Forbidden Prescription: A Stepbrother Romance

  Forbidden Prescription

  A Stepbrother Romance

  Stephanie Brother

  Illustrated by

  Kasmit Covers

  Edited by

  Valorie Clifton

  Contents

  Mailing List

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Thank You

  Also by Stephanie Brother

  Preview

  BONUS: TASTE

  BONUS: GREED

  BONUS: URGE

  Copyright © 2016 by Stephanie Brother

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design © 2016 by Kasmit Covers

  Editing © 2016 by Valorie Clifton

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination. Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over. Kindle Edition

  Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.

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  Chapter One

  Isabella opened her eyes again and looked over at her alarm clock, hoping the numbers had magically changed while she wasn’t looking. They hadn’t. She had slept a total of four hours off and on the night before her first day as a surgical intern.

  Around four thirty in the morning, she decided there was no point in trying to sleep anymore. She got up, turned on the coffee maker, laced up her shoes, and went for a quick run to shake out the nerves.

  It was still dark, and most of the world was still tucked into bed, preparing for the new week. As she traversed the streets around her new one-bedroom apartment, she tried to create some sort of mental image of her day to put herself at ease. However, this was difficult because she didn’t know what to expect.

  Sure, they tell you all about residency programs in medical school. She knew the different programs and ranks she would have to go through to finally become a real surgeon.

  Despite being the top of her class in medical school, Isabella felt extremely unprepared for this next challenge. She would have more responsibilities, and she was terrified of making a mistake.

  As long as she could remember, Isabella Carter was always the know-it-all. Since the first day of kindergarten when she’d picked up the most challenging book in the classroom and read it aloud to a group of envious peers, she had the reputation of being a try-hard. She was naturally gifted, but she also worked hard in school. This combination propelled her to the top of the class year after year.

  Medical school was no different. The class schedule and rotations were exponentially more demanding, but she did little else besides study medicine. When her classmates were going to the bar after class and commiserating about their dismal test scores, Isabella was in the library, studying for the next test.

  As she rounded the corner to turn around and go back home, the dread that had momentarily dissipated crept back up. The first day of school was always nerve-wracking, but in an exciting way. This was more like the first day of work, something she didn’t have much experience with.

  Because of the constant stream of alimony checks coming in from her mother’s former husbands, there was never a need to work. While her peers were working in retail shops or serving coffees to housewives, Isabella was studying for assignments that hadn’t even been given yet. In fact, Husband #4 had generously contributed a large sum of money to her education fund. She never needed to worry about working nights just to pay rent. While her contemporaries were deep in debt with student loans, she was able to pocket all of her meager salary.

  She did her best to hide that she had ample funds to pay her way through school. If one resentful poor student discovered her secret, they would all know. If they weren’t annoyed at her for consistently getting the highest scores on their exams, knowing that she didn’t have to work would set them over the edge. She didn’t require a lot of friends, but it was best not to have a hundred or so enemies.

  Besides, it was embarrassing to explain why she had so much money in the first place. Her mother had Isabella while married to Husband #2, but he was not so into monogamy, so that relationship promptly ended. Her father was an artistic man—someone who never really grew out of his hippy phase. Her mom really dug his long hair and philosophical discussions about life, but when she caught him in bed with a couple of strangers, she’d had enough of his “free love” ways.

  In the short time that they knew each other, Jackson Carter unintentionally taught his daughter a life lesson. Don’t count on a man to get you anywhere in life.

  Of course, that lesson never really stuck with Isabella’s mother, and she went on to marry and divorce a laundry list of characters. She did learn that life got easier the richer your husband was.

  Isabella returned home, feeling no better than she did when she woke up. The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon. She imagined that her fellow interns were just starting to hit snooze on their alarms. She took a hot shower in an attempt to loosen up her tense muscles. She was prone to stressing out and was starting to work on relaxing more. Her high levels of stress powered her through school, but they left her in ill health from time to time.

  As a graduation gift, Isabella’s mother paid for several sessions with a therapist. All she learned from these visits was that she was a little too tightly wound, and she was given a list of exercises to do when she was stressed. It would have been more satisfying to hear that her mother had really done a number on her and that she needed counseling to move on in life. At least that would give her proof to show her mother the next time she brought home a new marriage prospect.

