Page 82 of Yours to Keep

Still, I knew Bree had disagreed with at least half the choices I’d made so far. She’d never hidden that and I knew for absolute fact that she wouldn’t agree with this one either. Necessary or not, she wouldn’t support this decision.

Why couldn’t I have fallen in love with a soulless capitalist like me?

The thought almost made me laugh. Maybe that was even exactly why I’d fallen for her. That sweetness. That fierce, relentless compassion.

Bree moved through the world like she actually believed people mattered more than profits. After a lifetime of fluorescent office lighting and quarterly earnings reports, she was like the first sun of spring.

I dragged a hand through my hair, staring at my reflection in the dark glass. Should I ask for her opinion?

The idea hovered there, dangerous and tempting. She knew the hospital from the inside. She understood patient care in ways I never would. Her perspective could⁠—

No.

That old, stubborn part of me snapped upright, my spine locking into place. I hated second-guessing myself. Uncertain leadership was where businesses went to die. Structures crumbled and companies failed if the executives in charge didn’t know where they were going or what they were doing.

Of course I shouldn’t run this decision by her.

She had her job and I had mine. Staff cuts and operational adjustments were none of her business. Blurring that line would only make things worse when the fallout hit.

Decision made, I crossed back to my desk and tapped into the executive contact list. Within minutes, I had the department heads patched into a conference call.

“Good evening,” I said, not bothering with pleasantries once they were all connected. “I need each of you to compile updated performance reviews for your respective departments. Full staffing evaluations. Productivity metrics. Cross-training capabilities. I want everything.”

A brief silence crackled through the line before Dr. Patel cleared his throat. “May we ask the purpose, Mr. Crowne?”

“Operational restructuring,” I said evenly. “Cuts will be made.”

I heard a sharp intake of breath from someone, but I had no idea who. I didn’t really care either. All I needed was their cooperation.

“I want your reports on my desk by Friday morning,” I said. “We’re identifying redundancies and optimizing scheduling. Any questions can be directed to my office after you’ve submitted your data.”

No one spoke, but they didn’t have to. Their tension was practically bleeding through the connection like humidity before a storm.

“Thank you,” I said before anyone could try to argue. Then I punched the button to end the call, and a silence that felt brutal fell across the conference room.

I leaned back again, waiting for the familiar certainty to settle into my bones. Usually, after I made a hard call, clarity followed, absolute confidence in the decision I’d just made sinking in, but today, unease crawled under my skin instead.

I’d just pulled a lever that was going to upend lives—and possibly even my own, if Bree decided this was a line she couldn’t cross.

Exhaling slowly, I shut down the monitor, grabbed my keys, and stood up. Sitting there stewing wasn’t going to help, so I followed the one instinct that had been consistently right lately, which was to go to her.

Forty minutes later, I stood outside Bree’s apartment, balancing a bag of takeout in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other like some fool I would’ve mocked six months ago. I sure as hell wasn’t mocking it anymore though. Instead, I just knocked.

Footsteps approached on the other side almost immediately, and a few seconds later, the door swung open. Bree stood there in leggings and an oversized T-shirt, her hair piled into a messy knot and surprise flashing across her face before melting into a smile that made me rethink everything.

“Hey you,” she said, leaning forward and kissing me without hesitation.

“Hey,” I murmured against her lips, already letting go of some of the tension that had been hounding me all day.

When she let go of me, she stepped aside and reached for the takeout bag. “You’re just in time. I was about to eat cereal for dinner.”

I followed her inside and shut the door behind me, feeling grateful that she didn’t know yet. That alone was a problem, but it was what it was.

She went to the kitchen counter and set the takeout down before opening a cabinet and taking out a vase. It struck me that she did it all completely in stride, like me showing up unannounced with flowers and food was normal, just a part of our routine.

I leaned against the island, watching as she trimmed the stems with a pair of kitchen scissors and arranged them with quiet concentration. Finally, she glanced up at me with a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “You didn’t have to bring flowers.”

“I know,” I said. “I wanted to.”