The Hookup Plan, page 13
“We’re going to do everything in our power to make sure County remains in operation, but you need to understand that a takeover by a private corporation is still on the table, London. It may be the only solution.” He put his hands up. “I don’t know yet. None of us do. That’s why we’re here.”
“And I’m here to make sure we explore every possible avenue,” she replied. “I’m also here to make sure that your recommendations aren’t just a regurgitated list of the budget cuts Coleman and his cronies tried to shove down our throats last year.”
Drew took a sip of his now slightly cooled coffee before massaging the bridge of his nose. “How hard are you planning to make my life? I just want an estimate so that I can have my assistant adjust the amount of ibuprofen she adds to the shopping list.”
“First, of all, I am not here to be difficult,” she said. “And second, you’re in a hospital. Just ask one of the nurses for some. You don’t have to get your assistant to buy ibuprofen.”
“Actually, I do. One of the recommendations Trident will be making is that raiding of the supply closet for personal use must be curbed. Immediately.”
She laughed as if she thought he were joking. When Drew didn’t join her, her eyes widened with surprised amusement. “Wow. You come out swinging with those types of changes and you’ll be at the very top of everyone’s shit list, Mr. Sullivan.”
“That’s okay. Being seen as the bad guy isn’t new to me. The hospital is losing too much money. When you have hundreds of employees who think it’s no big deal to grab a box of latex gloves or bandages from the supply closet to bring home, it ends up costing the hospital tens of thousands of dollars per year.”
“I’m not saying you don’t have a point.” She raised a hand in concession. “I’m just saying it’s a good thing you bring your own coffee. Because once it’s revealed that you’re behind these changes, someone would probably spit in it if you bought coffee from the cafeteria.”
“Thanks for the warning,” he said with a laugh. He checked his watch. They still had about ten minutes before the meeting would begin. “What about you?” Drew asked. “Do you plan to spit in my coffee? Metaphorically, of course.”
“Spitting is nasty,” she said. “I have access to substances that would cause you a lot more pain.”
His brow arched.
“I’m joking,” she said. “Again, I’m not here to be difficult. However, I will not be silent if I disagree with something. And I do have a habit of playing devil’s advocate.” She shrugged. “I can’t help myself. I like to pose questions. I’ve seen how they can spark new ideas.”
Drew perched on the edge of the uncomfortable conference table and set his coffee next to him. Folding his arms across his chest, he said, “You don’t have to tell me about your penchant for playing devil’s advocate. I once sat in a classroom and listened to you argue about the patriarchal themes of Homer’s work with Mr. Brown. The man could hardly utter a word by the time you were done with him.”
A rueful grin curled up one corner of her mouth. “He tried to get me transferred to Mrs. Cornwall’s English lit class after that.”
Drew laughed. “You’re kidding?”
She shook her head. “Not kidding. He said that my strong attitude was a disruption.”
“You made some good arguments. The fact that women are literally given out as prizes in The Iliad is pretty messed up.”
“Goodness, that was so long ago. How do you even remember that?”
Drew’s gaze swept over her face. Softly, he murmured, “How could I forget?”
She stopped in the act of lifting her coffee cup to her mouth, her expression nonplussed.
“Drew, it’s two o’clock.” They both startled at Samantha’s interruption. “Time to get this show on the road.”
“Yes, of course,” Drew said. He motioned for London to sit in the open chair, but then he walked to the rear of the room and stood against the wall. He was confident in his project manager’s ability to lead the meeting.
As Samantha began her presentation, Drew observed the eight people the hospital administration had put forward as the best ambassadors for the project. They would be tasked with providing Trident’s team better insight into the day-to-day operations at County, but also assisting in encouraging the rest of the staff to participate in the analysis.
At least, that was the plan. How well Trident’s plan was received and executed would depend a lot on how things went in today’s kickoff meeting.
Drew’s anxiety level had decreased exponentially by the time Samantha concluded her presentation. He’d gauged the reactions in the room through every bullet point, and it was exactly what he’d expected from the hospital’s employees: curiosity, concern, and just a touch of dismay.
It shocked him how clueless most people were about the financial health of their workplace. There was no doubt they had heard the rumors floating around, but Drew could tell by the disturbed looks on their faces that this was the first time they’d understood how dire the situation was here at County.
Samantha brought the meeting to a close and informed everyone that she would be setting up a private Slack channel where they could all communicate. She then had to explain what Slack was to the two members of the team who were obviously Dr. Coleman’s contemporaries.
He went over to Samantha. “Good job,” Drew said. “Everyone has their marching orders, so we shouldn’t have to meet until Friday, right?”
She saluted him. “Aye, Captain.”
Drew made his way around the room, introducing himself to everyone they’d brought in to work with Trident. By the time he arrived back to where London had been sitting, the chair was empty. He left the conference room and took off down the hallway. He caught up with her at the elevator.
She glanced over at him. “Did I leave something in the conference room?” she asked, her voice droll.
