Page 75 of Ten Day Affair
I snatch my phone back. "Boundaries, Kip. We've talked about this."
But it's not Cole. It's a text from my father.
Board vote confirmed for Friday.
My stomach drops. Five words that pull me back to reality.
"Bad news?" Kip asks, suddenly serious.
"The hospital board is officially voting Friday." I stare at the screen, the warmth from last night evaporating in an instant.
I suck in a breath, but it doesn’t feel like enough. My chest tightens as it hits me. Cole certainly knew this last night. We talked about the board, about the vote, and he didn’t say a word.
Three hours later, I’m back at my desk finishing charts. My smoothie sits half-empty beside me, condensation bleeding into a stack of forms. I stare at the blank wall, my father’s text still echoing louder than the sterile silence.
Friday.
Three days. Seventy-two hours before a room full of suits decides the fate of my mother’s legacy. The Taylor Wing isn’t just a building. It’s the last living piece of her. The last place that still feels like her.
His voice had softened, his usual precision sanded down to something quieter, more vulnerable. He’d asked me to sit with him on the patio before I left, like he didn’t want the moment to end.
But he didn’t tell me about this. Not when he knew how much I wanted to understand.
What else isn’t he telling me?
My phone is heavy in my hand as I pull up the hospital’s number. No more overthinking. I need facts, not feelings.
"Good Samaritan, how may I direct your call?"
"This is Dr. Taylor. I’m confirming the time for Friday’s board meeting regarding the Taylor Wing."
Paper shuffles on the other end. "That would be 2 PM in the main conference room, Dr. Taylor. Would you like me to note your attendance?"
My throat tightens. "Yes. Please do."
I hang up and stare at my phone screen. I should text Cole. Ask him directly why he didn’t mention the vote. But the thought of what he will tell me, and what he won't, makes my stomach twist.
I make it halfway across the hospital, walking so fast my lab coat flaps behind me like some medical superhero cape, without a single pause. I'm careful not to give a single indication that might betray how completely I'm unraveling inside.
"Dr. Taylor?"
I nearly collide with Nurse Martinez, who steps back quickly, clipboard pressed to her chest.
"Sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going," I mumble, straightening my coat.
Her eyes narrow slightly. "Everything okay, Dr. Taylor?"
"Oh, you know. I'm homicidal, sleep-deprived, and emotionally compromised. Just another day in paradise," I flash what I hope passes for a convincing smile.
She looks a little taken aback, but nods anyway. It's the unspoken courtesy of hospital protocol. We all pretend we're fine, even when we're obviously not.
"Well, drink a coffee and sneak in a meditation. The combo always does it for me."
I smile at her and keep on my way. I wish it were that simple.
I round the corner toward the administrative wing, mind racing through survival strategies for Friday's meeting. I'll need statistics, patient outcomes, and financial projections?—
"Samantha."
