007. Boardroom Tension...

AVA'S POV

I stared at the screen in front of me, half-empty coffee cooling on the corner of my desk. The hospital had long since quieted for the night, but my mind was still wide awake.

Alexander Ramos.

His name sat at the top of the search bar. I’d already run it through everything I had access to—legal databases, police logs, credential checks. Commendations. Internal Affairs. Community awards. Every single report came back clean.

Too clean.

I typed in a few case numbers, the ones I remembered catching news coverage over the last few years: high-risk operations, missing persons, and a trafficking sting that fizzled out. 

I traced the details again, one after the other. Alex’s name was there—lead detective, sometimes attached as a negotiator. And every single time, the outcome was the same.

No arrests. No reports. Just… silence.

I sat back in my chair, arms crossed. No family listed. No next of kin. Even that felt suspicious.

A few union reps were on record backing him. A couple of politicians had publicly praised his work. But the deeper I tried to go—internal documents, unsanctioned reports, even off-the-record comments from sources I’d trusted before—blocked. Passwords. Sealed access.

Someone was covering his tracks. Thoroughly. 

He wasn’t reckless. He was calculating.

I hated that part of me found it… impressive.

A soft knock pulled me out of my thoughts. I turned, and one of my night-shift nurses poked her head into the office, eyes wide.

“Dr. Reed… sorry to disturb you, but… the board’s asking for you.”

My stomach dropped. “Now?”

She nodded. “They said it’s urgent.”

I didn’t sigh. Didn’t flinch. Just shut my laptop, slid the files away, and stood.

“Tell them I’m on my way.”

—

As I walked into the boardroom, I felt the weight of everyone's gaze. Seven board members sat around the table, looking serious and critical, like they were judging every move I made.

I hated this room.

Marian Holmes, the chairwoman, leaned forward with a polished smile I didn’t trust for a second. “Thank you for coming, Ava. Please have a seat. I’m sure you’re aware of why we’re here.”

“I was told this was urgent,” I said evenly. “I assumed someone was dying.”

Dr. Leighton Park gave a humorless chuckle. “Not quite. But something’s certainly bleeding—our public image.”

Marian slid a tablet toward me. On the screen? Pearl’s viral post. Headline blazing like neon:

“8-Year-Old Asks Internet to Find Husband for Surgeon Mom—Detective Responds”

I kept my face neutral. Not even a twitch.

Park clicked his tongue. “It’s not just the post anymore. It’s the media frenzy. You’re trending on TikTok. F******k. I*******m. T*****r. Even the hospital staff is whispering. Sponsors are getting antsy.”

“It’s been picked up by three local outlets,” Marian continued. “One national. And Mrs. Callahan—our largest private donor—is threatening to withdraw her entire funding package if we don’t address this.”

“She believes your judgment is… compromised,” Park added, like he’d been waiting all week to say those words.

“She thinks,” said Connor Miles, our newest and most spineless board member, “that the image of a scandalized single mother at the head of our hospital sends the wrong message.”

“Address what, exactly?” I asked coolly. “That I have an eight-year-old with a sense of humor? You’re reacting to a child’s joke.”

“It’s not a joke anymore,” Park said, sliding another paper toward me. A printout of online comments.

I wouldn’t trust her to hold a scalpel if she can’t manage her own kid.

She’s turning her hospital into a soap opera.

“They’re questioning your leadership,” Marian said gently, but there was no real warmth in her voice. “It’s not your fault, but public perception. Fair or not, the public sees you at the top. And right now, that image is being undermined.”

I leaned back. “So let me get this straight. You’re worried that I, a Harvard-educated, double-board-certified trauma surgeon, who runs the most efficient surgical wing in the state, is somehow less capable because my daughter made a matchmaking post?”

Connor cleared his throat. “It’s the association. The media is spinning this like a rom-com. But this is a hospital, Dr. Reed. Not a Hallmark movie.”

I blinked slowly. “I’ve run this place for five years. Built the trauma unit from nothing. And this is the thing that might sink us?”

“It’s not about your skills,” Park said. “It’s about your distractions. You’re the CEO of this hospital. You don’t get the luxury of being just a doctor. You represent everything.”

“And right now,” Connor added, “the narrative is out of your control.”

Then I smiled, slowly. “You’re afraid of a fairytale.”

Marian’s expression tightened. “We’re afraid of scandal.”

“Then you should’ve fired Park three years ago after his DUI got buried,” I said sharply. “Or maybe Miles for using donor funds to charter a golf weekend. But no. You’re here, wagging your fingers at me because my daughter wants me to be happy.”

