Chapter 3
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Aweek after Crowne Medical had taken over Saint Raphael’s, I learned two important things.
One was that the hospital still smelled like antiseptic and burnt coffee, which meant the world hadn’t ended, and two was that most chest pain was still caused by people making deeply questionable dietary choices.
“Okay, Joyce,” I said, rolling my stool closer to the bed and tapping her chart. “I’ve got good news and bad news.”
Her eyes widened. “Give me the bad news first. I don’t like suspense.”
“You have to stop eating chili dogs from Louie’s bodega.”
She gasped like I’d suggested amputation. “Absolutely not.”
I smiled. “The good news is that those chest pains you’ve been having were gas.”
“Gas?” She blinked hard. “Are you sure?”
“Trapped gas,” I clarified. “It creeps up and scares you into thinking it’s a cardiac event when really, it’s just your digestive system reporting you for eating stuff it doesn’t like.”
Her shoulders sagged in relief. “So I’m not dying.”
“Nope, but your loyalty to processed meat might have to shift to something else for a while. Have you tried kale?”
“I’m not a rabbit.” Joyce snorted. “Louie makes a good chili dog.”
“I’m sure he does, but your esophagus and I are starting a support group.”
She laughed. “Oh, Doc.”
“I’m a nurse practitioner,” I corrected gently.
“Whatever you are,” she said, waving me off. “I like you.”
I winked at her. “I get that a lot, but you’re not going to like me so much when you find out what our next steps are.”
“What are our next steps?” she asked suspiciously, but she was still smiling. “As long as it’s not kale. I’m in.”
I stood to adjust her IV, keeping my tone light as I ran her through it. “We’ll tweak your antacids, get you on something a little kinder to your stomach, and I want you to take it easy for a few days.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
“No chili dogs,” I said.
She sighed. “You’re cruel.”
“I’ve been called worse, but stick with me and I’ll make you healthy.” I tucked her sheets neatly back around her and straightened up. “Ask the nurses to page me if you have any questions, alright?”
She nodded, turning her head toward the window as I left. When I stepped out into the hallway, a passing nurse, Maggie, grinned at me. “Another save?”
“Another chili dog victim,” I said, keeping my voice low. “I think she had enough of a scare to ease off on them for at least a little while, though.”
She chuckled. “You’re good with the patients. They like you. I hope she listens.”
I shrugged, already flipping through my tablet for her chart. “People just want someone to explain things without making them feel stupid.”
That was the truth of it, and I liked fixing broken things, bodies, nerves, fear. Taking a moment that felt terrifying and shrinking it down until it fit inside a breath was my passion.
Crowne or no Crowne, that part still mattered, and I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be. The only question was how long I’d be able to handle all the subtle little changes our fearless new leader kept making once they turned into big ones.
After I finished documenting Joyce’s chili-dog-induced, near-death experience on my tablet, I headed back to the nurse’s station to grab my next chart. When I got there, however, I ran straight into what looked suspiciously like a medical uprising.
Six nurses and two orderlies were clustered around the counter like they were auditioning for a very tired flash mob. Shelly was at the center of it all, holding up a hospital gown between two fingers like it might be contagious.
“This is our future,” she announced grimly when I reached them.
I squinted. “Is that… paper?”
“Yep,” she confirmed. “Crowne says they’re replacing the cloth gowns. These are cheaper to dispose of than those are to clean.”
“That looks like something you wrap a sub sandwich in.” Mark, one of the orderlies, poked it with his pen and the gown made a sad crinkling sound, like it was apologizing for its very existence. “Seriously, did you guys hear that? It even sounds like opening a sub.”
“Nah, those wrappers are quality. This is much thinner,” Shelly said. “Feel it.”
Sliding my arm between the crush of bodies leaning in to do exactly what she’d suggested, I ran my fingertips along the material and cringed. “It’s so scratchy, it feels like it’s actively holding a grudge against skin.”
“Exactly,” Shelly said. “Patients already feel exposed and miserable. Now they’re going to feel like they’re wearing a damp paper towel with commitment issues on top of everything else.”
Nurse Tanya crossed her arms. “Mrs. Kline will riot.”
Mark nodded solemnly. “Mr. Alvarez will absolutely flash the entire ward out of protest. On the other hand, these are so flimsy, he won’t even need to do it on purpose. It’ll just happen.”
“Are they serious?” someone else asked, panic creeping in now. “They can’t be, can they?”
“Oh, they’re serious, alright,” Shelly said. “The first shipment came in this morning.”
I stared at the gown again, imagining Joyce wrapped in this thing. Joyce, who already believed the hospital was “out to get her” every time her meal tray didn’t have a chili-dog on it.
“This is insane,” I said.
A few heads turned toward me. Tanya reached out to pat my shoulder. “We’ll just wait for the patients to complain. That’s usually how these things go.”
“If we do that, we’ll get written up for not managing expectations,” Shelly countered. “No, thank you.”
I shook my head. “This is ridiculous. These people are sick, scared, and already half-naked. The least we can give them is fabric that doesn’t sound like it’s judging them.”
