Page 70 of Nine Week Nanny
"The conversion rate from standard insurance to membership exceeds projections," someone says from across the table.
I nod, making notes in the margins.
"Pope? Do we have your approval on the staffing cuts?"
I look up, momentarily disoriented. Five faces stare back at me, waiting.
"I need to review the attending physician contracts first. Have Jenkins send me the compensation packages by the end of the day."
My voice sounds normal. Controlled, even. Nobody in this room would guess I'm unraveling from the inside out.
"Our timeline for bringing new patients into the model—" Michael begins.
"Move it up," I interrupt. "We can't afford to wait."
The meeting wraps up fifteen minutes later. I'm the first one out the door, ignoring Robert's attempt to schedule another session for tomorrow.
All I can think about is getting home. But I still have a full day of this shit.
What is happening to me?
The drive homefeels like the longest damn twenty minutes of my life. Traffic crawls on Palm Beach's main strip, every red light stretching into infinity. I turn up the AC, loosening my tie with one hand while gripping the wheel with the other.
My phone rings through the car's speakers. Dana Black's name flashes on the dashboard display.
Great. Just what I need.
"Ms. Black," I answer, keeping my voice neutral.
"Mr. Carrigan. I'm confirming our meeting in Jacksonville this Thursday at ten AM. We'll be at the family court building, third floor conference room." Her tone is clipped, professional.
"Yes, thank you. My attorney let me know yesterday.”
"Chris has been notified and will be present, as well."
My jaw tightens at the mention of my father's name. "I'll be there."
"This is an important evaluation, Mr. Carrigan. Judge Collins will consider my observations heavily in determining Lennon's permanent placement."
"I understand."
"Very well. I'll see you Thursday." She hangs up without pleasantries.
I stare at the road ahead, knuckles white against the steering wheel. Thursday. The day my father gets to waltz in and pretend he gives a shit about Lennon. The day I have to sit across from the man who left bruises on my mother's arms and convince a stranger I'm the better option for a seven-year-old I barely know.
What if I fail?
The light turns green. I accelerate too slowly, earning a honk from the car behind me.
Sloane needs to know that Lennon and I will be gone on Thursday. What she doesn’t need are the details—the custody fight, the man who fathered us both, the mess that comes with Chris.
Those truths would only drag her into a part of my life I don’t let anyone near. Not employees. Not women. Not her.
She’s Lennon’s nanny. That’s where it should end, no matter what last night blurred.
I’ll keep it simple. A day off. That’s all she needs to know.
My house comes into view as I turn onto the oceanfront drive. The tension in my shoulders eases slightly at the sight. Home.
