4. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
Boardrooms, Blackmail + a Ball-Playin’ Zaddy
Aspen
Six months ago.
The last two weeks have vanished in a high-speed haze.
I’ve been buried under a mountain of wall-to-wall meetings, endless follow-up calls, and clinical patient reports. Between the constant staffing updates and a board of directors that seemingly exists only to undermine every damn decision I make, I haven’t had a second to breathe.
Patient numbers are up.
Nurse retention is stretched thin.
Our satisfaction ratings are the highest in the state.
But of course, none of this matters to the suits who think “patient care” is just a fancy phrase for unpaid labor.
“Alice,” Warren Wilks says, clearing his throat, “is there any way we can get more nurses trained on surgical protocol? We need to start bringing in more VIP clientele.”
I force a smile so tight my molars grind. “First of all, my name is Aspen.”
No apology. No correction.
“And second, while I understand the need to increase our surgical throughput, I think we all know we’ll make more money—and save more lives—by streamlining our current intake of non-emergent cases and focusing on efficiency, rather than throwing nurses into high-risk environments before they’re ready. ”
Cecilia, the only other woman of color at the table, nods supportively.
“Why would it be premature?” one of the other board members chimes in. “Didn’t you say you were expanding their training?”
“I am,” I say calmly. “But we can’t expect staff to train off the clock. We’re balancing legal compliance with the nurses’ union, their existing hours, and—oh, right—the fact that they’re humans and not robots.”
I clench my hands in my lap, reminding myself that I need this job.
I also happen to love it here.
I love this staff.
I love this place.
Or at least I used to.
Lately, I’ve been craving something different. A space where I can put patient care at the center without having to filter every decision through budget reports and boardroom politics. I want to build something that honors the humanity in medicine.
It’s just a dream for now.
But it’s starting to feel more like a calling.
“Ashley,” Wilks starts again—
“Aspen,” I snap, sharper now.
He still doesn’t notice. “I just don’t see how we can keep funding these ‘initiatives’ without seeing the actual return.”
He says initiatives like it’s a disease.
I take a deep breath, trying to lower my voice and my blood pressure.
“Mr. Wilks, we’ve decreased maternal mortality, surgical errors, and readmissions. We’ve improved overall patient outcomes dramatically, in the last eighteen months. Those results are the returns on investment.”
With an ‘S’ you condescending ass hat.
I can already feel it—the way my voice pitches just slightly too high, the way the air shifts in the room.
They’re about to ring the Angry Black woman bell.
Cecilia steps in to smooth it over. “I think what Aspen is trying to say—”
“I thought her name was Alice,” Wilks mutters under his breath.
Okay, now see. This motherfucker, right here?
“We can’t put a dollar value on patient lives,” Cecilia continues.
“Wanna bet?” Wilks says, and I have to inhale deeply through my nose to keep from launching a chair across the table at his wrinkly head.
The back-and-forth drags on for another thirty agonizing minutes before the meeting finally ends, and I can retreat to my office.
I love my job. I love my job. I love my job…
Right?
***
I’m checking in with my staff about a few upcoming discharges when a sudden ripple of commotion moves through the hallway.
Heads turn, and voices drop into a buzz.
I glance up from my clipboard to see what’s causing the stir, only to catch a glimpse of one of Cinnamon Grove’s most eligible bachelors: Eros Beaumont.
Co-owner of BSN, the Beaumont Sports Network.
Before I can fully process what I’m seeing, one of the nurses leans in and whispers in my ear, shamelessly giddy. “I heard he’s been coming in every week to read to his aunt.”
I blink. “Who’s his aunt?”
She looks at me like I’ve asked her how to spell ‘hospital.’ “Ms. Lilly Rose, your BFF! How have you not known that?”
I stare at her, stunned. “I—uh—guess it never came up. And I’ve been on such weird shifts lately, I must’ve just missed him whenever he came by.”
Eros and his brother, Ares, are more than just tall, athletic, and heartbreakingly handsome.
As former college and pro stars turned media moguls, they’ve built BSN into one of the fastest-growing sports networks in the country.
But it isn't just their stats or their suits that made them famous, it’s their mission.
The Beaumont brothers revolutionized the industry by centering women and diverse voices, making fans from all walks of life feel like they finally had a seat at the table.
And now, one of them is sitting in our hospital.
I blink, realizing I never made the connection between the Rose family and the Beaumonts, but the prestige and power between the two families makes all the sense in the world.
Since it’s Ms. Lilly’s discharge day, it’s my job to stop by to say my goodbyes on behalf of the hospital.
If I just so happen to catch a glimpse of Eros Beaumont in the process?
Well, let’s just call that VIP service with a smile.
When I step into Ms. Lilly’s suite, she’s already dressed in her Sunday best, despite it being a Thursday.
With her lipstick on and her curls freshly laid from the "wash and set" I gave her yesterday—complete with the sponge rollers she prefers—she wears a signature proud smile. It’s a look that says, quite clearly, she is ready to resume her life of fabulosity.
“About time you showed up, girl,” she says, then gestures to the man standing beside her. “Aspen, meet my nephew. Eros Beaumont.”
