Page 64 of Bonds of Shame, Bonds of Lust

The quiet voice at the back of my head offered up the word.

Addict.

I stopped with my hand on the car door.

No. Not that. Addicts can't stop.

Right?

27 - TURNING

Lacey

Sunday evening after the "run" had been nothing but prep for the Monday board meeting, where millions of dollars were on the line. For some reason I was able to focus even better afterwards, not what I would have expected.

The Monday drive to the hospital took eleven minutes on a normal morning.

Today I gave myself twenty-five and still felt like I was running late. The problem wasn't preparation. It was Derek fucking Harrington sitting at the head of that table in forty minutes.

The hospital needed this; the children needed this. The imaging suite we were working with was shared with adult cardiology, overbooked by Wednesday every week. I had kids whose diagnostic timelines were stretching out to six and eight weeks because we didn't have the dedicated capacity.

I had a presentation that Allison had reviewed twice and called thorough and compelling. What I didn't have was Derek Harrington's checkbook, which was apparently the only thing that mattered.

He knows he's the only one who can do this, I thought, merging onto the boulevard past the main entrance. He knows it, and he sits there and makes everyone perform for him because he can.

He gave generously but never without strings. Not the kind other major donors attached to their money, no naming rights or big PR announcements. No, he had wanted influence to choose who stayed and who went. Once he got on the board he demanded blood from anyone he saw as incompetent. On the other hand, he showed up when he said he would. He learned the systems, the governance, made himself first knowledgeable, then competent, and almost expert at the role. By any measure he was the kind of donor a hospital prayed for.

He exhausted me. And then the last time I had seen him felt different, but not in a way I really understood. Kinder, more human, more accessible. I felt a flutter. Ugh, no, not that, not now. And absolutely not for Derek F. Harrington.

I pulled into the parking structure and sat for a moment with the engine idling. I spoke out loud to myself. "The presentation is good. I'm going to walk in there and make the case and it's going to stand on its own merits regardless of whatever Derek Harrington decides to do with his face."

I sounded like a self-help book.

I turned off the engine.

The anteroom outside the boardroom was small and aggressively corporate. I sat in one of the chairs, opened my laptop, and went through the first three slides again even though I didn't need to.

Through the glass, I could make out Derek Harrington at the far end of the table. Even blurred he occupied more space than anyone else in the room. It was the posture, he commanded any space. Well, plus he was big.

I closed the laptop.

The door opened. Allison's assistant smiled at me. "They're ready for you, Dr. Bonds."

Long table, high-backed chairs, lighting designed to make everyone look serious. Eight board members plus Allison, who sat to the right of the head of the table. Her expression said she needed this to go well but was sure it would. Her undying, unyielding confidence in me was daunting.

And Derek, at the far end, in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than my first car. One arm on the table, the other draped across the back of his chair. If he were any more relaxed he'd slide off his seat.

I set up at the presentation screen. Pulled up the first slide. Took a breath.

"Thank you for your time this morning," I said, and then I stopped thinking about Derek Harrington and started thinking about my kids. I talked about what we had and what we needed and why the gap between those two things was costing children time they couldn't afford to lose.

The data came out clean and specific. The case studies unfolded the way I'd built them to, the facts doing all the work. I talked about the diagnostic delays, what six weeks means when you're eight years old and waiting to find out whether your heart is stable.

I was good at this. I knew I was good at this.

The board members asked questions and I gave solid answers.

Derek sat at the end of the table, still, and watched me with those gray eyes and said absolutely nothing, which was in some ways worse than questions, because I couldn't tell what he was thinking. I stopped looking at the end of the table and looked at everyone else instead.