Page 22 of Yours to Keep

An idea popped into my head as I passed the staff lounge and I ducked into it immediately, shutting the door behind me. After refilling the coffeemaker and setting it to make a new pot to give myself plausible deniability, I logged into the computer by the printer.

Mrs. Oyama’s voice, so firm and gloriously unimpressed, was still echoing in my head. I hoped she’d really let him have it—and that she’d mentioned the fire ants.

When the computer opened to the home screen, I opened a new document and started typing.

PROBLEMS WITH YOUR PAPER GOWN?

CALL SULLY.

I paused before I added his office number beneath it. Then I stared at the screen for a long second, my pulse ticking a little faster than usual. I knew this was me poking the hornets’ nest, but you reap what you sow. If his paper gowns were as good as he thought, he wouldn’t get any complaints. It was as simple as that.

The printer whirred to life after I’d hit the button, making quick work of printing the requested copies. I grabbed the stack while the paper was still warm and tucked them into my bag. I spent the rest of my shift sneakily putting them up where the old ones had been.

By the time I clocked out, I felt like I’d earned my mischief. Numerous patients had complained to me about the gowns today, not just Mrs. Oyama. Some had even threatened to leave if we didn’t return the other gowns, but of course, despite wanting to help them, we simply didn’t have any gowns to give.

I really had tried warning Sullivan, though. While I was far from the longest serving employee in this hospital, I’d been around for enough years to know that comfort was absolutely vital in patient care—and that people who were already sick or hurting, and were paying a bundle for the treatment they were receiving, didn’t give a damn about corporate mumbo jumbo.

After a quick trip home to shower and change, I met Ellora and Mercedes at our usual restaurant, a place with low lighting, good music, and bartenders who didn’t judge us for ordering fries with our cocktails.

Ellora was already there, stirring her drink with a dreamy, faraway smile that told me she was thinking about her husband, and Mercedes slid into the booth only seconds after I did. Naturally, she took one look at me and knew I’d been up to something.

“You look smug,” she said, reaching for the pitcher of margaritas that Ellora must’ve ordered when she’d arrived. “What’s going on with you, Nurse Practitioner Bennett?”

“If I had a fry right now, I would throw it at you,” I joked. “First, don’t call me that. Second, I probably look smug because I feel it.”

Ellora snapped out of her Holden-induced daze and grinned at me. “Did you cause more drama at the hospital?”

“It’s not drama. It’s just the only way to fight back,” I said easily, pushing the empty glass in front of me toward Mercedes. “Besides, it’s practically my job to do this. I’m supposed to help patients, right? That’s what I get paid for, and right now, this is the best way to help them. In addition to keeping them alive, of course.”

“Of course.” Ellora cocked an eyebrow at me. “What did you do this time?”

“I might’ve told a patient to call dearest Sullivan Crowne directly to complain about the paper gowns.”

Mercedes choked on her first sip of her drink. “You did not.”

“I absolutely did.”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh, that’s brilliant. If there’s anything those powerful CEO types hate, it’s having to deal with regular people. And the consequences of their own actions.”

I leaned in and glanced between the two of them. “I may have also posted his phone number in the event that other patients might feel the need to contact him about their complaints.”

They stared at me. Mercedes burst out laughing and lifted her glass. “To Bree.”

Ellora clinked with her. “The Patron Saint of Petty Justice.”

Finally, I lifted my glass to join the toast and sipped once our laughter had subsided. “For the record, I do know that it’s petty. I just feel like our new overlord deserves it. Honestly, whenever I start feeling guilty, I think about my patients’ faces and I just… stop.”

“That bad, huh?” Ellora’s features softened, and I had no doubt she was thinking about her mother and the measures we’d taken to keep her as comfortable as we could. “Actually, don’t even answer that. I can’t even imagine how bad it must be for some of them.”

“That patient I gave his number to first? She was so uncomfortable that I could hear it in her voice before I even went into her room. Another of my patients has just had major abdominal surgery. I don’t even want to think about how that must feel against the dressing over his wounds. It’s awful.”

Ellora made a soft noise of agreement while Mercedes winced. “Unfortunately, these business types who’ve done so well tend to get narrow-minded when it comes to achieving their goals.”

“What you mean to say is that they tend to forget they’re human,” Ellora suggested before looking back at me. “They are, though. You know that, right? Deep, deep down inside, so deep that it’s often somewhere near their rectums, they are, in fact, human. Just keep fighting, girl. Eventually, his humanity will surface.”

“I don’t know,” I mused out loud. “You two know a thing or two about infuriating businessmen, but I don’t think Sullivan is like them. I think his inner robot killed his secret human self a long time ago.”

Mercedes chuckled. “Wow. You really don’t like this guy. I don’t think I’ve ever even heard about you putting so much as a toe out of line, now you’re fighting the system and doubting his humanity? I love it.”