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belamy20
Medical Center. Self-Service Cafeteria.
"Are you for real?"
After Mark Sloan walked off, Cristina stared at Adam with her little eyes wide open.
"Real about what?"
Adam chuckled lightly. "It's all just for work, you know."
"Yes!"
Cristina stretched out her hand, clenched her fist, and practically buzzed with excitement. She jumped up, ready to bolt.
"Where are you off to?" Adam asked, grinning.
"I'm gonna grab some tasty snacks and drinks right now. Tomorrow at the seminar, we can all dig in together!"
Cristina beamed. "I can't wait for tomorrow's explosive showdown! 😏"
And with that, she was gone.
Adam shook his head, laughing quietly to himself.
The seminar—officially called the Patient Mortality Seminar—was a monthly thing at the medical center. The goal? Dig into the causes of death for patients who passed away each month, helping the doctors learn, grow, and avoid repeating mistakes.
Hmm…
Since only attending physicians and senior residents were qualified to lead surgeries, they were the ones who got up on stage to present the cases of patients who didn't make it.
And after the case rundown? That's when the real fireworks started—the discussion part.
Every doctor in the room, whether an attending, a resident, or even an intern, could raise their hand and ask questions. And oh boy, those questions? Sharp as scalpels, cutting straight to the core.
If even a tiny hint of the patient's death pointed to a mistake by the presenting doctor, it turned into an absolute nightmare for whoever was up there.
Back when Cristina was an intern, she lived for these seminars. Why? Because it was her monthly chance to watch the big bosses—and their bosses—squirm. She was always the first hand in the air, armed with killer questions.
Thanks to her knack for prepping ahead of time, she'd leave people speechless, scrambling for answers.
Then Mark Sloan showed up. Cristina, noticing he and Adam didn't exactly get along, kept nudging Adam to jump in and ask something. But Adam always brushed her off.
No point, he figured.
To Adam, the seminar was supposed to be a pure learning experience—not a chance to tear someone apart. Even with a guy like Mark Sloan, unless he'd made an obvious screw-up, Adam wasn't about to nitpick just to mess with him.
But now?
Adam felt like Mark was getting a little too full of himself—maybe even targeting him on purpose. So, he decided it was time for a friendly little "reminder."
That's all it was.
Meanwhile, Cristina was off in her hyped-up world, and Adam had already let it go. But Mark Sloan? Oh, he was spiraling—thanks to Adam's last parting shot.
See, last month, Mark had a patient die during surgery too.
Which meant, in theory, he'd be up on that stage tomorrow.
And judging by the way Adam was acting…
That afternoon, Mark was a total mess at work. His head was stuck replaying that death case over and over.
Finally, the clock ticked to the end of the day.
He'd convinced himself he'd gone over that case with a fine-tooth comb—no issues, nothing to find.
"Phew."
Mark let out a long breath, left the office, and headed back to his fancy rented apartment.
As usual, he kicked off his coat, poured himself a glass of whiskey, and hit play on the apartment's voicemail while sipping.
"Mark, it's Lauren. Call me back."
Beep!
"Hey, Mark! It's Michelle. We met at the Stanhope Pharma conference… Anyway, I'd love to grab a drink with you, so give me a call! 😉"
Beep!
"Mark, it's Tina. You free tonight? My husband's out… You know that thing you mentioned last time? I'm in. Hurry over! 😏"
Beep!
"Dr. Sloan, it's Mandy. I think there's a little issue with the augmentation you did for me. Could you swing by and tweak it? Waiting for you! 💕"
Beep!
A parade of women's voices filled the air. Mark took a sip of his drink, a smug smile spreading across his face. He was just about to pick his "lucky winner" for the night when—out of nowhere—Adam's voice echoed in his head.
"See you at the seminar tomorrow."
"Damn it!"
Instant mood killer. Mark slammed the delete button, wiping out all those tempting messages, and flopped onto the couch with a groan.
"I didn't mess up. Duncan can't find anything to pin on me," he muttered to himself.
He kept grumbling, but the confidence just wouldn't stick. No way was he heading out to strut his stuff tonight.
Because this wasn't just anyone—it was Adam Duncan.
The guy who, in his first year as an intern, earned the nickname "Attending Intern"—a title that started with the legendary Dr. Alice Grey and quickly got everyone's buy-in.
Their first run-in? Adam's insane learning speed and surgical skills had left Mark on edge. Then, after joining the medical center, Mark saw more of Adam's almost magical talent. Deep down, he'd already accepted Adam as "an attending who isn't an attending"—and a damn good one too.
Even when they crossed paths, Mark kept it civil. Sure, he'd toss out a snarky comment or two, but he never pulled rank as an attending.
He'd gone over that surgery a million times. Professionally, he was in the clear—nobody could trip him up.
But when it was Adam Duncan he was up against? That gnawing doubt wouldn't quit.
The guy's photographic memory, his freakish grasp of theory—what if Adam hit him with some wild angle he hadn't even thought of?
Even if Mark was technically in the right afterward, if Adam stumped him with a pro-level question in front of everyone and he froze?
He'd lose. Big time. In the most humiliating way possible.
Sure, everyone knew Adam was as good as any attending. But he'd never gone full-on, first-year-resident-versus-hotshot-attending, toe-to-toe in a seminar, leaving the big shot speechless.
Adam didn't roll like that. He barely spoke at these things, never tried to make anyone look bad.
But now? Mark Sloan might just be his first target.
What the hell!
Right then, Mark kicked himself—why'd he have to poke the bear?
"No way. You're not that good," he growled, sprawled out on the couch. One minute he'd pump himself up, the next he'd spiral into worry, then slump into gloom.
Total emotional rollercoaster.
In the end, he turned to the whiskey to drown it out. He had work tomorrow, that stupid seminar, and Adam Duncan to face. Sleep was the goal.
But glass after glass, even buzzed and sprawled on the bed, he couldn't drift off.
Every possible seminar scenario kept jolting him awake.
"I'm Mark Sloan, the East Coast's best plastic surgeon! No way I'm losing to some cardio resident in my own field!"
He stared at the ceiling, muttering, "No way, no way…"
By the early hours, he couldn't take it anymore. He dragged himself out of bed, left the apartment, and headed back to the hospital. Time for another round of obsessing over that case…
(Chapter End)