Page 87 of Yours to Keep

“Finally, the appropriate amount of understanding,” I said dryly, motioning for them to follow me toward the glass-partitioned area that only existed on paper and chalk markings for now. “Your lab stations will run along this wall. Contamination isolation is being built into each testing pod.”

The second technician whistled. “You’re giving us independent containment units?”

“I’m giving you the tools you need to catch things before they metastasize,” I said. “You’ll also have direct data integration with imaging downstairs.”

The woman folded her arms, studying the plans posted on the temporary wall. “This is honestly incredible. Expensive as hell, but incredible.”

“It’s not your money,” I said flatly.

They exchanged a look and she nodded sheepishly. “Fair point.”

I cleared my throat and gestured toward the far corner. “Your cryogenic storage units will go there. You’ll have triple-redundant power supply. Even if the entire city loses electricity, those samples stay viable.”

The woman’s expression warped into something that looked a lot like respect. “You’ve thought through everything.”

“I’ve thought through what happens when systems fail,” I corrected.

She nodded once, like she understood that answer meant more than I’d said. Bree’s face flickered through my mind uninvited. She would never look at me the same way this woman was looking at me right now. Not because she didn’t want the technology, but because she didn’t agree with the cost.

Part of me wished she would just get it, that once all of this was ready, all the discomfort the staff felt right now would vanish. Their patients would be receiving the kind of care few could even dream about right now.

I left the technicians behind to get the lay of the land and strode down the half-finished hallway that would eventually hold machines capable of catching cancers years earlier than ever before, and all I could do was hope that when the dust settled, Bree would still be standing on the other side.

The deeper we were getting into my plans for this place though, the more I was starting to doubt she would be. She cared about me. I knew that much. But we were new. Her relationship with this place was not.

I rode the elevator down from the fifth floor with a headache blooming behind my eyes. By the time I reached my temporary office, my brain had already started sorting through names, schedules, and numbers the way it always did when I had difficult decisions to make.

Those technicians had renewed my faith that this was the right thing to do. I just wasn’t looking forward to what would happen when Bree found out. Dropping into my chair at the conference table, I opened my laptop and the staffing spreadsheet stared back at me like an accusation. I started typing up notes anyway.

My pen tapped against the table as I cross-referenced department reports. I hated this part. Not enough to stop doing it but enough to wish it came with an instruction manual for how to gut livelihoods without feeling like a villain.

A soft knock sounded at the open door. I didn’t look up. “If this is about the budget projections, email⁠—”

“Wow. Charming as ever.”

My head snapped up and I frowned when I saw Bree standing in the doorway. She was holding a paper bag and a coffee-cup carrier. Smiling, she watched me register the fact that it was her.

“You’re… here,” I said. Apparently, my vocabulary had collapsed.

She raised an eyebrow, giggling as she stepped inside. “And you’re observant.”

I leaned back slowly, studying her and wondering what the hell she was doing here. “I thought we were maintaining a strict distance in the workplace.”

“We are.” She sank into the chair across from me and pushed the bag toward me. “This is a mission of mercy.”

I eyed the bag. “Poison?”

“It’s a muffin.”

“That sounds like something someone who poisoned my muffin would say.”

“I’ll do something to your muffin if you keep it up.” She rolled her eyes and kicked back in the chair, looking completely at ease about being here even though there was a chance she would be seen socializing with the big bad boss. “I heard from three different nurses and one terrified intern that you’ve been stomping around the hospital like a poorly caffeinated general all day.”

“I don’t stomp.”

“Fine. You don’t stomp. You power-stalk,” she corrected, pumping her eyebrows once. “Either way, I thought you could use a little something as a pick-me-up.”

I reached into the bag and pulled out a chocolate muffin. I stared at it, then at her. “How did you know?”