“I felt useful,” I whisper.
“You feltessential,” Jax corrects. “That wasn't the money talking, Preston. That was you. Your brain. Your talent. You connect with people in a way Max never could. You fix the things the rest of us can’t even see.”
He checks his watch.
“Don't throw that away because Luke had a panic attack and Alistair offered you a shiny chair. Thehospital doesn't need another Board Member. We have plenty of suits. We needyou.”
“The vote is at 10:00 AM,” I say, my voice shaking.
“That gives you forty minutes,” Jax says. “To decide who you are. Are you the Spare? Or are you the Doctor?”
He walks to the door. He opens it.
“Oh, and Preston?”
“Yeah?”
“If you take that seat, don't ever visit the ER again. I don't allow tourists in my trauma bay.”
He slams the door.
I stand there in the silence.
The clock on the mantel ticks.Tick. Tick. Tick.
It is 9:25 AM.
I look at my reflection in the mirror. The suit is perfect. The hair is perfect.
I look like a York.
But I feel like a fraud.
I grab my keys. I grab the cream-coloured folder.
I head for the elevator.
It’s time to go to work.
The Boardroom is located on the top floor of the hospital. It has floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.
The table is mahogany. The water is sparkling. The silence is expensive.
Alistair York sits at the head of the table. He is the Chairman, the sun around which this entire solar system revolves. He looks triumphant, already sipping a mimosa.
To his right sits Maxwell. Max is wearing his white coat over a dress shirt, looking like he ran up here between surgeries.He is an Associate Member—a courtesy title, mostly, though his opinion holds weight. But in this room, he is not the Chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery. He is just Alistair’s son.
I am sitting at the far end of the table.
The other Board members—mostly ancient men in pinstripes—are looking at me with nodding approval.
“And so,” Alistair booms, raising his glass. “With the resignation of Harrison Vane, we move to confirm the appointment of Preston York to the Board of Directors. It is a new era! An era of aggressive expansion! Preston has already shown an aptitude for… let’s call it ‘hostile negotiation.’”
A ripple of polite laughter goes around the table.
Max looks at me. He doesn't look triumphant. He looks… tired. He gives me a small, tight smile.
“Preston?” Alistair prompts. “The signature, my boy. We have a press release scheduled for noon.”