  Isabella wrapped a towel around her dripping body and looked in the foggy mirror. Inhale. One, two, three, four, five. Exhale. She watched her face soften as she entered her trance. Her cerulean eyes were unblinking as she continued to take deep breaths. Her long, chestnut hair dripped onto the tile floor. She was starting to feel relaxed when she was jolted back to reality by the harsh tones of her alarm clock. If she had managed to sleep, she would have woken up then, rested and ready to go.

  Instead, she poured herself a second cup of coffee with her bowl of oatmeal. It didn’t help her nervous jitters, but at least she would be alert during orientation. All new interns were required to be at the hospital by seven thirty, and she wanted to get there with plenty of time to spare.

  As she was drying her hair, her phone buzzed. It was a message from Jordan.

  What are you wearing today? I hope they let us change into scrubs. I can hardly squeeze my
ass into any of my dress pants.

  Isabella smiled. She was glad that she had at least one familiar face in the hospital. Jordan was a good friend, and most importantly, she didn’t see Isabella as a threat. Jordan was by no means at the top of the class, but she worked hard and got through med school just fine.

  I’m wearing my black pants and lilac blouse. I’m straightening my hair as we speak, but we both know it’s going up in a bun about thirty seconds after we get there.

  Isabella was one of the fortunate few to look good without a lot of work. She never spent more than fifteen minutes getting ready in the morning. She thought best when her hair was up and out of her face, and she didn’t see the point in wearing a lot of makeup. She had grown to like the light smattering of freckles on her swarthy skin, which were always more pronounced after spending a few hours in the sun. She had definitely inherited her mother’s Italian features, but she didn’t wear the makeup to define them like her mom. Her effortless beauty still caught the attention of men, despite the fact that she often wasn’t looking for it.

  Isabella credited her good behavior for much of her success in school. She had a few casual hookups from time to time, but nothing serious. She had witnessed female classmates change majors or drop out of school to get married and have kids. No way would she ever put anyone else above her own career. She laughed at the girls who failed tests after spending the weekend at the vineyard or wherever with their boyfriends. Didn’t they know that there would be nothing left for them once their relationship goes south?

  She got another text from Jordan as she was putting on her shoes. She still had another thirty minutes before she needed to leave, so she was sitting anxiously on the edge of her couch.

  I feel like I’m going to throw up. How are you not nervous? I had to take a second shower because I’m sweating buckets over here. I’m so jealous of how chill you are all the time.

  Isabella grimaced. She was glad that she gave the impression of calm and collected while in reality, her anxiety levels were through the roof. She replied:

  I’m a little nervous, but in a good way. I’m excited to get started.

  That was a major understatement. Isabella was terrified at the prospect of having real responsibilities. In med school, they worked with patients on occasion, but that was mostly observing, and a doctor was always in close range. They wouldn’t be completely off the leash as interns, but they didn’t always have a doctor two feet away, giving them step by step instructions.

  More than anything, she didn’t want to let her future patients down. Their lives were in her hands, and even the slightest mistake could prove deadly. She wasn’t always great at showing it, but she genuinely cared about people and wanted to help people in need of her skill and expertise. She had the potential to save lives and didn’t want to blow it.

  The next thirty minutes felt like a lifetime for Isabella. She thought about leaving earlier, but she didn’t want to be the weird intern who shows up an hour early on her first day. When it was time to go, she got into her mom’s old Mercedes and drove the short five miles to the hospital. She parked as far back as she could, killing some extra time before orientation.

  The hospital was massive. The ceiling in the newly constructed reception area stretched upward forever. She could see medical staff and patients on every floor, everyone walking briskly to get where they needed to be. A rush of excitement filled her chest.

  “Ma’am,” the old receptionist called to her as she walked toward the stairs. “All visitors need to register at the desk.”

  “Oh,” Isabella said, blushing. “I’m not a visitor. I’m a surgical intern.”

  “Okay,” the lady said, unimpressed. “Orientation is on the second floor, third room to the left.”

  She scurried toward the steps. This wasn’t the first time she was mistaken for an undergrad student, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

  “Isabella, wait,” Jordan called from behind her. Her cheeks were red, and Isabella could see tiny beads of sweat above her lip.

  “I’m glad I caught you. I hate going to these things. It’s like making new friends at summer camp.”

  Isabella nodded in agreement. She wasn’t necessarily unfriendly, but making friends was not a top priority. Her career came first, and if there were people who could be friends with her despite that fact, it was just a bonus.

  Interns began filing into the room, sizing each other up. Starting today, they would all be in competition with one another. Doing well as an intern meant getting in on the best procedures and climbing the ranks within the hospital. The next few years could make or break a young surgeon’s career.