Park’s jaw clenched. “This is not personal.”

“Isn’t it?” I asked softly. “Because from where I’m sitting, it’s exactly that. A woman in power makes you nervous. A mother who doesn’t apologise makes you uncomfortable. And the fact that I’ve done this job better than any man before me? That makes you scared.”

The silence that followed was thick.

Marian cleared her throat. “We’re not asking you to step down, Ava. Just… manage the optics. Pull back. Avoid anything that might keep the headlines going.”

“You’re the face of the hospital. And that means you have to control the narrative—or someone else will.”

“Is this a formal warning?”

“It’s a concern,” she said. “One that could go away. Quietly. If you’re careful.”

“If not?” I asked.

No one answered.

But they didn’t have to.

—

The hallway outside the boardroom felt colder than usual as I walked back to my office. I kept my chin up, my strides even, but my blood boiled underneath it all.

They were waiting for a reason to come for me. One stupid viral post and they were already sharpening their knives.

When I pushed open my office door, Rafael was there, leaning against the window, watching the city lights like they’d done something to offend him.

“You were in there a while,” he said without turning.

“They’re panicking,” I said. “Over a meme. A headline.”

“I told you this would happen.”

“Don’t start.”

He turned, arms crossed. “You think this is just about a post? It’s not. You’re a single mother, Ava. You’re powerful. You don’t apologise. That makes people nervous.”

“I don’t care if they’re nervous.”

“Well, they do.”

I moved past him, tossing my coat onto a chair. “They want me to ‘control the narrative.’ As if I’m the one who wrote the damn headline.”

“You could’ve stopped it.”

I shot him a look. “By what? Putting duct tape over my daughter’s mouth?”

He didn’t answer right away. Then: “Or by not letting a charming detective get close enough to be in the picture.”

I exhaled sharply. “We’re back to him again?”

“Yes.”

“I looked him up, Rafael. He’s clean.”

“That’s the problem.”

I turned toward him. “Say what you really mean.”

He stepped closer. “No one has a file that clean. Not one with that kind of field history. No family. No bad press. No mistakes. You know what that means.”

I did. But I wanted to hear it.

“Say it.”

“He’s protected,” Rafael said flatly. “By someone big. Maybe mob. Maybe government. Maybe both. But he’s not just some good guy with a badge and a smirk. He’s dangerous.”

I rubbed my temples. “Pearl likes him.”

Rafael’s eyes darkened. “Then I’ll watch him harder.”

I leaned against my desk, arms crossed. “I’ll handle him.”

Rafael’s gaze didn’t waver. “You sure?”

“I’m not the one who needs to be careful,” I said. “He is.”

The door creaked open behind us.

Rafael straightened instantly. I turned, not surprised in the slightest to see the one person who had both the nerve and the key to walk into my office uninvited.

My mother.

She walked into the hospital confidently, clearly in control. Her silk scarf flowed behind her, her lipstick was perfect, and her heels looked dangerously sharp. Given her reputation, she likely had used them.

“Out, Rafael,” she said smoothly, not even glancing in his direction. “Give me a moment with my daughter.”

He hesitated. “Boss—”

She turned her head, just enough for one arched eyebrow to rise. “Unless you’ve decided to start calling the shots here, I suggest you find the nearest exit.”

I didn’t bother hiding the twitch of amusement on my lips. He muttered something under his breath, then walked out. The door clicked shut behind him.

My mother waited exactly three seconds before speaking.

“I heard about the board meeting.”

Of course, she had.

“I’m fine,” I said, already moving toward my desk, reaching for my coffee—then remembering it was cold and setting it right back down.

“You’re not fine. You’re furious. And you’re thinking about setting the building on fire.”

“That’s dramatic.”

“You get that from me.”

She moved around the room like it bored her, like none of this chaos was real or worth worrying over. But I knew better. Eleanor Reed was a war general in pearls and cashmere. When she was calm, something was coming.

“They want you to play nice,” she said, pausing in front of my window. “They want you to shrink. Apologise. Behave. You won’t. You’ve never known how.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“That wasn’t a compliment. It’s just a fact.”

I sat on the edge of my desk and folded my arms. “So what’s your advice, mom? Smile and nod until the headlines fade?”

She turned, and her expression was anything but soft. “No. Do something they’d never expect.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Like what?”

“Confirm your engagement.”

I blinked. “To who?”

Her lips curled. “Detective Ramos.”