bThinking /bbabout /bball /bthis, Tricia felt a deep unease settle in her chestb. /bThe bmore /bbshe /bbexamined /bthe details, the more fear gnawed at her–fear that bEvander /bbtruly /bbdidn’t /bbcare /babout her anymore.

If Evander withdrew his protection, she knew she’d inevitably fall back into “bthat /bperson’s” hands.

And she’d rather do anything than ever go back to him.

Charlotte made her way to the dean’s office, knocked politely, and only entered when she heard permission.

Dean Chase set his papers aside and looked up. “Lottie, was it you who called in that report about Director Fontaine?”

He had guessed as much during the staff meeting earlier that day, when the incident was brought up.

Charlotte didn’t deny it. “Yes, it was me.”

He sighed, his tone heavy with concern. “You weren’t thinking, kid. Director Fontaine’s brother–inw is the City’s Commissioner of Revenue. If this gets back to him, you know as well as I do he won’t let it go quietly.”

Charlotte understood he was looking out for her. Out in the real world, degrees and skills were only part of the equation. Connections, favors, and background

mattered just as much–if not more.

The hospital was full of talented doctors–plenty more capable than Director Fontaine. But without that family tie, he’d never havended the department head

job.

Dean Chase knew all this. He also knew about Fontaine’s shady dealings behind closed doors. If it weren’t for the protection Fontaine enjoyed, Dean Chase would never have turned a blind eye.

“I only have six weeks left here,” Charlotte said softly. “Once I leave for St. Mary’s, what can he do to me?”

Dean Chase looked at her, exasperated. “Six weeks is still a long time, Lottie.”

She poured him a fresh cup of tea. “Don’t worry, Dean. I know how to look after myself.”

b09:48 /b

After she left, De

realized, bhe /bbwas /bnearly at retirement age,

bThe /bthings he bhadn’t /bmanaged bto /baplish in his byouth/bb–/bbmaybe /bbCharlotte /bcould bachieve /bthem for him.

bBack /bin her own office, Charlotte was startled ito /ifind Evander sitting at bher /bbdesk /bflipping through a stack of files.

Beneath his hand, she spotted two folders–one of which was her transfer brequest/b.

Her heart skipped. She frowned. “Mr. Howard, what are you doing here?b” /b

Evander barely nced up, not bothering to keep flipping. “What’s this about a transition file? Are you nning to quit?”

She suddenly remembered she’d left herputer on, her unfinished transfer memo still open..

So he’d only seen the draft she hadn’t evenpleted yet.

“It’s just a transfer,” she replied evenly, stepping forward to retrieve her paperwork.

He fixed her with a look. “Transfer where?”

“Metropolitan General.”

“Who told you to transfer?”

She paused, lifting her chin. “I chose to, because I don’t want to work under the same roof as certain people. Satisfied?”

Evander leaned back in her chair, giving her a wry little smile. “You really think a transfer’s going to help you hide?”

“Charlotte, if you can’t take it, why not just resign? With the status of Mrs. Howard, you could do nothing at all and never worry about a thing. Isn’t that what you wanted in the first ce?”

Being “Mrs. Howard” meant a life of privilege andfort.

She could sit at home all day, doing nothing, and still live in luxury–far better off than most.

Charlotte had grown numb to these barbs. Back when she’d first married into the Howard family, her mother–inw had said the same things. When Charlotte protested that she wanted to make her own way, not just coast by as Mrs. Howard, her mother–inw had mocked her for being ungrateful–wanting it both ways,

bno/b–An

It hadn’t been blong /bafter Evander’sst breakup that shed marrie

bgrandmother’s /bbblessing/b. bAside /bbfrom /bbthe /bbold /bbdy/b, bwho /bbin /bbthe /bHoward family, vot ever bbelieve /bbshe /bbhadn’t /bbmarried /bbEvander /bfor bmoney/bb, /bbstatus/bb, /bbor /bbpower/b?