  Isabella nibbled on a blueberry muffin and gulped a few little cups of coffee. Besides Jordan, there wasn’t another familiar face in the crowd. The small meeting room was filled with medical school graduates, and Isabella didn’t know anything about them. She didn’t know if they came from medical backgrounds or where they were ranked in their classes. It hardly mattered at this point. This was a whole new game—instead of sitting for tests, they would be working in real-world situations.

  A short man in a white lab coat entered the room, and suddenly, it was silent. Everyone was looking to make the best first impression.

  “Uh, good morning and welcome to Central General Hospital,” the balding doctor said in a monotone voice. “I am Doctor Jensen, and I am the surgeon assigned to this group. Over the next few years, you will be learning more about surgery from my associates and myself. We will do our best to prepare you for your career in general surgery.”

  He spoke quickly and seemed uneasy talking to a group of people.

  “I need to leave to conduct one of my trials, but I will leave you in the care of my best attending,” he continued. “This is James Johnson. You will be working closely with him. That is all. Goodbye.”

  After an awkward gesture to the man entering the room, Doctor Jensen was gone.

  “Hello, I’m Doctor Johnson,” the attending said. “Feel free to call me James, though. I’m not that much older than some of you.”

  Jordan raised her eyebrows at Isabella. In return, Isabella poked her in the side of the leg under the table. She could have been a little more discreet.

  Jordan scribbled a quick note on her notepad and nudged it toward Isabella.

  He looks like he plays a doctor on TV.

  She wasn’t wrong. This guy had classic good looks, like an old-fashioned movie star. His short brown hair was pushed to the side, and his chocolate brown eyes had a sparkle to them. He was wearing dress pants that fit perfectly around his narrow hips and a slim-fit dress shirt that highlighted his toned physique without showing too much. His face had a thick layer of short stubble, like he’d been on-call the night before and didn’t have the chance to shave yet.

  “Here’s the thing,” he said. “For all legal and business purposes, you are to report directly to Dr. Jensen. However, he’s busy conducting a trial for a new weight-loss procedure. There’s a lot of money to be made there, so don’t plan on having him around a lot to answer your questions. He may seem odd, but he’s brilliant, so you’re lucky to be interning under him. I have agreed to assist him, which basically means that I will do all his work for him.” He grinned. “For the most part, you will all be reporting to me.”

  Isabella suppressed a groan. What was the point of working with such a brilliant surgeon if his attending was only going to take most of the work?

  The meeting concluded with a short meet and greet where everyone introduced themselves and said where they went to school. Isabella felt intimidated. Everyone had graduated from really excellent programs.

  After everyone got to acquaint themselves with one another, they got to introduce themselves to James. Isabella practically ran to the front of the room to talk to him.

  “Hi, my name is Isabella Carter, and I graduated top of my class from Harvard Medical School. I’m excited to be under—work under you,” she stuttered. Her face was
turning pink. She wanted to make the best impression.

  He flashed a toothy grin at her. “Nice to meet you, Isabella. I’m looking forward to spending time with you, too.”

  At this, Isabella blushed even deeper and giggled. It was not like her to be rattled by a hot guy. Jordan nudged her in the back, and Isabella stepped aside.

  Isabella walked out into the hallway and fanned her face with her notebook. Focus, she thought to herself. This is not the time or the place to get distracted.

  Chapter Two

  The rest of the morning was a blur for the new interns. They met the small army of medical staff and toured every nook and cranny of the hospital. Isabella tried to remember everything, but for the first time in her life, the information didn’t seem to stick in her brain.

  The attending, James, was a great tour guide, showing the interns the basics and injecting his own commentary into the mix.

  “Here is the orthopedics wing,” he said as they passed through glass double doors. “These guys are assholes, so feel fortunate that you chose general surgery,” he added, a little quieter.

  The group sniggered. There was definitely rivalry between the different specialties. Each specialty had their own stereotypes. The guys in orthopedics were arrogant jocks, the brain and heart surgeons were nerds, pediatrics and neonatal surgery was dominated by women, and general surgeons primarily wanted to make a difference in their patients’ lives. That, or they weren’t smart enough to get into a different specialty.

  Of course, these were just stereotypes. There were good doctors and bad doctors in every specialty. As a matter of fact, one could predict that half of the interns were in surgery for the money and the women, and the other half were committed to doing well with their skills and education.