“Unfortunately, it would appear you brought that attitude along with you.”
She kept her head facing the elevator, but Drew caught the smile playing at the corner of her mouth.
“Have your feelings about what Trident is doing changed at all after getting a closer look at what we’re up against?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
The elevator dinged with its arrival. She boarded it. He followed.
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” she asked him, her eyes on the numbers above the door.
“Better than convincing this hospital’s most influential staff member that we need her to be on our side? No, I don’t think so.”
“Hmm,” she murmured. “Tell me, how much money is the hospital shelling out for you to spend your time harassing me?”
Such a smart-ass.
“Trident’s fees will show up in next year’s audit,” he said. He leaned over just as the door opened on the third floor, and said in a lowered voice, “And this isn’t harassment. It’s aggressive campaigning.”
She shook her head, that grin still on her lips. Drew walked in step with her as they made their way to her office.
“I literally have fifteen minutes to catch my breath before I have to make my afternoon rounds,” she said. She yawned as she sat behind her desk. “I was hoping to catch a quick cat nap, but I guess that’s not possible because of you and your aggressive campaigning.”
“You wouldn’t be so tired if you had come over to my place last night,” Drew told her.
She laughed. “I’m pretty sure I would be even more exhausted if I’d done that.”
“To sleep,” he reminded her, sitting in the chair across from her desk.
“Do you really think I would’ve spent my time at your place sleeping?”
“Yes, because that’s all I was offering you last night. However, tonight I’m also offering dinner.”
“Haven’t we had this discussion? All I want from you—”
“Yeah, I already know what you want from me, London. But I think we need to redefine this imaginary line that you’re not willing to cross.”
She hunched her shoulders and shook her head. “I don’t think we do. I’m pretty damn happy with things the way they are.”
Drew sat back in his chair and crossed his ankle over his knee. He rubbed his thumb back and forth over his chin as he stared at her.
“What if I’m not?” he asked.
Her brows nearly touched her hairline. “Really? You seemed pretty damn happy Sunday night.”
“What if being pretty damn happy isn’t enough for me?”
She released a sigh. “Drew, don’t mess this up.”
“It’s dinner, London. A simple meal between fr—”
“Two people engaged in a mutually satisfying sexual arrangement,” she finished.
“Would it really kill you to think of yourself as my friend?”
“We’re not friends.”
“I want us to be friends.”
“Ugh. Please stop.” She dragged her hands down her face. “I want a nap.”
“London.”
“Drew, I can’t just tell myself that we’re friends after spending the past fifteen years hating you.”
“You’ve spent the past fifteen years hating the idea of me. And after spending the past week sleeping with me, I think we’ve moved to at least a base level of friendship. I’m not saying we spend the night doing each other’s hair and watching rom-coms, but dinner seems reasonable.”
She burst out laughing. A genuine laugh this time. It felt as if Drew had scored his biggest win since he’d arrived in Austin.
“So?” he asked.
“I can’t have dinner with you tonight,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because I’m having dinner with my mom and stepmom tonight.”
He wanted to believe her. Honestly, she had no reason to lie to him. It wasn’t as if she would try to spare his feelings.
“What about tomorrow night?”
She sat back in her chair and folded her hands over her stomach, regarding him with cool but intense scrutiny.
“Maybe. If my schedule allows it,” she finally answered. “But even if I do agree to have dinner with you, I am still not your friend, Drew Sullivan.”
He grinned. “Yet.”
15
Come on, come on, come on,” London muttered under her breath as she glanced in her rearview mirror, looking for an opening so that she could move into the right lane. Austin traffic was always a bitch, but evening rush hour was a special kind of pain in the ass.
That’s what she got for canceling on her mother and stepmom for the past month. Their weekends were now all booked up—because they both had more interesting lives than she did—and a weeknight was the best either could do. London had come close to suggesting they just skip their monthly dinner altogether, but she was in no mood for the backlash that would cause. She heard enough shrieks of “you work too hard” and “we never see you” already; the last thing she needed to give The Mothers was more ammunition for their argument that she was a workaholic.
Besides, she was intrigued by the sense of urgency she’d gleaned from their multiple text messages today, reminding her at least a half-dozen times about tonight’s dinner. She’d inquired about her dad, wondering if he’d had another TIA, but April had assured her that Kenneth was doing fine.
She quickly took the exit for Bluff Springs, grateful to get out of the traffic snarl. But one quick glance around as she pulled up to an intersection reminded her that she was now smack dab in the middle of Suburban Hell.
Someone could offer her a million dollars for the Craftsman-style bungalow she owned in Hyde Park—in fact, multiple people had offered her well over a million for it—but there was no way London would leave her charming little neighborhood. Not if this tan-colored, strip mall–laden existence was the alternative.
Her mother adored the cookie-cutter house she’d bought several years ago in a planned development just south of the city. And despite the fact that London would get lost if she didn’t know the house number—because there were only three home designs in the development, and they repeated over and over again—she was happy that her mom was happy. Having London’s stepmother, April, nearby also helped.