Mark raised an eyebrow at me. “Okay, but what do you propose we do? You were in that meeting. Mr. Crowne wasn’t kidding around. He literally said he doesn’t give a single fuck what we think.”
I handed the gown back to Shelly. “I refuse to be afraid to speak up.”
The station went quiet until Tanya realized what I’d just said. “Wait, you’re going to talk to him?”
“Yeah, I am.” I straightened my badge. “If this joker wants to cut costs, he can start with not printing emails that say ‘per my last message.’”
Shelly’s eyes widened. “Bree—”
“I’ll be polite,” I lied. Maybe. I didn’t know yet. “Firm, but polite.”
Mark suddenly grinned. “Can I watch?”
“No, but if I don’t come back, tell my story.” I wished I was joking. “Blame the paper gowns.”
I marched down the hall toward the conference room he was using as a temporary office like I was headed into battle. My fists were clenched, my jaw tight, and Eye of the Tiger was blaring in my head at a volume that suggested impending violence.
But this hospital and the people in it mattered to me. They’d not only saved my father’s life, but so, so many others. Every single day. I was not about to let some billionaire dickhead swoop in and ruin everything when he’d never worked so much as one real shift in an actual medical setting.
These rich pricks always thought they knew better than everyone else, but thankfully, I refused to be intimidated.
Once upon a time, I might’ve been, but my two best friends were married to men in this guy’s financial bracket and I’d learned that no matter how scary they came across, they were also just people.
Bouncing slightly on the balls of my feet, I turned the final corner in the hallway that led to the throne room of our new dictator, mentally rehearsing what I was going to say. Something calm but firm. Passionate but professional.
Something like, have you ever tried comforting a crying patient while they’re wearing a paper towel with armholes?
A soft hand landed on my shoulder when I neared his door. I stopped short, adrenaline still buzzing through my veins, and I turned. The woman I found myself looking at was about my age, petite, with kind eyes and an expression that suggested she’d seen this exact moment coming.
She smiled gently, like someone approaching a startled horse. “Employee or girlfriend?”
I blinked rapidly, the dum-dum-dum of Eye of the Tiger instantly vanishing from my mind. “I’m sorry, what?”
She glanced past me toward the conference room, then looked back at me. “Judging from the look on your face, I assume you’re here to see Sullivan. So, are you a pissed-off employee or a pissed-off girlfriend?”
“Employee,” I said without hesitation. “Is the prick in there?”
“Yes,” she said easily, unfazed by what I’d called him. “But as someone who’s worked with the prick for a few years, can I give you some advice?”
I exhaled. “Sure.”
“You won’t get anywhere yelling at him,” she said. “It just makes him dig in his heels like a mule.”
“More like a jackass.”
She laughed and stuck out her hand. “I’m Liana.”
“Nice to meet you.” I shook her with her. “Bree.”
“Well, Bree, before you go in there and commit a felony, can I ask you a favor?”
I frowned. “That depends. Is the favor that I turn around and go back the way I came?”
“No.” She sighed. “I’m new to the city, so let me ask you a question. Do you know a good florist? Or a decent florist? I’d even take a bad one.”
“A florist?” I stared at her, my head tilting as I wondered if I’d hallucinated the question. “For what?”
“I’m getting married in a few weeks,” she said, lifting both hands to rub her temples. “I lost my florist to the long arm of the law and everyone I’ve talked to says it’s too short notice for an order that big. I’m really starting to panic.”
I blinked a few more times. Why am I suddenly counseling a stranger about wedding flowers in a hospital hallway while actively vibrating with rage?
“Okay,” I said finally. “First of all, breathe. Count to ten.”
She huffed but did it anyway, eyes closing as she counted under her breath. When she opened them again, some of the tension had drained from her shoulders.
“I just want to get married,” she said quietly. “It doesn’t even really matter about the flowers. I love my fiancé and it’s taken so much to get here. He’s from New York, I’m from Philadelphia. Long distance was… a lot.”
That set off something in my head. Long distance. New city. Working closely with a man who inspired this much fear and irritation in others.
Red flags fluttered gently at the back of my mind, but I ignored them. I didn’t know this woman or why I was standing here. I didn’t even know how she’d managed to derail my righteous march, but I wasn’t above a little give-and-take.
“I might know a flower guy,” I said. “If you tell me how to get through to Sullivan.”
Her eyes lit up. “Deal.”
“I know someone with a fast turnaround time,” I said. “He kind of specializes in last-minute arrangements. Is it a problem that he mostly does funerals?”
Since I used to work in hospice care, this had kind of come up a lot, but obviously, Liana didn’t know that and the question seemed to knock her off for a moment. “Does he reuse the flowers from the funerals? You know what, don’t answer that. I don’t care.”
I laughed and pulled out my phone, scrolling for the number. “Trust me, he’s really efficient and he’s emotionally resilient too. He’ll be able to handle a bride.”
I handed her the phone and she glanced at my screen like I’d just given her oxygen. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“I do what I can,” I said.
After quickly typing the number into her own phone, she handed mine back and smiled. “Great. Now tell me what’s going on with you, and I’ll tell you how to solve it.”