No matter how hard she tried, London couldn’t seem to shake the uneasy feeling that had settled in her gut after her conversation with Drew. She knew junk food wouldn’t help the situation; it would, in fact, get her in a shitload of trouble if Doug Renault happened to catch her inhaling a Twinkie. Never mind the fact that it wasn’t good for her triglycerides. But that still didn’t stop her from going in search of something sticky and sweet and obscenely unhealthy.
She took the stairs down to the first floor—that counted as exercise, right?—and made her way to the collection of vending machines near the ER’s waiting room, where they stocked the really good stuff. A group of nutritionists had sent around a petition last year, demanding an overhaul of the types of snacks offered. The forceful pushback from the rest of the hospital personnel had put a stop to that crusade pretty damn quick.
London browsed the array of cookies, potato chips, chocolate bars, and other processed junk, but nothing really excited her. Until her eyes landed on the devil’s food cupcakes.
“Yeah, baby,” she said, pressing the numbers for the cupcakes. The steel coil stopped moving just as the package reached the edge of the row.
“Oh, no you don’t,” London groused.
She tried to shake it, but it had been bolted to the floor some months ago following an altercation between brawling brothers-in-law that ended with them both pinned underneath one of the vending machines.
“Dammit.”
This day was further proof of why Monday had such a bad reputation. The fucker had earned it.
London fished out another buck fifty and inserted it into the machine. Both packages tumbled to the tray below. Of course.
Though tempted, she knew if she brought them up to her office, she would have both packs eaten within the hour. Her nightly workouts with Drew last week had burned off more calories than anything she’d done in the past year, but she didn’t need four cupcakes.
Okay, so she didn’t need any cupcakes, but she convinced herself that one wouldn’t hurt.
She walked down the corridor to the employees’ lounge. Unlike on the upper floors, where the lounge was about the size of two broom closets tied together, the main floor’s was big enough for several tables and chairs, a couch that had probably been bought during Clinton’s first term, and a Ping-Pong table that was always in use. It looked like an Ortho versus Oncology tournament today.
Aleshia Williams walked up to her, stirring a cup of muddy-looking coffee.
“Becca Duhon said that she saw you in a conference room with Coleman, Renault, and the fine-as-hell guy who’s running that consulting team from New York,” she said. “What’s up?”
“Can a person even sneeze around this place without it being breaking news?” London asked.
“No. So, what’s going on?” Aleshia asked.
“Can you believe they asked me to be an ‘ambassador’ for this project?” London said. “The freaking nerve of them—especially Coleman.” She shook her head. “I told Drew that I would think about it, but there is no way I’m working with them.”
“Drew?” Aleshia asked.
“Uh, Drew Sullivan. He’s the fine-as-hell guy you mentioned who’s over the team from Trident. We went to high school together,” London explained as she mentally chastised herself for the slipup. She knew better than to refer to him in such informal terms while here at the hospital. “Coleman and Renault tried to feed me some bullshit line about my influence over the hospital’s staff and how it would go a long way in convincing personnel to buy into this assessment they’re trying to sell us.”
“They aren’t wrong,” Aleshia said.
“Except I don’t want the staff to blindly go along with this,” London said. “You know as well as I do that this can all end with the hospital being sold.”
“But if you’re one of their ambassadors, you can be our eyes and ears on the inside.”
“So a spy?”
Aleshia hunched her shoulders. “That’s one way to look at it. At least you would be able to give us a heads-up if the administration decides to go the privatization route. Hey, do you have a few minutes to sit?” Aleshia tilted her head toward an unoccupied table. “I’ve been on my feet way too much today. I don’t know how you get through those marathon surgeries.”
“Energy drinks and salsa music,” London said as she followed her. She grabbed a couple of napkins from the coffee station before sitting in the chair next to Aleshia. She opened her cupcakes and offered one of them to her coworker. “Not the healthiest lunch I’ve had, but it’ll have to do today.”
Aleshia shook her head. “They look good, but if this is all you’re having for lunch, you should eat them both.”
London reached into the pocket of her lab coat for the other pack of cupcakes and tossed them on the table. “Don’t make me eat this junk food alone.”
