Page 20 of Yours to Keep

“And then I always do it.”

She studied me for a moment, smiling faintly as she stood up. “Just don’t underestimate them, okay? Right now, they don’t believe that you’re really going to do all those things you set out to do. They believe you’re here to make their lives a living hell, because that’s pretty much what you told them in the only meeting they’ve ever really had with you as a group.”

“I will not bow to disgruntled idiots who cannot see or understand what I’ve pointblank told them I’m going to do,” I said. “They’re not my friends, Liana. I truly don’t care how they feel about me, but I draw a line at deliberate sabotage. It’s affecting my stock price and I won’t have that, nor will I kiss their asses to do their fucking jobs.”

My sister lingered in the doorway, a resigned mask on her face that I didn’t particularly enjoy seeing there, but what she wanted me to do was simply never going to happen. If any of my employees got so much as a whiff that I was considering conceding this battle, they’d print out flyers every time I made any move whatsoever.

“No one is asking you to bow or to kiss their asses,” she said. “These people are professionals and they’re a solid team at that. They want to do their jobs because they love it, but surely it can’t be beyond your realm of comprehension that they don’t want to work under a tyrant.”

After giving her words a moment to sink in, she left and I picked up my phone, hitting speed dial on my assistant’s number. When Todd picked up, I didn’t mince my words. “Do some research and find me the best PR company in town. I want someone who specializes in damage control and is available today.”

Clowne Medical was trending and that was unacceptable. Thankfully, Todd, at least, was the one person who worked for me who didn’t insist on arguing these fucking days. “I’ll get right on it, sir.”

“Call me back as soon as you’ve got an appointment.”

I ended the call and carried my drink over to the wall of windows overlooking the city. The assholes in this building might think they’d won, but the hospital would fall in line.

One way or another. I would personally make sure of it.

9

BREE

Halfway down the corridor on my patient rounds, I had my chart tucked under my arm and I was feeling pretty chipper until I noticed the empty rectangle on the bulletin board. The tape was still there, a little torn, but the flyer itself was gone.

I slowed, pretending to reread my notes while my eyes flicked over the board. One of the NO CAKE ALLOWED flyers had definitely been on this one last night, right next to a blood drive announcement and a crooked flyer for a missing scarf that had been gone for weeks.

“Oh well, rest in peace, brave little cake,” I murmured to myself. “Thank you for your service to the hardworking folks of Saint Raphael.”

Honestly, I’d expected this to happen, the flyers disappearing as if they’d never been there at all. Sullivan Crowne was many things, but oblivious wasn’t one of them. If anything, this meant the flyers had done exactly what they were supposed to do. They’d bothered him enough to make him have them taken down.

That should’ve felt like a win, but instead there was a small, uncomfortable pinch of guilt under my ribs. Maybe I should’ve given him more of a chance to settle in.

The thought surprised me enough that I stopped walking again, leaning against a wall as I exhaled a slow breath. Hospitals weren’t an easy business to be in. I knew that as well as anyone.

Ours wasn’t so much of a workplace as a living, breathing ecosystem held together with duct tape, caffeine, and people who cared too much. No one could just storm in armed with a spreadsheet and projections and expect the place to bend around their will.

But it was possible that once Sullivan actually saw what running a hospital looked like on a day-to-day basis, he’d soften. Adjust. Learn. Stranger things had happened and I found it hard to believe that anyone could be on the ground every damn day like he, surprisingly, had been so far, and not notice the balance we tried to maintain here.

Even as I thought about it, however, I shook my head at myself and squared my shoulders, marching toward the next patient room and knocking lightly on the door. Wasting time trying to convince myself that Sullivan might just turn out to be a good guy was just that—a waste of my freaking time.

No matter what he learned or didn’t learn, it had become abundantly clear that he only cared about one thing and it wasn’t our patients. It was his company’s bottom line.

“Mrs. Oyama?” I called as I knocked, shoving all my thoughts and reservations about our own personal dictator to the back of my mind. “It’s Bree.”

“Come in,” she called, her voice tight.

Panic flared through me at the sound. Mrs. Oyama was always cheerful and kind, and something was definitely off about her voice today. I opened the door immediately, stepping inside and rushing across the room. It only took me about two seconds to clock the problem, though, the panic receding as fast as it’d flared.

Mrs. Oyama was perched stiffly on the edge of the bed, her hands clenched in the thin paper gown wrapped around her. She glared at it like she was about to rip it right off. Then she glared at me.

“I think there’s been some kind of mistake,” she said carefully, her voice dangerously wobbly as she held my gaze.

“Oh?” I said, even though I already knew exactly where this was going. Obviously though, I wasn’t about to project my own problems onto my patient, which meant despite having a strong suspicion, I still wasn’t going to ask any leading questions. “I’m so sorry hear that. If you can tell me what mistake has been made, I’ll do my best to have it fixed immediately.”

“They took away my comfortable gown,” she said, her nose wrinkling in disgust as she tugged the sleeve between two fingers. “Then they told me to put on this one instead.”

It crackled when she flicked it and she lifted her narrowed eyes back up to mine. “It’s like wearing fire ants. Angry ones.”