Page 85 of Nine Week Nanny

We both chuckle quietly, standing close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from her body. I want to pull her against me, forget about Jacksonville, forget about Chris, forget about everything except the way she looks at me.

"Are you okay?" Sloane's eyes search mine, seeing more than I want her to.

The truth bubbles up, about the custody battle, about Chris, about the hospital disaster waiting for me, but I swallow it back. She doesn't need this weight. Not when her job is to care for Lennon, not me.

"Yes." The lie tastes bitter, but is necessary. "I need to make a call before we leave. The driver will be here at 6:30 to pick up Lennon and me. You should go back to sleep for a little bit.”

Sloane nods, serious now. “I’m okay. I like getting up early. I’ll get him up and dressed. He'll be fed and ready to go."

I kiss her again, lingering a moment longer than I should, then turn away before I change my mind about leaving at all.

Downstairs in my office, I close the door and press my forehead against the cool wood. For just a minute, I allow myself to feel the weight of what's coming.

Then I straighten my tie, square my shoulders, and pick up the phone.

The call connects on the first ring. "Where are we?"

"Morning to you, too," Caleb says, the forced cheer faltering. "Rough night?"

"I am about to walk out the door. I don't have time for pleasantries. Just tell me where things are." I pace the length of my office, tension vibrating through every muscle.

"It's gotten worse. The story's trending regionally on Twitter. #NursesOverProfits is the hashtag. CNN Health has inquired for a statement, and two local stations have vans parked across from the main entrance."

My jaw tightens. "Numbers?"

"Eighty-four nurses now. They've set up a rotation schedule so the picket line stays full twenty-four-seven. Some brought families. There are fucking children with signs, Pope."

The pressure builds behind my eyes. I press my fingertips against my temple. "Patient calls?"

"Twenty-seven cancellations from people who'd placed deposits on the premier tier. Fourteen more threatening to pull out unless we 'resolve the ethical concerns.'" Caleb’s voice takes on a mocking tone at the end.

"Shit. I don't have the bandwidth for this."

"They're acting like we're shutting down the ER, not creating a better service model."

"Have PR release the follow-up statement we drafted. Not the soft one. I want the one that emphasizes our commitment to quality care and reminds everyone that the nurses rejected our severance package."

I stop at the window, staring out at nothing. "And get legal to file those injunctions. They can protest, but not block entrances or harass patients."

"Already on it. Security's setting up checkpoints at all hospital access points."

"Good. I want hourly updates by email. Send me any notable press coverage, patient complaints, everything. And make sure the board knows I’ll be unreachable pretty much all day, but I'll answer emails when I can. You hold the line until I check in. I don’t care if the building catches fire. Figure it out."

"Pope, we need?—"

"Don't tell me what we need. Do it."

I end the call before he can respond, dropping the phone onto my desk. The silence of the office presses in around me, almost as suffocating as the chaos waiting at the hospital.

My neck aches from tension. I massage it roughly, trying to loosen the knot of stress that's formed there overnight.

Deep breath in. Out.

I straighten my tie, adjust my cuffs, and pull on my suit jacket. The familiar routine of dressing for battle steadies me.

I grab my phone and briefcase, squaring my shoulders as I head for the kitchen. I inhale a big breath, steeling myself for this. Just me and Lennon. I've got this.

The fluorescent lightshum overhead in the Jacksonville courthouse conference room.