Chapter 31
Thirty-one
Liz
Istop at the bagel place on my way in, telling myself it’s just a nice Friday gesture and not an attempt to make the week feel less tense. The paper bag is warm against my palm in the elevator, smelling like toasted everything seasoning and cinnamon sugar, and for a second, it lifts my mood.
When I push through the office door, I set the bagels on the counter and Misty doesn’t even look up from her screen.
Which is fine by me. A moment later, Hudson steps out of his office, shrugging into his suit jacket.
He spots the bag and lets out a relieved groan.
“Oh, bless you. Real breakfast.” He plucks a sesame seed bagel.
“This beats the protein bar I inhaled on my way out the door.”
“Glad to help,” I say.
I pick up my bag and start toward my office, hoping to settle in before the day gets chaotic, but Hudson’s voice follows me.
“Liz? Grab your laptop and come into my office for a minute.”
I pause, fingers tightening around the strap. “Sure,” I say, even though the request tightens between my shoulder blades. Now what?
I dump my coat, switch my sneakers for heels, collect my laptop, and head toward Hudson’s office.
He greets me as I enter and directs me to the small round table in the corner. Somehow, that feels more formal than sitting across from his desk. I set my laptop down and try to act like this is a normal occurrence. Just a check-in. Hopefully, it is.
“How are things going with Misty?” he asks as soon as I’m settled.
I clear my throat, keeping my voice even. “I suppose they’re fine.”
He gives me a look—just the smallest brow lift—but it hits its mark. “Are you still having problems with her? We can discuss this with HR.”
I’m not interested in throwing her under the bus.
She’s done a pretty good job getting there on her own.
But she’s still around, so I guess that means it wasn’t a fireable offense.
She and I don’t talk, and I don’t trust her.
But I’ve already told Hudson that, so I’m not sure what he wants from me. “We’re trying to find our way.”
“Are you using her?”
I shake my head. “Not really. I’m not used to having administrative support.” The admission feels clumsy coming out. “In my last job, I did everything myself. It’s a habit.”
“She’s your admin too,” he says firmly. “She’s here to support you as much as she supports me. And if you can’t trust her, the three of us and HR should talk about it.”
That is the last thing I want to do. So I nod, even though the thought of leaning on Misty makes my throat tight. “I’ll try to delegate,” I tell him. “I know I need to do better with that.”
Hudson studies me for a moment, and I fold my hands in my lap so I don’t fidget. I want to be someone who trusts my team members, someone who doesn’t feel like every number might be wrong unless I triple-check it myself. I guess this is him telling me I have to try.
“Good,” he says eventually. “Let’s make sure you’re set up to succeed.”
I nod again.
He reaches for a pair of binders and slides them across the table. The top one is thick enough that the clasp barely closes.
“These are projects I haven’t been able to get to,” he explains.
I straighten the first binder and flip it open. “Drug trials?”
“I tried to manage this, but I fell behind. We need to get caught up with the numbers, picking up where we left off last year so we can get paid.” He leans back, rubbing his jaw.
“They bring in good revenue, but they’re admin heavy—coordination, timelines, regulatory oversight.
We won’t see any money if we can’t get them done. ”
There’s a spreadsheet clipped to the inside cover. My brain recoils on instinct. I keep my face neutral. “I can take it on,” I say, though it comes out closer to this is fine, I guess.
His gaze shifts to the second binder. “This one’s more in your wheelhouse.”
I lift it, and my heart leaps when I see the header. Strategic Planning — Staffing Review.
“You hit a nerve on Monday,” he says. “Behavioral Health is understaffed. We all know it. But no one’s taken the time to quantify just how much. HR needs a partner who can dig in without getting political about it.”
Political. The word sticks like a burr. Every department is struggling to hire. It’s not a matter of people dragging their feet on opening requisitions. It’s a shortage of workers. A real one. But I love detangling problems like this. The messier, the better.
“That partner would be you,” he adds.
And just like that, I’m awake in a way I haven’t been in weeks. “This is important,” I say, flipping through pages. “This could change service delivery. Access. Budgeting. Everything.”
“Exactly.”
I close the binder, energized. My whole body feels like it’s leaning forward.
Hudson smiles. “Knew you’d like that one.”
I push my chair back. “I’ll get started.” I close my laptop and stand, but his voice stops me cold.
“Liz,” he says quietly. “One more thing.”
I look back, and the shift in his expression drains the warmth out of me.
“Your relationship with Dr. Dempsey.”
My pulse jumps. “What about it?”
“You have a history,” he says. Not a question.
I exhale slowly. “We do. We knew each other in North Vancouver. We dated for a while.”
Hudson nods like he expected that. “And now?”
“We’re not dating,” I tell him. The full truth has more layers than I want to unpack with my boss on a Friday morning.
His shoulders loosen. His relief is subtle but not subtle enough that I miss it. It stings.
Before I can decide what that means, he says, “The Paradise–Dempsey dynamic is a big deal here in the valley.”
I nod. “I think I’ve gotten a taste of it.”
“Your best friend is a Paradise,” he says. “Dr. Dempsey is a Dempsey. Two very different worlds. Very old conflicts.” He lets out a breath. “And with Evelyn Dempsey under investigation by the Crown prosecutor, it’s going to get uglier.”
My brain stumbles. “What does that have to do with me?”
“Everything.” His voice lowers. “Your position is funded by the Paradise Family Foundation. Several people in leadership who backed your hire are also funded by that foundation.”
Something cold slides down my spine. “I didn’t know that.”
“That’s why I’m telling you,” he says. “When this rivalry blows—and it’s a runaway train right now—there’ll be fallout. I don’t want you caught in it. Keep your head down. Focus on your work. Don’t get tangled in anything that makes people question where you stand.”