Eros turns, and for a second, I forget how to blink.
He’s tall—ridiculously tall—with a kind of smooth, dark complexion that makes you wonder if God had extra time when He made him.
His beard is immaculately groomed, salt just beginning to show at his chin.
He’s handsome and smooth in that African Black soap kind of way.
Pure, cleansing, and a little too rich for my blood.
And definitely too old for me. But if I was in the market for a zaddy, I’d choose him in a heartbeat.
Still, I manage a polite smile. “Nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure’s mine,” he says with a deep, velvety voice that could double as a 90’s R&B tune. He offers his hand, and when I shake it, his grip feels like a man who’s seen things. Handled things. Probably owns a hundred bespoke suits and calls women, “Love,” in casual conversation.
Mmm. Mmm. Mmm! Marvin Gaye, fine. You hear me?
“I’m just making sure Ms. Lilly’s discharge goes smoothly,” I say, mostly to keep from blushing.
“Well, I appreciate that,” he replies. “She’s not the easiest to wrangle.”
Ms. Lilly waves him off. “Hush, boy. I’m a delight.”
I laugh and bend down to hug her. “You better promise to take it easy at home.”
“Only if you promise to come see about me from time to time,” she says, gripping my hand.
“I promise,” I say sincerely.
“Just to make sure, why don’t you give me your number?”
I pause, genuinely impressed as she presses a few buttons on her phone. “Wait— you know how to work a smartphone?”
She gives me a look like I’ve just questioned her ability to breathe.
“Baby, I know how to work everything,” she says, tapping her iPhone to mine with the confidence of a Gen Z techie.
Within seconds, her contact card appears on my screen.
“Now I got your number too, so don’t go ghosting me.
I may be pushing eighty, but I’ll still pull up. ”
I laugh. “Deal.”
She narrows her eyes playfully, a mischievous glint in her gaze. “Now... about this Vegas trip.”
I groan, leaning back against the counter. “Don’t start with me again, Ms. Lilly!”
Since she’s one of my only real outlets these days, I’d made the mistake of mentioning the Vegas trip, and she has joined the chorus of people harassing me to actually go.
The truth is, I’m practically being forced into it.
Tatum managed to secure a massive “investment” for my dream project—a mobile health clinic—by playing hardball with Kevin Spencer.
Spencer is an outspoken, fire-and-brimstone conservative with a ‘Great American Football’ type of following, but Tatum’s private investigator caught him at a high-end sex club enjoying a very busy night with both men and women.
Faced with the photos, he suddenly found the generosity to donate a staggering, no-strings-attached sum to my venture.
The catch? I have to go on this trip with them to Vegas.
Still, my mother’s voice rings in my head, warning me that nothing good ever comes from a city whose middle name is Sin. Between Tatum’s blackmail schemes and my mother’s prophecies and premonitions, I’m caught in the middle—and Ms. Lilly is dying for some behind-the-scenes footage.
“I will say whatever I’ve got to say until I know you’re on that plane and headed out of town for some first-class debauchery. And you better bring back every juicy detail. I want stories so good they make my blood pressure spike, okay?”
“Okay, okay. I promise.”
Her voice gets quieter like she’s passing on something sacred. “Life is short, baby girl. Time slips right through your fingers when you’re not looking. Life won’t hand you the joy you want. You’ve got to take it. Every last drop.”
I nod.
“Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes, Ma'am. I do.”
I notice movement from the corner of my eye as Eros steps back, phone pressed to his ear, his expression shifting.
“Yeah… okay, I’ll be there soon,” he says, then lowers the device and turns to Ms. Lilly. “Aunt Lil, That was Rileigh,”
He turns to look at me, shrugging. “My ex-wife.”
I nod as he turns back to talk to Ms. Lilly.
“Manny’s gotten into trouble at school again and I need to go pick him up as soon as I drop you off.”
“Go, baby,” she says, patting his arm. “I don’t need you here fussing over me. Call that nice driver to come get me. You know, the one I like to look at.”
“Or,” I offer, stepping further into the conversation. “I can take her home. My shift is almost over, and I really don’t mind.”
He smiles. “That won’t be necessary. I know I could call a driver, but since Mom passed, Lilly’s been like a mother to me. I’m not trusting her care to a stranger if I don’t have to. Rileigh’s got Manny until I get her home.”
My chest clenches a little at that. The tenderness. The sense of responsibility. It’s rare.
I walk with them down to the lobby and through the main entrance, pushing the wheelchair beside them. Outside, the car line is already full of loved ones ready to take their people home.
I watch as Eros helps Ms. Lilly into the back seat with the kind of care that can’t be taught.
Ms. Lilly waves and blows me a kiss as the car pulls away, her words settling deep inside me. This life may not always make sense, and joy might not always come easy, but I’ll be damned if I let it pass me by because I was too scared—or too comfortable—to reach for it.
Right then and there, I make myself a promise: I’m taking every bit of joy this life has to offer. Even if I have to chase it down.
And from what I hear, “Joy” is somewhere near Vegas.