Page 81 of Yours to Keep

He shrugged a shoulder. “It’ll be worth it.”

“You say that now.”

“I’ll say it later too.”

I smiled again. “Are you sure about that? I thought you had to pop in at the hospital after you drop me off home.”

“I do, but it doesn’t matter. It’s a Sunday night. No one is going to care what I look like.” He rested his head on top of mine when I laid it down on his shoulder. “Get some rest, sweetheart. It’s going to be a long week.”

“Sweetheart?”

“I’m trying it out.” I felt him grin against the top of my head. “What do you think? Does it work for you?”

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Yeah, I think it does.”

“Good. It works for me too.”

I settled against him, trying to ignore the reality that tomorrow morning we had to go back to pretending we barely knew each other. A familiar knot of anxiety tried to tighten in my stomach, but Sullivan’s hand slid into mine before it could take root, his fingers lacing through mine with quiet certainty.

“It’s going to be okay,” he murmured, like he knew exactly where my thoughts had gone.

I wasn’t so sure that he was right, but by the time the plane began its descent, I knew for sure that something between us had shifted. This wasn’t just about stolen moments anymore. It wasn’t just chemistry either.

It had become infinitely deeper than just that and the way he refused to let go of my hand as the ground rushed up to meet us made me think he knew it too.

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.