“Management wants to meet with you,” says Terry with his characteristically cheery grin, sitting down with a sigh of contentment.
The union has been riding high with all the free wins Art is handing them. I’m happy for them, but at the same time, I still don’t know what Art’s endgame is.
Until I figure it out, I’ll be suspicious as hell.
Art is a businessman. He’s not burning money on my colleagues and I unless there’s something in it for him — and it must be something big, given that he’s spending literal millions on this old hospital.
“I don’t want to meet with management,” I say automatically. My tone is dripping with resentment.
Terry’s brow furrows and he runs a hand over his bald head. “It didn’t seem like a bad thing. Have you had issues with them?”
Then I realize my mistake. I can’t think of a good reason that an employee at Middlefield would be mad at management right now.
The childcare for Ava has been an absolute lifesaver, we’re having healthy lunches provided at work, and they increased our annual leave to four weeks. Even the patients are benefiting with better equipment and more staff, cutting down wait times.
In the past month, this hospital has gone from being run into the ground, to probably being one of the best employers in the state.
“Don’t worry about it,” I cover. “Just not a good time.”
“They said it was urgent,” Terry continues, now looking a little too interested in my reluctance to meet with the management.
I bet he did.
I don’t want to meet with Art. But Terry is looking at me expectantly. I’ve got to go somewhere.
Which is how I end up walking out of the break room and into the stairwell. I take a seat on the stairs and try to imagine how long my fictional meeting with management should take.
I only realize my mistake when I hear his voice behind me.
CCTV cameras. I’d bet good money that getting constant access to Middlefield’s CCTV was part of the deal. Art was always a “knowledge is power” guy. It would explain how he keeps showing up exactly as I’m clocking off my shift.
“You’re getting a pay raise,” he drawls, coming to rest above me on the stairs.
“Stop it.” I jump to my feet.
“Stop providing one of our best doctors with the pay she deserves?”
“I am a junior fucking resident, Art. Stop trying to do whatever it is you’re doing. It’s not going to work.”
He raises his eyebrow. “It already is working, Nina. You’re getting a pay raise, like it or not. And to thank me — and you will fucking thank me — you’re attending tomorrow night’s fundraising gala as my date.”
In his dreams.
“Can’t. I have a child to look after, remember?”
“The preschool staff will stay late for childcare of any staff members attending the gala.”
“I won’t accept the pay raise. I’ll tell the bank you’re money laundering, which you probably are.”
He laughs at that and I don’t let the sound warm me. I don’t care if he thinks I’m funny.
“You took the other pay raise I gave you.” He reaches for a stray strand of hair, and I grab his hand. I need him to stop touching me. Instead, he folds his fingers over mine and holds my hand.
“That was for everyone.This is…”
“Just for you? Yes.” Art leans forward, inches from my face, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’re our best employee.”
“No, I’m not, Art.”
