Been There Done That (Leffersbee #1) - Hope Ellis Page 0,32

being maneuvered into a corner by the likes of this guy. And Nick.

Years of pent-up frustration and rage exploded inside me. It was, I realized, an overdue reaction and much more than the result of cumulative stress. I’d had it. I was done with bending over backwards to satisfy everyone else’s needs, only to find myself still wanting. I was sick of being unheard and having my needs subjugated to last place. Even now, my entire career, my life, was at stake and I was expected to fully devote myself to another cause.

This man would not use me for his own purposes while my staff was on track to be laid off if I didn’t find funding—long-term funding.

“You know that Nick and I have a past.” I saw no need to be discreet. He’d witnessed our little reunion and he wasn’t the idiot he sometimes pretended to be.

His cheeks grew red. “I imagined that was the case, yes.”

“And yet you have the temerity to ask me to do this, when you have some idea of how contentious that relationship might be? Wasn’t it enough that I toured him around when I clearly didn’t want to?”

He sat forward, fingers drumming the table. “I am aware of that, and Nellie and I were both grateful. But, I also know you enough to know that you’re a professional, a stellar researcher. While there may be some . . . initial discomfort, I have no doubt that you could interact as two professionals.”

I raised my brows. “So, to clarify, you’ve just said I should have no problem sacrificing my own discomfort for you and the hospital’s gain?”

His face took on the holier-than-thou expression he wore when browbeating medical students. “The hospital’s gain is your gain. The School of Medicine has a unique relationship with the hospital—”

“Peter, I may not be here in in three months—”

“The hospital might not be either!”

Shocked, I took in his reddened face and heavy breathing. It was clear he hadn’t meant to make that admission. He ran a hand over his balding head.

“That doesn’t leave this room.”

“Of course,” I said immediately, still battling my surprise.

He studied his hands for a moment, calmed his breathing before he returned his gaze to me. “I know what I’m asking you. I do. And I’m sorry you’re in this position. But we are doing everything we possibly can to keep this hospital afloat as the entity that it is now. Do you understand?”

I nodded. “I do understand. But . . .” I shrugged, knowing my next words would make me sound callous, but needing to establish a strong position. “What does that have to do with me? I’m concerned about Carly Sanders, one of my research assistants, who is currently worried that her son won’t be able to attend his senior trip. And if I don’t get a grant within the next three months, Carly will be worrying about whether or not she can pay her mortgage. Now, I’ve gotten plenty of grants. Grants that have helped this hospital, our patients, and this community. But not the R01 that’s required for my tenure, and submitting more applications will take all the limited, precious time I have left. I’ve come close. And if I had more time, I’m certain it would happen. Otherwise, I and all the people who depend on me for a living, are done. We won’t be here anyway, whether or not the hospital is.” I squinted at him. “Seems like we’re both in difficult positions, doesn’t it?”

The truth was that I cared very much about the hospital and the university community—obviously I did. But I owed my staff. They were my responsibility. They deserved for me to be their advocate always, to put them first.

He let out a breath. “I’m not involved in the tenure process, you know that.”

“I know that’s not true,” I countered flatly. My heart hammered against my ribs, but I kept my hands flat on the table, kept my breathing slow and regular.

He hesitated. “I’m not the only decider.”

I leaned forward and met his tired blue eyes, because it was now or never. “I guess the real question, then, is how desperate are you?” Play big or go home, Zora.

He went still.

And then, the absolute last thing I expected happened. A smile.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, and it was the first smile I’d seen on him that actually worked on his grim face. His gaze turned sharp and assessing, but also appraising, as if he saw