Page 79 of Nine Week Nanny
"That's not fair!" Lennon protests as Micah dumps a bucket of water over his head.
Angela looks up and notices me watching. She waves, and Sloane turns to follow her gaze. Our eyes lock across the distance, and her smile softens into something private, just for me.
I'm in trouble.
I raise my coffee mug in greeting before turning away. I need to focus. I need to prepare for tomorrow.
In my office, I sink into my chair and stare at the stack of paperwork Warren sent over. Legal briefs. Character references. Financial documentation. All the evidence we'll present to prove I'm the better guardian for Lennon.
My phone rings, cutting through my thoughts. The caller ID displays one of the numbers from Good Samaritan.
I take a deep breath, forcing myself back into business mode. "Pope Carrigan."
"Pope, we've got a situation." Caleb’s voice crackles through the line, pitched higher than normal.
I straighten in my chair, instantly alert. "What kind of situation?"
"A coordinated walkout. Half the nursing staff just handed in their resignation letters. All at once. They're standing outside with signs."
My stomach drops. "How many?"
"Forty-two. So far." The strain in Caleb’s voice tells me there's more. "They've got press. Three local stations and someone from the Herald."
I pull up my email as he speaks, scanning for any warning signs I might have missed. Nothing. This was planned, executed with military precision.
"What's the message?" I keep my voice even, controlled.
"They're specifically targeting the concierge model conversion. Calling it 'healthcare apartheid.'"
I close my eyes for a moment. The timing couldn’t be worse, the day before my meeting with Dana Black and Chris.
"I need you here. Now." Caleb’s breathing is shallow. "The board is assembling an emergency session. We need a way to get ahead of this before it spreads further."
My mind races through contingencies, calculating moves and countermoves. "Have security lock down patient floors. No press beyond the lobby. Get legal to review those resignation letters for any contractual violations."
"Already done," Caleb says quickly. "But Pope, they’re doubling down. The signs, the chants, the interviews, it’s getting louder every hour."
A cold weight settles in my chest. Containment is slipping, and if we don’t take control, the fallout will bury us.
"I'll be there in twenty." I stand, already reaching for my jacket.
"Make it fifteen," Caleb counters. "They're trending on Twitter."
I end the call and stare at my computer screen. The financial documents for Lennon's guardianship case stare back at me, suddenly irrelevant in the face of this immediate crisis.
I take three deep breaths, centering myself.
I grab my phone and keys, mentally preparing for battle. As I step out of my office, I catch a glimpse of the impromptu party in my backyard. They're still playing in the pool, oblivious to the storm I'm about to walk into.
For a fleeting moment, I wish I could stay in that world instead.
I put my phone in my pocket and head for the door, the weight of both responsibilities pressing down on my shoulders.
I've spent my entire life keeping my professional world separate from my personal one. Hell, I haven't had much of a personal life for as long as I can remember. And I certainly don't want to merge them now.
My hand hovers over the doorknob when I hear an unfamiliar voice behind me.
"Oh, you must be the elusive Pope."
