

"Mmm," he grunted, grabbing a beer.

"So, Nicholas," I said casually, "you got a girlfriend? I overheard some juicy gossip at the hospital about you and Dr. Morrison..."

That got him. He turned, eyebrow arched. "Gossip?"

"The nurses think you'd make a cute couple," I said, watching for cracks. "Both docs, fancy families. Super compatible."

He took a slow swig, those cool eyes sizing me up. Then, out of nowhere, he set the bottle down and stepped right up to me on the counter.

My heart raced—finally! He was so close I could see the stubble on his jaw. As he reached toward me...

The jerk just fixed the strap of my tank top, tugging it back over my shoulder.

"Stick," he said calmly, "you should eat more. You're getting too skinny."

My face went nuclear. "Don't call me that! And I'm not skinny—I've got curves everywhere that counts. C-cup boobs, round ass, tiny waist. I'm no stick!"

He stepped back, totally unfazed. "Not interested, Stick."

And with that, he snagged his beer and walked out, leaving me fuming on the counter, ego shredded and plotting my next move.