My Secret Husband Is My Cold Boss novel Chapter 81

"Do you want me to put it aside for you so you can eat it when we hit a red light?"

Wendy Gates looked down, searching the center console for a suitable spot to temporarily place his breakfast sandwich.

Sampson Sanders had left his phone in the cup holder.

If she put it directly on the armrest, it would probably get grease everywhere.

She searched for a good spot but couldn't find one.

A deep voice sounded from above her. "Dr. Gates."

"Hmm?"

Wendy looked up, meeting Sampson's gaze.

Sampson looked at her, his instructions clear and direct, signaling with his eyes. "Just pull the wrapper down a bit."

He used no unnecessary modifiers or filler words. When Sampson spoke, he naturally exuded the authority of Director Sanders.

Accustomed to acting as a first assist in the operating room, Wendy's hands followed his instruction before her brain even fully processed it.

"Done."

"Yeah, thank you."

Sampson returned his focus to the road ahead, then slightly tilted his head.

He took a bite of the sandwich right out of her hand.

Wait, did he mean for her to feed him?

Wendy froze.

She hadn't expected him to just casually eat it while she held it.

A sandwich that size only took about three or four bites.

By the last bite, wouldn't his lips brush against her fingers?

Sure, they had touched last night.

But that was when she had been completely drunk.

"Wendy."

Perhaps noticing from the corner of his eye that she was spacing out, Sampson called her name after swallowing his bite.

"Aren't you going to eat yours?"

Wendy looked up.

She realized Sampson wasn't even looking at her.

Right, they were married. What was the big deal about helping feed him while he was driving?

She collected herself. "I'm eating."

She looked down and unwrapped her own sandwich.

In the reflection of the passenger window, Sampson had been watching her movements the entire time, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

-

"So on the last bite, did Director Sanders actually kiss your fingers or not?" Riley Reed was entirely focused on the juiciest detail.

Dr. Miller was a talker. Surgeries with him usually involved non-stop chatting from start to finish.

The second assist chuckled and teased the older surgeon. "Dr. Miller, you don't even need to lecture us."

"Victor Vance and I are both allergic to alcohol, leaving only Chief Gates."

Dr. Miller looked up, glanced at Wendy, and smiled.

"That's true. Wendy doesn't drink either."

Wendy blinked softly in response.

The stent procedure was fast, wrapping up in just an hour and a half.

The headache from her hangover still hadn't faded.

Mondays were always chaotic, and not wanting to fall behind on her duties, Wendy pulled out her phone to order takeout.

The screen was pitch black.

She hadn't charged it all night, so it must have died right after her morning alarm went off.

Wendy returned to her office and plugged it into the charger.

At three percent, the phone automatically booted up.

Buzz.

Buzz, buzz.

The moment the screen lit up, Wendy's phone was bombarded with half a dozen text notifications in rapid succession.