Chapter 30
SULLIVAN
After our trip, the next couple of weeks passed in a blur.
Bree and I got together whenever we could, but it just wasn’t often enough.
It was all about late dinners at her place and early mornings tangled in my sheets before she slipped out to beat the rush of traffic.
We shared quick kisses in shadowed parking garages like we were teenagers instead of two professionals who should absolutely know better.
All the while, we tried not to talk about work. Sometimes, we succeeded. Sometimes, we didn’t.
Bree had this way of stiffening the moment Saint Raphael’s came up, like her spine turned into reinforced steel. I’d learned to pivot fast, to ask about a patient success story, her coworkers, or what show she was binge-watching.
Literally anything that didn’t involve budgets, construction timelines, or administrative restructuring.
The problem was, I was sitting on the biggest change yet. I stared at the spreadsheet glowing on my office monitor, rows of staffing hours and department overlap highlighted in neat, brutal colors. The numbers made perfect sense.
There were clear redundancies in three departments and overtime padding in two others. If I consolidated roles and adjusted scheduling, I could shave off enough operational waste to fund another phase of the renovation without dipping into our reserves.
Objectively, it was the right move, but it also meant cutting hours and letting a few people go. I leaned back in my chair, scrubbing a hand over my face, and pictured Bree in her scrubs, that stubborn crease forming between her eyebrows whenever we’d talked about prioritizing numbers over people.
Would she hate me for this?
The thought lodged itself in my chest like a splinter I couldn’t dig out. For a fleeting second, I even considered shelving the entire plan.
The hospital would survive without those savings. It would slow our progress, sure, but it wouldn’t sink us.
Even as I thought it, the realization of what I was doing hit me like a slap. I couldn’t possibly be considering altering a multimillion-dollar operational strategy simply because I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
Holy fuck. Who am I?
I pushed away from the desk and stood, pacing to the window overlooking the city. The skyline was becoming familiar to me now, even though it would never be home. Not really, anyway.
But looking at it served as a reminder of how far I’d come. Of how I’d built my company through ruthless decisions and calculated risks.
A person didn’t get a view like this by copping to other people’s feelings and changing plans on the fly. I had a hospital to renovate while keeping its actual operations running smoothly. That wasn’t optional. That was the job, and I was doing my best.
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.”
She slid them into water, stepping back to inspect her work. Obviously satisfied, she grabbed plates from the cupboard and nodded toward the small dining table near her window. “Let’s eat before this gets cold.”
I carried the takeout containers to the table while she moved around me easily, pulling out forks, napkins, and two glasses of water, the domestic ease of it all unsettling and addictive all at once.
We sat across from each other, unpacking noodles, dumplings, and whatever fusion dish I’d panic-ordered when I’d walked into the restaurant.
She groaned when she opened the container it was in.
“This smells amazing,” she said.
“All the credit has to go entirely to the chef,” I said. “I only handled the logistics.”
“Ah, yes.” She grinned. “Your specialty.”
I smirked, watching her take her first bite. She closed her eyes briefly and hummed approval under her breath, making something inside me purr with quiet satisfaction. For a few minutes, we just ate in an easy, comfortable silence, but eventually, I set my fork down.
“When can I take you out on a real date?” I asked.
She blinked, pausing mid-sip and placing her water back down after she’d swallowed. “We went to the Bahamas together.”
“That was practically a kidnapping with some sunscreen and swimsuits involved,” I joked, only growing serious again when she lifted her gaze back to mine. “I mean a real date. I want to show you off to the world.”
Color crept into her cheeks, and for a second, she looked genuinely flattered. It softened her entire face before reality snapped back into place behind her eyes. “Sullivan…”
“I’m serious.”
“I know you are and it means a lot that you want that. Really, but I still don’t want the people I work with knowing about us.”
My shoulders stiffened. “Do you think they’d judge you that badly?”
“I know they would.” She met my gaze steadily. “I know you’re not just the evil businessman they all think you are, but they don’t see you the way I do. They’ll hate me for dating you.”
I opened my mouth, but she kept going. “A good relationship should make both people’s lives better, so if you want to give this a real try, being with you can’t make my work life impossible.”
I leaned back in chair, folding my arms as I lowered my chin. “I can’t make all those people like me, Bree.”
“No, but you didn’t have to make them all hate you.”
My jaw tightened. “I don’t think about that kind of stuff when I make business decisions.”
“Yeah,” she said dryly. “I remember your opening speech. You literally said you don’t give a fuck if people love you or hate you.”
I lifted one shoulder in a shrug I didn’t feel. “See? At least I’m consistent.”
Her eyes narrowed, but amusement flickered behind it. “You don’t seem to understand that morale is important.”
“You don’t seem to understand business,” I shot back. “Show me on the spreadsheet where to put good vibes, and then I’ll factor it in.”
She snorted, shaking her head. “God, you’re impossible.”
“No, I’m efficient,” I corrected.
She pointed her fork at me. “Also, let’s not forget that you don’t want HR finding out you’re dating an employee either. That’s way against the rules. So put that in your spreadsheet, you cold-hearted monster.”
I scoffed. “Cold-hearted, huh?”
“You’ve been changing structures that have been in place for decades like it’s no more important than rearranging furniture,” she said, though her voice had softened, teasing threading through it.
“And yet, you keep letting me into your apartment.”
Her lips parted slightly. “That might just be my tragic character flaw.”
“Lucky me.”
The playful edge of the argument dissolved into something warmer as her gaze dropped briefly to my mouth before snapping back to my eyes. She sent me a smile that was absolutely filthy. “You’re infuriating.”
“You’re still here.”
She pushed her chair back slowly, standing. “Only because the food was good.”
I rose too, closing the distance between us before she could move away from me. My hands settled on her hips, the feeling familiar and right. “You know for someone determined to keep this casual, you argue with me like you’re negotiating a lifetime contract.”
Her fingers slid up my chest, curling into the fabric of my shirt and pulling me closer. “Maybe I just like fighting with you.”
“Maybe I like it when you do.”
She exhaled and tension melted into heat. Then she kissed me, hard and hungry, the leftover sparks from our argument igniting into passion. I backed her toward the counter, my hands tightening at her waist as she arched into me, knocking my carefully ordered thoughts straight off a cliff.
Her fingers dragged through my hair, tugging just enough to make my breath catch, and I laughed softly against her mouth, adrenaline, desire, and even happiness tangling together in my chest.
Nothing about this was simple and it never would be, but as she wrapped herself around me, I entirely stopped caring about simple. Right now. I was only focused on her.