“Bless you, woman,” Aleshia said, ripping the package open. She bit into a cupcake and moaned. “Worth the extra time on the treadmill.” Wiping cream filling from the corner of her mouth, she continued, “Back to this ambassador thing. Wouldn’t it be better to know exactly what this group from Trident is telling the administration than to have Coleman and the board of directors tell us after it’s too late to do anything about it? You can keep an eye on what’s happening and be a voice for the opposition.”
“You mean cause a ruckus,” London said. “Apparently it’s my specialty.”
She would never admit to it, but Coleman’s words had stung. What hurt even more was that Doug Renault hadn’t pushed back on her behalf. There was a fine line between being an advocate and being a troublemaker, and she thought she’d been traveling on the right side of it.
Aleshia playfully bumped her with her knee. “Hey, causing a ruckus isn’t always a bad thing. Those are the people who get shit done.”
London laughed, but Aleshia’s words had only caused that uneasy feeling in her stomach to grow.
Is that how the people at this hospital viewed her? As some kind of instigator who thrived on stirring up trouble? That was never her intention. It wasn’t the kind of reputation she wanted. What if she decided to give the hospital in Chicago a closer look? What if the absolute worst happened and County closed entirely, forcing her to have to move elsewhere? Would being labeled a firebrand who routinely bucked the administration be enough of a deterrent to hurt her chances of getting on at another hospital?
London folded the remaining cupcake in a napkin, her appetite suddenly nonexistent. She stood.
“I need to get back up to the third floor,” she said. “I’ll let you know what I decide about the committee.”
“No pressure.” Aleshia raised her hands. “Just remember that your powers of persuasion are strong, Dr. Kelley. You can steer those people from New York in the right direction if you sense they are heading in the wrong one.” She held up the empty cupcake wrapper. “Thanks for the extra treadmill time.”
London managed to conjure up a smile as she waved goodbye.
She returned to the pediatrics ward and realized that she was looking forward to losing herself in the mountain of charts waiting for her. Just more evidence that this Monday needed to chill the hell out. London entered her office and stopped short at the surprising yet welcome scent in the air. She caught sight of a brown paper bag with a receipt stapled to it on her desk.
Frowning, she walked over to the desk and unfurled the top of the bag. The delicious aroma that wafted up from it awakened her appetite with renewed gusto. She reached inside and pulled out a translucent bag with a perfectly fried egg roll.
“Oh, thank you, food fairy,” she said before biting into it. That’s when she noticed the grease-stained handwritten note that had been stuck to the bottom of the bag.
Didn’t know what you were in the mood for, but everyone loves Chinese food. —Drew
“That son of a bitch,” London whispered, her heart melting like butter underneath a July sun.
She slumped into her chair and stared at the note, taking another bite from her egg roll as she studied his bold, crisp handwriting.
She had not been prepared for the sweet side of Drew Sullivan. She wasn’t sure she wanted sweetness from him. Satisfying, enthusiastic sex she could handle. Heartwarming gestures that hinted at affection or concern?
No. That was more than she expected or wanted from this arrangement between them.
“Why did you have to go and complicate things with Chinese food?” London muttered. Her stomach rumbled and, she couldn’t be certain, but she was pretty sure it told her to shut up and eat.
She removed the plastic lid on the takeout container and nearly started to weep as steam lifted up from the chicken lo mein. But as much as her body appreciated the sustenance, that anxious feeling persisted in her gut.
London set the container down and narrowed her eyes at it. Had he bought this because he knew she was hungry, or was there an ulterior motive? Was this his way of buttering her up?
“I don’t know if I can trust you, Drew,” she murmured.
He’d made a good argument for her working with Trident this morning, but how did she know it wasn’t all an act? How could she be sure he had the best interests of the entire hospital at heart, and not just the accounting department’s? How could she be sure he would look at every aspect of this facility, and not simply run numbers through some spreadsheet and decide that County should cut its losses?
There was no way for her to know for certain, but Aleshia was right: There was one thing she could do that would give her a better vantage point.
She picked up her phone and sent a text to Doug Renault.
I’ll be one of your ambassadors.