Chapter 6
SULLIVAN
Iwalked the halls of Saint Raphael’s with three department heads trailing behind me like a reluctant parade, our footsteps echoing too loudly against floors that needed refinishing.
The baseboards were scuffed, the actual flooring a mess of spiderweb cracks in the corners and years’ worth of grime in the grout.
Another project to add to my list.
The maintenance—or lack thereof—in this building was astounding. Some of the overhead lights flickered. There was an unattended cart parked halfway down the corridor, stocked with supplies that should not have been sitting out in the open.
I stopped immediately and pointed at it. “Why is that there?”
The head of nursing cleared her throat. “They’re restocking rooms on this floor.”
“Then it should be in a room,” I said. “Not blocking a hallway. This isn’t a storage unit. It’s a hospital.”
With every question I asked or remark I made, I could feel their tension mounting until it was rolling off them. I suspected they didn’t like being talked to like this, but tough shit.
People rarely enjoyed hearing that the way they’d always done things wasn’t good enough, and this really wasn’t. We kept walking and I gestured at a cracked tile. A door with chipped paint. A loose handrail.
“These are all repairs that should have been made as soon as the damage was reported,” I said. “Deferred maintenance is neglect. It might offer a better excuse, but it’s still a bad look. Especially for a hospital. Here, it’s a glaring liability.”
One of them muttered something about budget constraints and I rolled my eyes. “You have a new budget now. Use it.”
They exchanged exasperated glances, but I didn’t care. These people needed to start doing things my way, and I had no problem being direct if that was what was required.
Vision without enforcement was just a dream and I wasn’t a dreamer. I was a builder. We turned down another hall, and as I stopped to point out yet another flickering lightbulb, I heard singing echoing from somewhere further down the corridor.
Off-key, enthusiastic singing, like multiple people were performing a rogue musical number.
“What is that?” I asked.
Before anyone could answer, I followed the sound, irritation tightening my jaw as I strode into a break room.
The door had been left propped open and a group of nurses stood inside, crowded around a table with a cake on it.
Lit candles right underneath a fucking smoke detector—one which obviously had to be replaced, since it wasn’t even twitching despite the tiny flames flickering beneath it.
A few of them laughed and clapped as they finished the last line of “Happy Birthday” like it was a Broadway finale. For a second, all I could do was stare, but I snapped out of it when a loud, fresh wave of cheering broke out as the song ended.
“What’s going on in here?” I asked, my voice coming out harsh and sharp, but fucking hell.
Again, this was a hospital. I got that the people who worked here also had birthdays. Obviously, but this was hardly the place to be singing and applauding loudly enough for the noise to carry down the hall where patients could hear.
At the sound of my voice, the festivities died instantly, every head in the room turning toward me. Silence fell in that thick, heavy way that told me every last one of them had just realized exactly how much trouble this could be, and then Bree Bennett opened her mouth.
“Have you never had a birthday cake before?” she asked, then paused for just a beat before she let out a soft sigh. “Actually, that would explain a lot.”
A few people sucked in breaths. Someone coughed to hide a laugh. Meanwhile, I felt heat spark deep within my gut—and it wasn’t the good kind.
Those blue eyes of hers were unapologetic as they held mine, her arms crossed like she was daring me to say something stupid. “Well, have you? Because if so, I’m sure you know exactly what’s going on here.”
“Alright, if you insist on cutting to the chase.” I held her gaze without wavering, feeling one of my eyebrows arch before I flicked a glance around the room.
“I asked what you were doing because it’s inconceivable to me that every health care professional on this floor is currently singing instead of being out there, minding your patients. ”
Bree tilted her head, studying me like she was halfway convinced I was a creature from outer space. “It’s just Happy Birthday and a piece of cake.”
“You can’t all be on break at the same time,” I said, not ignoring her but not acknowledging her much either. “It’s irresponsible. You have a duty to care for your patients while you’re being paid to be here, to work, not to eat cake.”
“It’s five minutes,” someone said quietly.
I scoffed and scanned the room. “Five minutes multiplied by how many people? This is a hospital, not a daycare center. People’s lives and illnesses don’t pause because someone brought frosting.”
When I looked back at Bree, she didn’t flinch. If anything, she seemed entertained. Sighing as I shook my head, I gestured to the department heads behind me.
“See?” I said. “This is exactly the kind of lax standards I’m talking about. We need to tighten things up.”
Bree’s jaw tightened, but she still didn’t look away from me. “This little lecture took longer than just singing and divvying up the cake, so if anyone is wasting time, it’s you.”
The room went dead silent as I stared at her. Behind me, I could practically hear the department heads holding their breath. Someone’s phone buzzed and a candle sputtered out, but no one moved a single muscle.
God, I really should’ve just fired her.
That thought came clean and sharp, like a scalpel.
I’d had the perfect excuse a week ago. Cannoli assault.
Insubordination. Calling me a soulless robot to my face.
Any HR department in the country would have rubber-stamped the paperwork, but my sister liked her, so I wasn’t going to fire Bree Bennett.
But that didn’t stop her from being a colossal pain in my ass.
