Page 63 of Night Shift

“Are those Conan’s clothes?” he asked, raising a brow and folding his arms across his chest. He eyed me critically from top to bottom.

A surge of wicked satisfaction coursed through me at his realization. “Oh, this?” I gestured to the attire and gave him a nonchalant shrug. “Yeah, it’s Conan’s. We went back to his hotel room after the gala. Which reminds me, my dress is still there, and I need to run and pick it up. Or maybe he can drop it by later today.” Each word had been deliberately dropped like a match, intended to ignite his discomfort, and it worked. He wasn’t pleased about it. A shadow crossed his features, the corners of his eyes tightening while his jaw clenched slightly. It was subtle, but it was there—a flash of something unmistakably akin to jealousy.

“Is that so?” He set his coffee cup down. It clinked lightly on the table. He cleared his throat, and his professional doctor’s mask returned. “I’ll be out on business for most of the day, Samantha. But when I return tonight, we need to have a serious discussion. I expect you to be available.”

“Sure,” I snapped, annoyed by his condescending tone.

Atticus rose from the table, rinsed his cup, and placed it in the dishwasher with precise movements. “I’ve just texted you a document containing my house rules. You’re staying in my home, and I expect you to adhere to them.” He paused, then added, “And no guests without my prior approval.”

“Okay, whatever,” I muttered, taking a long sip of my coffee, hiding behind its rim. Boy, had he woken up on the wrong side of the bed.

“Also,” he said, heading toward the door, “you might want to consider a brush and some face wash before the fashion police come knocking.” Before I could muster a response, before the irritation boiling inside me could spill over into words, he was out the door, leaving me standing there, fuming in his immaculate kitchen.

The silence that filled the house in his absence was deafening. His words, his rules, the way he had looked at me—everything seemed specifically designed to infuriate me. I was left to stew in my thoughts until his return.

I shook my head. How dare he talk down to me? After everything I’ve been through—the attack, the fear, the loss—his concern was for his precious house rules? He’d made it clear I wasn’t his guest; I was just an aggravation.

My stomach rumbled loudly. I needed to calm down and get something to eat, because I was haangry. Fine, if I were to be a prisoner in this modern fortress, I might as well explore the amenities.

Atticus’s kitchen really showed off his taste for the finer things. It was a culinary haven equipped with gadgets and appliances that most chefs would envy. Despite my anger at him, I had to stand back for a second and admire the gleaming stainless-steel refrigerator, professional-grade stove, and array of devices whose purposes I could only guess at.

Instead of grabbing something quick, I decided to make a real breakfast, something to distract me from my swirling thoughts. Atticus’s penchant for healthy eating was evident from the contents of the fridge—organic vegetables, free-range eggs, grass-fed beef, an assortment of fruits, and various dairy alternatives. Impressive yet intimidating. I settled on making an omelet and started chopping vegetables with zeal. The process was therapeutic in its monotony, a healthy outlet for my frustration.

As the omelet cooked, my curiosity got the better of me, and I began to open cabinets. Each one revealed more about Atticus’s lifestyle. I found quinoa, a variety of nuts and seeds, exotic spices, an impressive collection of teas and coffees, and even a hidden stash of dark chocolate. Each item spoke of a man who valued quality and took care of himself.

I was impressed—not just because of the cost of these things but because of the care he had taken in their selection. Atticus lived a life of intentional choices. I’d witnessed that at the hospital as well. But did that meticulousness extend to his relationships? Did he compartmentalize his emotions as neatly as he did his kitchen utensils?

As I plated the omelet, a pang of sadness pierced my anger. Here I was, standing in the kitchen of a man who could orchestrate harmony among ingredients, appliances, and aesthetics, yet we couldn’t find a way to communicate without irritating each other.

Settling into the chair with my omelet, I pulled out my phone to open the document Atticus had texted me. As I scrolled through, my annoyance from earlier found new fuel. Each rule was more ridiculous than the last.

House Rules

1. Curfew: You must be inside the house by 10:00 PM every night. No exceptions. The doors will be locked at 10:01 PM. (This shouldn’t be a problem since the hospital gave you extra days off.)

2. Guests: No guests are allowed in the house without my prior approval, which I may withhold at my discretion.

3. Dress Code: Please dress modestly in common areas.

4. Kitchen Use: You may use the kitchen only if you agree to clean it up immediately after use.

6. Internet Use: No illegal downloads or inappropriate browsing. Internet password: FidelisMD1967.

7. Alcohol Consumption: Alcohol is permitted in moderation.

9. No Snooping: Personal spaces not explicitly shared are off-limits. This includes my office and storage room.

10. Security System: The security system will be armed at 10:30 PM. Do not attempt to disable or tamper with it.

11. Communication: If you need to discuss something with me, please text me or leave a note on the fridge. I prefer to keep our interactions documented for clarity.

12. Bedroom Privacy: My bedroom is my sanctuary. Under no circumstances is entry or even lingering near the doorway permitted.

13. Firebird Protocol: The ’67 Firebird Convertible, 326 in the garage is off-limits. Do not touch, do not go near, and certainly do not entertain thoughts of driving it.

14. Hot Tub Hours: The hot tub is available for use between 8:00 PM and 10:00 PM, but not without prior notification. Excessive noise or disturbance will not be tolerated by the neighbors.

15. Neighbor’s Dog Warning: Be wary of the neighbor’s “vicious” dog, Newton. Do not interact with him without the neighbor’s presence. He’s small but mighty and has a keen sense of who strangers are and will take your hand off.

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