“No,” I say evenly. “I didn’t lead this one either.”
Marcella stares me down. “A third-year resident is relatively inexperienced when it comes to high-risk cases, correct?”
Where the hell is she going with this?
“I’ve been trained by some of the best surgeons in the world.” I sit up straighter. “I’m confident in my skills.”
She lifts a single, perfectly arched brow. “Confidence is one thing, Dr. McGloughlin. Competence is another.”
Something snaps. She can fuck right off.
“I followed protocol,” I say, coldly. “I trusted Dr. Caldwell’s judgment. I stand by the decisions we made.”
She watches me, her expression unreadable. Then she shifts, flipping to a different page, her voice changing slightly. “Dr. McGloughlin, let’s talk about your reputation with the women in the hospital.”
I stiffen, shocked. A cold sweat prickles at the back of my neck when Marcella pivots—sharp, deliberate—straight into my personal life.Fuck. I never eventhoughtto mention this to Sarah. Never imagined it would come up, and now I’m out on a limb with nothing to hold on to.
Sarah doesn’t miss a beat. “Objection—irrelevant. You may answer.”
Marcella barely glances at her. “Dr. McGloughlin, are you aware you have a reputation among the female hospital staff?”
“For what, exactly?” I try to appear unbothered by brushing the invisible lint from my shirt.
She lifts a brow, like she’s daring me to play dumb. “For certain extracurricular activities…”
“Ms. Delgado, this has nothing to do with the case.” Sarah shifts beside me, clearly irritated. Blindsided.
Marcella waves a hand. “May I remind you, this is a deposition. He must answer all my questions.” She turns back to me. “Is it true, Dr. McGloughlin, you’ve had multiple sexual relationships with female staff members?”
“I wouldn’t call them relationships.” I hold her gaze, unblinking. She’s not going to shame me.
Her lips twitch. “No. I suppose you wouldn’t.”
“I have never let my personal life interfere with my work.” I shift in my seat, the heat in my chest now boiling anger rather than discomfort.
Marcella doesn’t look convinced. “Yet, your name comes up a lot. In fact, some of your former—let’s call them acquaintances—might say you have a pattern of getting what you want and then moving on.”
I squint at her and stay silent. She’s fishing.
Sarah crosses her arms. “Unless Ms. Delgado has evidence about how Dr. McGloughlin’s personal life played a role in Miranda Black’s surgery, we’re moving on.”
Marcella feigns disappointment. “Fine. Let’s move on.”
I don’t miss the way her eyes flick over me, assessing, like she confirmed something she suspected all along. For some insane reason, I feel like I lost this battle.
For the next hour, she hammers me with questions—about my family. About my schooling. It’s grueling. It takes everything I have not to let it show.
When it’s finally over, Marcella gathers her notes with a little too much force, her lips pressing together in something like irritation.
I remain seated, unwilling to move. She’s ripped me apart without remorse and I want to get out of here. I won’t let her think she’s thrown me for a loop.
Marcella’s gaze flicks over at me—quick, assessing, not indifferent—for the briefest moment, before she schools her expression back to ice, but I catch it.
A spark of heat, quick and sharp. Like the flare of a match before the burn.
Wait,what?
Marcella fumbles a few papers and they scatter to the ground. When she leans forward to retrieve them the slightest gap in her blouse reveals the soft curve of her cleavage and a sheer, black-lace bra.
