My Secret Husband Is My Cold Boss novel Chapter 92

Jumping between operating rooms was a standard, everyday occurrence for top surgeons.

With the sheer volume of patients at Capital Medical Center, there were only a handful of doctors qualified to be lead surgeons.

Once the lead surgeon completed the most critical part of an operation, they would immediately rush to the next operating room—a practice known as jumping ORs.

Heart surgeries were mostly high-risk, complex procedures, requiring the lead surgeon to hold the title of Associate Director or higher. Sampson's comment was clearly a wish for her speedy promotion.

"I'll hold you to that!"

Wendy smiled brightly, her eyes curving into crescents, revealing a vibrant and radiant side of her that rarely surfaced.

Sampson silently lingered on the sight for a few extra seconds.

Wendy blinked at him. With her luminous complexion and long, fluttering eyelashes, she looked incredibly endearing.

From an angle no one could see, Sampson's Adam's apple bobbed slightly.

"I'm going to take a shower first."

"Okay," Wendy replied with a nod, her eyes turning back to concentrate on the stovetop.

Having lived together for a while now, Wendy was well acquainted with Sampson's shower routine.

Ten-thirty. Worried that eating too late would cause indigestion, Wendy waited until she estimated Sampson was almost done before tossing the pasta into the boiling water.

Sampson finally emerged from the bathroom.

He walked into the dining area, toweling off his damp hair.

Wendy was slumped over the dining table, looking utterly defeated with a slight pout on her lips.

Sampson asked, "What's wrong?"

Wendy let out a heavy sigh before lifting her head and gesturing toward the bowls of pasta with her eyes.

"The pasta got mushy."

But it really wasn't her fault.

She had timed it perfectly based on his usual shower length.

How was she supposed to know he would take a full twenty minutes longer today?

Wendy lowered her eyes, offering an apologetic tone. "I didn't time your shower right."

Screech—

Sampson's hand slipped as he pulled out his chair.

The wooden legs dragged against the floor, letting out a harsh, grating sound.

He cleared his throat, turning his head slightly as he coughed. "My OCD kicked in."

Wendy waved her hands quickly to clarify. "I didn't mean you took too long!"

Wendy gathered the empty dishes to put them in the dishwasher.

"Wendy," Sampson called out to her.

Wendy turned around. "What's wrong? Are you still hungry?"

...

"I'm full." Sampson cast a sidelong glance at the empty plate that once held the angel hair pasta.

"I'm not a huge fan of angel hair. Let's skip that one in the future."

Angel hair pasta left sitting for twenty minutes was an absolute culinary disaster.

Missing the underlying implication entirely, Wendy simply assumed he didn't like the texture and nodded. "Okay, I won't make it next time."

One had just returned from a business trip and had a full day of surgeries tomorrow.

The other had been working overtime for days and was severely sleep-deprived.

After dinner, they both silently agreed to call it an early night.

"Good night."

Wendy wished him a good night before heading toward her bedroom.

"Hold on," Sampson called her back.