She always got strange looks whenever she told people that her mother, Janette, and her father’s current wife were best friends.
No, they didn’t grow up together. No, April didn’t steal London’s dad from her mother. Kenneth Kelley had gone through three wives between the time her parents divorced and his latest—and, hopefully, please, God, last—marriage. Her mother and April had hit it off from the very beginning, despite April’s being ten years younger. And her ex-husband’s new wife.
Her family was strange. There was no other way to describe them.
London pulled into the parking lot of the chain restaurant—another aspect of suburban life she could do without—and spotted her mom and stepmom walking up to the restaurant entrance. She blew her horn to get their attention, and pointed to an empty parking spot a few yards away.
Of course, a Prius swooped into the spot before she could get it. Because that’s just how her luck rolled these days.
She circled the steakhouse a couple of times before finding a spot, then quickly made it inside to where her mother and April were waiting. Hugs were dispensed, and the obligatory “skipping meals again?” and “are you getting enough sleep?” questions were asked.
London answered with yes and no, because why lie?
She gestured for them to go ahead of her as they were ushered to a table, but moments after they were seated and served glasses of water, she noticed something was off. The Mothers both had pensive looks on their faces.
“What?” she asked, setting her menu on the table.
Her mother looked to April. “Do you want to tell her?”
Panic immediately seized the air in London’s lungs. “What’s going on?” she asked. “You said Kenneth is doing okay, so who’s sick? Is it you?” she directed at April. “You?” she turned to her mother.
“No one’s sick. It’s not anything like that,” her mom said.
“Then what? You know I don’t play this vague, guessing-game shit. Somebody tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s Nina,” her stepmom said. “She’s not sick, but she is having…issues.”
Nina was her fourteen-year-old half sister, the oldest of her dad and April’s three children. Koko, the youngest of the girls, and Miles, her dad’s only son and his true pride and joy, were eleven and eight. All three were named after Kenneth Kelley’s favorite musicians, Nina Simone, Koko Taylor, and Miles Davis. London was forever grateful that her own mother had pushed back against naming her after Muddy Waters.
“What types of issues is she having?” London asked, finally able to breathe again now that she knew no one was on their deathbed. She took a sip of her water.
“I caught her taking nude photos of herself yesterday,” April blurted.
London choked on the water. “What?”
“You heard me. And not just topless, but full-on nudes! Front and back!”
“Oh, God,” London groaned. She set her elbows on the table and started to massage her temples. “Please tell me she didn’t text them to anyone.”
“April was able to stop her before she could,” her mother said.
“And I stood there and made sure she deleted them from her phone,” April added. “I watched her as she did it.”
“Did she delete them from the deleted files?” London asked. They both stared at her like she’d just flown in from Mars. Wonderful. London took another drink from the cup of water, hoping against hope that it had magically turned into vodka.
“Just a little tip,” she said. “When you delete pictures and videos from your phone, they go into a deleted files folder where they’re still available for thirty days.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that,” April said. She frowned. “I need to make sure some pictures Kenneth and I took—”
“Stop right there.” London held her hand up. “Do not even attempt to finish that statement.” She sucked in a deep breath and slowly blew it out. She made a mental note to contact Taylor about those stress-relieving yoga techniques.
“Back to Nina,” London said. “Why was she taking nudes? Does she have a boyfriend? Did he pressure her into taking the pictures? And did you tell her how easily those can get out and fuc—freaking ruin her life!”
Dammit! She would have hoped that Nina knew better than to do something like this!
“I don’t think she has a boyfriend,” April said. “I think she likes this boy, and she took the pictures because she’s trying to get his attention. The two of them are in the marching band together. He’s a drummer, of course.”
“I thought he played saxophone?” Janette asked.
“No, it’s definitely the drums.”
“That is not the important thing here!” London said.
“Hmm,” her mother said. “As two women who were both married to a musician, let me tell you, it matters, honey.”
“It does.” April nodded.
London had never wanted to flip a table more than she wanted to at this very second.
“Fine,” she said. “This saxophonist or drummer kid, did he pressure Nina into taking the photos? And are you sure this is the first time she’s done this? Or that she hasn’t tried to do it again?”
Damn, how could April even be sure of that? Nina could have taken a bunch of nudes ten minutes after her mom made her delete the ones she’d caught her taking. Those pictures could be making the rounds on the cell phones of horny little marching band members as they sat here ordering dinner. Or, worse, already plastered all over the Internet.
“I don’t know,” April said, her voice trembling. “We got into a big fight over it. I wanted to take her phone away, but then I thought, what if there’s a school shooting or she gets into an accident? How would I get in touch with her?”
London pressed her fingers hard against her temples. She didn’t have any kids because she didn’t want to deal with this kind of shit. Yet, here she was, dealing with this kind of shit.