“If you’re done,” I said coolly, refusing to be baited into another argument that might end with me wearing birthday cake this time. “I suggest everyone return to work. If you want to have a party, do it when your shifts are over.”
Bree held my gaze another second, her chin tipped up like she was daring me to do something about it. Then she turned back to the table. “Wrap up the cake. We’ll eat it later. Apparently, joy is no longer in the budget.”
A couple of people snorted, but I spun around and walked out without looking back, my spine straight and my pulse irritatingly fast. Even so, I put the whole thing behind me and continued the walkthrough, but my rhythm was off.
I caught myself missing things I wouldn’t normally miss. One of the heads even had to point out a leaky sink that I hadn’t noticed. All because of one spunky nurse practitioner who thought it was her duty to break my balls.
I’d dealt with worse, but shit. Somehow, I was going to have to get Bree Bennett under control, because resistance to change was one thing. Active, loud insubordination was trouble.
Twenty-four hours later, I still hadn’t quite figured out how to deal with Bree’s particular brand of rebellion, but I also couldn’t afford to get hung up on it.
While the back of my mind kept working on a solution, I was in my conference room office, going over some of the quotes that had already started coming in for repairs.
When my phone rang with an unknown number, I answered without even thinking, assuming it was either work or another contractor. “Crowne.”
“Mr. Crowne, this is Evan Marks from the Daily Ledger. I was hoping to get a comment on—”
“I don’t do comments,” I said curtly, already pulling the phone away from my ear when I heard him shout the question.
“Is it true that you’ve banned birthdays at Saint Raphael’s Hospital, Mr. Crowne?”
I paused then, my heart suddenly hammering against my ribs. My hand moved on its own accord, slowly bringing the device back to my ear. “Excuse me?”
“There’s a story going around with video footage of you yelling at staff for singing happy birthday. Social media is calling you the Birthday Grim Reaper.”
I hung up on him, then opened my laptop. Less than ten seconds later, I was staring at a grainy phone video of myself. Standing in a break room with my arms crossed and my face hard. I looked ten years older and twice as mean.
Shit, the angle is terrible. But the caption was even worse.
Birthday cake banned because “patients don’t pause for frosting.”
The tagline wasn’t great either. Imagine working twelve-hour shifts and getting yelled at for five minutes of cake.
Another headline read, Saint Raphael’s new boss hates joy.
I kept scrolling, but it didn’t seem to stop. Already, there were thousands of comments, shares, and even memes. Someone had put a little party hat on my head with cartoon tears flying from my eyes and someone else had made a caricature, Grinch version of me.
My jaw clenched and my ears were ringing, but by the time I slammed the laptop shut, I knew exactly who was behind this. Liana opened my door before I could stand up to go find Bree, her phone in her hand and laughing so hard she had to brace herself against the doorframe.
“Oh my God,” she said. “You’re trending.”
“I am not trending,” I snapped.
She held up her phone. “You absolutely are. Look, someone Photoshopped you holding a balloon that says, ‘NO FUN.’”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “This hospital is full of children.”
“Correction,” she said lightly. “This hospital is full of people, and you yelled at them for singing happy birthday.”
“I did not yell.” She raised an eyebrow and I sighed. “Fine. I didn’t yell much.”
She finally came in, perching herself on the edge of the table and smiling at me. “For what it’s worth, I think it’s kind of funny.”
“I don’t.”
“I know,” she said. “That’s why it’s funny. It’s ‘cause it’s true, big brother.”
I leaned back in my chair. “She did this.”
“Who?” Liana asked.
“Bree Bennett.”
Liana grinned. “I knew I liked her.”
“This is not amusing,” I said sharply. “It’s a fucking PR nightmare and it’s happening at the worst possible time.”
“You’ve had a rocky start here at the hospital,” she said gently. “You always think you know better than anyone else, but is it possible that maybe you were just a little wrong here?”
“The hospital isn’t the problem,” I said. “It’s one employee.”
She studied me for a long moment. “Maybe, but have you considered that you might be in over your head with this one?”
I hummed a noncommittal sound that Liana took for the dismissal it was. She slid her phone back into her pocket and left, and once she was gone, I got up, slid open the old filing cabinet in the corner, and pulled out a bottle of scotch.
I poured myself a drink. Two fingers. Neat. Then I sat alone in the conference room with the glow of my laptop reflecting off the glass walls and scrolled through all the many jokes being made at my expense.
This was a hiccup I had not anticipated, but as aggravating as it was, I wouldn’t let a simple nurse throw a wrench into my grand plans for the fifth floor. Even if she had a talent for lighting fires wherever she went.
My journey to get as far as I had hadn’t always been smooth sailing.
Crowne Medical hadn’t been handed to me on a silver platter merely by virtue of my birth.
I had clawed my way to where I was, becoming Sullivan Crowne, a man who wasn’t about to lie down or roll over just because some keyboard warriors were making fun of me.
Let them think whatever they wanted. At the end of the day, my bank account spoke for itself, and so did the advancements my company made.
It was all fun and games until someone got sick, and I was going to make this the premier medical destination to come to when that happened.
No joke, meme, or caricature could ever speak louder than that.