Chapter 1 #2
“That’s very kind,” Catherine replied, her smile tight. “Though it’s really a team effort.”
The donors laughed as if she’d made a joke, their attention lingering on her in a way that made her skin crawl. She drained the glass of sparkling water a waiter had handed her and excused herself the first chance she got.
Catherine moved to the edge of the room, letting the chatter and laughter fade into the background. She took a deep breath, her fingers brushing the cuff of her sleeve as she tried to settle her nerves.
It was then that she saw her—a woman standing by the centerpiece sculpture, her bright dress a stark contrast to the muted tones of the crowd. Her hair was wild, a cascade of untamed red curls, and her laughter rang out clear and unfiltered, drawing curious glances from those nearby.
Catherine’s gaze lingered, drawn to the way the woman moved, like she belonged and the unspoken rules of this place didn’t apply to her.
And then, as if sensing the attention, the woman turned, her hazel eyes locking onto Catherine’s with a spark of recognition.
Catherine looked away quickly, her pulse fluttering in a way that irritated her more than it should have.
Catherine didn’t have time to retreat before the woman approached, her smile as vibrant as the colors of her dress.
“You must be the Ice Queen Surgeon everyone’s whispering about,” she said, her tone teasing.
Catherine blinked, caught off guard. “I’m sorry?”
The woman grinned, extending a paint-smeared hand, evidence of a studio session she clearly hadn’t bothered to clean before attending the gala. “Sloane Bennett: artist, troublemaker, and apparently the only person in this room willing to call you out.”
Catherine stared at the offered hand, her brow furrowing slightly. “Dr. Catherine Harrington,” she said finally, shaking it. “Surgeon, and certainly not a troublemaker.”
“Not yet,” Sloane said, her hazel eyes glinting with mischief.
Catherine fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Do you make it a habit to introduce yourself like that?”
“Only to people who look like they’re dying of boredom,” Sloane replied, her smile widening. “Which, by the way, you are. Relax, Doctor. It’s a party, not a board meeting.”
Catherine’s lips twitched, almost imperceptibly. “I’ll take that under advisement.”
“Careful,” Sloane said, leaning in conspiratorially. “If you smile, the world might end.”
“Then I’d better not risk it,” Catherine replied, her tone dry.
The conversation continued, sharp and playful. Sloane’s energy was infectious, her words coming fast and unfiltered, while Catherine deflected with a cool wit that seemed to amuse more than deter her.
“You don’t strike me as the gala type,” Sloane said, tilting her head as if studying her.
“I’m not,” Catherine replied bluntly.
“Then why are you here?”
“Obligation,” Catherine said simply, her gaze steady.
Sloane laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Well, aren’t you a ray of sunshine.”
“And you’re exactly the kind of person who gives me a headache,” Catherine shot back.
“Perfect,” Sloane said, grinning. “We’re going to get along great.”
Catherine politely excused herself but as the night wore on, she found herself watching this Sloane Bennett from across the room. She told herself it was because Sloane was loud and impossible to ignore and her hair was just too wild and messy for an occasion like this, but the truth gnawed at her.
There was something magnetic about her—the way she moved, the way she laughed, the way she made everything around her seem just a little brighter.
It irritated Catherine to no end.
But as she left the gala that night, her mind kept drifting back to those hazel eyes and that teasing smile and those wild red curls.
For the first time in a long time, Catherine felt something stir inside her.
And she didn’t know if she liked it.
The cool night air was a relief after the oppressive warmth of the gala.
Catherine stepped outside, her heels clicking softly against the marble steps leading down to the valet station.
The sky was still heavy with clouds, the faint scent of rain lingering in the air, but for now, the storm held off.
She exhaled, her breath visible in the chill. The gala had been exactly as tedious as she’d expected, though perhaps not entirely unbearable, thanks to one particular bright interruption.
“Dr. Harrington,” a voice called, pulling her from her thoughts.
She turned, her spine straightening instinctively, only to see her again: Sloane Bennett, the artist with too much energy and not nearly enough sense.
Sloane’s colorful dress flowed around her as she descended the steps with an easy grace, her red curls catching what little light the streetlamps provided.
“You left without saying goodbye,” Sloane said, her tone teasing but her smile soft.
Catherine raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware we were on such familiar terms.”
“Not yet,” Sloane replied, stepping closer. “But there’s time.”
Catherine stared at her, caught off guard by the intensity in her hazel eyes. There was nothing calculating about Sloane’s gaze, no agenda. It was disarming.
“You seem determined to make an impression,” Catherine said finally.
Sloane’s smile widened. “And am I succeeding?”
“That depends,” Catherine replied, her tone neutral. “Is your goal to be insufferable or merely persistent?”
“Why not both?” Sloane said, laughter dancing in her voice. “You need someone to shake you up a little, Dr. Harrington.”
“And you’ve appointed yourself for the role?”
Sloane tilted her head, her grin softening into something quieter. “Maybe.”
The valet arrived then, pulling Catherine’s car to the curb. She turned to leave, but Sloane caught her hand, a brief, fleeting touch that somehow felt like more.
“Think about it,” Sloane said, her voice low. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
Catherine glanced down at their hands before pulling hers away. Her pulse quickened, but she ignored it, stepping toward her car. “Goodnight, Ms. Bennett.”
“Goodnight, Dr. Harrington,” Sloane called after her, her tone light but her gaze lingering.
As Catherine drove away, the conversation replayed in her mind. She gripped the wheel tighter, her knuckles white against the leather. Something about Sloane’s words, her smile, her touch, none of it made sense. And yet, she was impossible to forget.
For the first time in a long time, Catherine felt the cracks in her carefully constructed walls. And for reasons she couldn’t yet explain, she didn’t entirely hate it.