His words land in a way he probably doesn’t realize. Anger ignites inside me. People have decided things for me before. People have taken my choices away. I’m not letting that happen again.
Hudson is still looking at me, and it takes a moment before the pieces click together. I’m expected to be in the Paradise camp. Because of Trinity. Because of the foundation. Because of optics.
And Alaric? He’s on the wrong side.
I knew the tension existed. I didn’t understand how far it reached until now.
I manage a slow nod. “Okay. I understand.”
But the truth is I don’t. Not fully. Not comfortably.
Hudson gives a final, quiet “Good,” and I pick up the binders with hands that feel too warm and too light at the same time.
I leave his office feeling like the floor has shifted under me, like I need a minute to steady myself, but the building won’t give it.
I go back to my office, close the door halfway, and set both binders on my desk.
The strategic planning one practically vibrates with possibility.
I pull up the hospital intranet, diving right into department charts.
Fifteen department heads. Dozens of units.
Staffing levels that make absolutely no sense.
The kind of puzzle that makes my brain itch in the best way.
The drug trials binder sits to the side of my desk like a sad, heavy math assignment I pretend not to see.
But my mind keeps drifting—back to Hudson’s warning, back to the funding I didn’t know about, back to the fact that someone is keeping track of who I spend time with and that it matters.
My job is paid for by Trinity’s family. People expect that to mean something.
A slow, hot frustration climbs into my chest. I hate the politics and the sides and the idea that the valley has already decided where I belong when I’m still trying to figure that out myself.
When the workweek finally ends, I pack up and walk home.
My body feels worn from thinking too hard about things that don’t have easy answers.
Inside, I drop my bag on the floor, stand in the quiet for three seconds, then grab my keys.
I can’t sit still. If I stay here, I’m going to drown in my own thoughts.
I get in my car and just drive. The valley stretches out around me in the darkness. The roads wind along the lake and through the tall pines, and I let the motion settle me a little, enough to breathe.
I don’t even realize where I’m headed until I pull up in front of Trinity’s building. My jaw tightens. Of course I ended up here. She’s the person I always reach for when things feel too heavy.
I call her, and she picks up on the second ring.
“I’m out front,” I tell her.
“We’re at the new house,” she says. “Come over. I’ll give you a tour.”
I drive ten minutes along the shoreline. When I get close, the construction site is lit by floodlights and looks like a giant skeleton of concrete and framing. The house is going to be enormous. I climb out of my car, and Theo barrels toward me with a yellow bulldozer in his hand.
“Liz!” he yells as he throws his arms around me.
The hug warms something that’s been cold all day. Trinity joins us with her hands in her pockets and a tired smile.
“If someone had told me how obsessed little boys are with trucks and bulldozers, I would’ve found a construction site ages ago,” she says. “He’ll watch them for hours.”
I laugh, and we take a slow walk around the construction. Trinity points out future rooms and where the windows will overlook the valley. It’s going to be beautiful.
“You up for a drink at Paradise Grill?” she asks.
“Sure.”
We get into her SUV and drive up to the vineyard restaurant. Theo runs off to the main house to see his grandparents, and Trinity and I grab a corner booth in the bar. We order Italian sodas, and once the server walks away, Trinity fixes me with a look.
“All right. What happened? Why did you show up at my house?”
I tell her everything. The meeting with Hudson. The questions about Alaric. The foundation funding. The warning about family politics. When I ask if she pulled strings to get me hired, her face goes slack.
“No,” she says firmly. “I had no idea the foundation paid for your job. It’s run by one of Greyson’s cousins. They fund all sorts of things across the valley, and none of it has anything to do with me. I recommended you because you’re perfect for the work.”
I believe her, but that doesn’t erase the weight of Hudson’s warning. I tell her he made it sound like I’m in the Paradise camp by default.
She rolls her eyes and grabs my hand. “You don’t belong to anyone,” she says. “And Hudson shouldn’t have dragged you into something that isn’t yours.”
Her words ease some of the pressure inside me. I nod gratefully, though my reality remains what it is.
She changes the subject and asks about the projects I was given today. I tell her every detail about the strategic planning review and how excited I am. She beams. The drug trials get a less-enthusiastic reaction, which I completely agree with, but she still insists I’ll do great.
Then Trinity takes a slow sip of her soda. “So,” she says. “Have you talked to him?”
Him is Alaric, and I look down at the condensation on my glass. “I haven’t,” I admit.
Her brows lift.
“With everything going on with Evelyn…” I trail off. “He has a lot on his plate.”
Trinity watches me for a moment longer than is comfortable. I brace for a follow-up. A suggestion. A warning.
But she just reaches across the table and taps my knuckles. “Okay.”
She lets the silence sit between us, and it feels like support instead of pressure.
I smile gratefully, and eventually, she squeezes my hand. “If you want to reach out to Alaric, you should. Don’t let Hudson decide that for you. I’ll check with Greyson and his cousin and make sure your job isn’t at risk because of who you talk to or date.”
Emotion rises in my throat before I can stop it. It’s ridiculous, but that is a concern. “Thank you.”
We finish our drinks and talk about the house and Theo and random things that make the world feel a little easier. When it’s time to go, she hugs me tight, and I promise to see her again soon.
On the drive home, my mind feels more settled. I walk inside, change into soft clothes, heat up a frozen lasagna that doesn’t taste anything like lasagna, and finally wash my face and slide into bed.
I’m better than I was earlier, but the unease remains at the edge of my thoughts—the idea that other people are watching my connections, that they think my involvement with Alaric is something to worry about, that they want me to pick a side in something that has nothing to do with me.
I lie in the dark, letting the quiet fill the room. I’m not letting anyone else choose my loyalties for me. But this whole situation is already more complicated than I ever wanted it to be.