Page 4 of Nine Week Nanny
How is this even legal?
I made all these decisions, this move, this lease, based on that job that shitty Bev offered to me, and gave me a start date. Holy shit. How is this happening? I knew something was up!
I throw the phone across the room.
My hands are shaking. What the hell am I going to do now?
I don’t have the money to wait for things to fix themselves magically. But I can’t afford to pay eleven grand to break this lease either.
I stand up so fast I almost knock over the blender sitting on the floor, stuffed with packing paper.
Some unknown buzzing coming from somewhere in this foreign apartment is suddenly too loud.
The walls are closing in. The weight of this whole goddamn mess presses on me. I’ve done everything I was supposed to, and for what? So I can sit here, stuck in a city I don’t know, with no income, no friends, and no path forward for how to fix this.
My breath catches, and my chest tightens.
What the fuck am I going to do?
TWO
Pope
I choose a corner table at Seaside Terrace, far enough from the bar to avoid the late-afternoon noise, but with a clean line of sight to both the door and the ocean.
It’s my first week in Palm Beach, and I’m still figuring out which places let you disappear in plain sight. Luckily, my hotel has the best view in town, that I can tell.
I don’t drink, and I don’t do random. Even my downtime has an agenda.
The server stops beside me with his pen poised.
"Good evening. My name is Terrence and I'll be serving you tonight. Can I start you off with something to drink?"
I give him a polite nod but don't go too deep into the pleasantries.
“Sparkling water with lime. And I'll take an order of the seared ahi, please.” I looked at the menu on my phone on my way up. He nods once and moves on without the kind of small talk that makes me avoid most restaurants.
By the time my plate’s half empty, I’m watching the crowd more than the ocean. It’s an interesting mix of business and wealth, young and old.
My phone vibrates against the teak tabletop, and Caleb’s name flashes on the screen. I answer on the first ring.
"Are we good to move forward?"
Caleb’s been my COO since I started building CHG twelve years ago at age twenty-seven. He’s still the one I want on the other end when a deal’s moving.
“The board signed off on the remaining conversion funds. HR is finalizing the first round of staff cuts.”
“Timeline?”
“Friday for wave one. Wave two in two weeks, after the press release of the purchase. PR wants a ‘preserving the legacy’ angle.”
“Outcomes first. You and HR own the rollout. Anything blocking?”
“Physician comp grid and concierge credentialing. Legal is drafting. Also, there is some low but constant chatter about community and nursing dissent. We’re keeping an ear on things. Nothing to worry about now.”
“Shit. That’s the last thing we need.”
“Agree. But I don’t think anything will come of it. I’ll be in Palm Beach Sunday to sit in on the meeting early Monday morning.”
