Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
T he phone rang Friday morning.
Marise sat cross-legged on the hotel bed, still in her robe, reviewing Kathleen’s research papers on her laptop.
Her work sounded impressive, if complicated.
She needed to get her head around the scientific jargon before she met the woman.
To learn how far she’d come in the project, she’d have to be able to understand it.
She reached for the phone after the second ring.
“Elise Berry,” came the modulated voice. “Good morning, Ms. Hale. You’ve been selected.”
Marise set her laptop aside; though expecting the words, she still felt a measure of relief.
“For the Atlantic Environmental Research Foundation Gala?” she asked, crossing her fingers.
“Yes. Dr. Kathleen Knowles has requested you. She reviewed all three profiles and chose yours personally.”
Marise allowed herself the faintest smile, aware why she had been chosen.
She wasn’t the youngest, or the most glamorous, but because women like Kathleen Knowles didn’t want fireworks.
They needed calm and discretion. Someone who wouldn’t make things worse by trying too hard to make them feel better.
“She’s requested a short meeting before the event,” Elise added. “Her residence, seven sharp. Driver will be provided, and dress accordingly. I’ll text you the address.”
“Of course,” Marise said. “Thank you.”
The line went dead.
She rose from the bed, stretching once, and walked to the wardrobe. She’d done her homework—studied Knowles' press appearances, her interviews, the rare photos where she’d been coaxed to smile in front of a research installation or next to a reluctant award.
The woman’s dress sense could only be described as dowdy and she didn’t chase attention. If anything, she looked mildly startled whenever she received it.
Marise considered her clothing options carefully.
Not red. Too aggressive.
Not black. Too aloof.
She chose the slate blue: a wrap-style evening dress that grazed the tops of her heels, with long sleeves and a soft drape.
Elegant but unobtrusive. Confident without the need for shine.
It complimented her figure but didn’t flaunt it.
Veronica Hale wasn’t meant to steal her focus, she was there to be supportive.
Jewellery: minimal. Makeup: natural. Hair: loose waves pinned back from her face.
She would play the kind of woman Kathleen Knowles would feel safe beside.
T he foyer of the East River apartment building was as discreet as she’d expected. Pale stone, brushed steel finishes, no concierge desk. Quiet, private. The sort of place someone could disappear into without ever having to make small talk in the elevator.
Marise waited in the lounge beside the lifts, legs crossed, hands resting lightly in her lap.
She didn’t fidget or scroll her phone. Stillness was her resting state.
At exactly 6:58 p.m., the elevator chimed.
Marise stood as the doors slid open.
Kathleen Knowles stepped out and Marise tilted her head slightly, studying the woman before she had time to catch herself.
She wasn’t quite what Marise expected.
The scientist was prettier and more human. The press photos hadn’t captured that.
She wore a simple light green dress, modestly cut, with a tailored waist and short sleeves. No jewellery beyond a slim silver watch. Her hair was pinned back in a relaxed twist, a few strands curling loose at her temples. She looked tidy and wholesome.
Marise saw the subtle signs of nerves: the way Kathleen’s fingers clenched and unclenched by her side, the tight breath she took before she approached.
“Dr. Knowles?” Marise said gently.
Kathleen gave a small nod. “You’re Veronica?” Her voice was low and even, but the name came out a fraction too fast.
“I am. You look lovely,” Marise said, keeping her tone soft.
Kathleen blinked, as if surprised by the compliment. “Thank you. You do too.” She hesitated, then glanced toward the quiet seating area near the window. “Sit a moment. The car will be here shortly.”
Marise nodded. “It’ll be nice to talk a little.”
They crossed the space and sat facing one another, a low marble table between them. Kathleen smoothed her dress after she sat, then folded her hands neatly in her lap. Her shoulders were tight.
“I don’t usually…” She trailed off, searching for words. “I don’t usually hire people for things like this.”
Marise smiled gently. “You’re not the first client to say that.”
Kathleen’s eyes flicked up, curious, then dropped again. “I …these events. They’re complicated, and terrify me. People expect certain things. Social things. I’m not... natural at it.”
“I don’t expect you to be,” Marise said. “You’re not hiring me to perform. I’m here to help you.”
Kathleen nodded, slowly. “I’ve had... bad experiences. With people assuming too much.”
Men would think her an easy mark, Marise thought, though Kathleen didn’t elaborate. There was nothing to suggest in her looks that Kathleen preferred women. She was feminine in a girl-next-door sort of way.
“I don’t want to be looked after,” she said. “Or flirted with. Or paraded. I don’t want to be alone in a room where everyone’s pretending to understand me.”
Marise tilted her head slightly. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”
That got a breath of something like relief. Kathleen looked at her directly for the first time. “I picked you because you were older than the other two. And not so…so out there.”
Marise’s mouth quirked a little. “You’re more direct than I expected.”
Kathleen blinked again, not sure if that was a compliment. “I simply meant I didn’t want a twenty-five-year-old in a sequined dress trying to impress my donors.”
“Don’t worry,” Marise said. “I left the sequins at home.”
That pulled a smile, small but real.
Outside, a black sedan’s headlights sliced across the marble floor as it turned into the driveway.
Kathleen stood. “That’s us.”
Marise rose beside her. “Tonight,” she said softly. “You set the pace.”
Kathleen gave a slow nod, her eyes not quite meeting Marise’s. “Thank you.”
They walked toward the car together, side by side but not touching. As the driver opened door, Marise noticed Kathleen’s hands tightening again. Not with fear or dread, just bracing for impact.
So, she offered nothing but stillness. Quiet dignity. The kind of silence that held space, not judgment.
When they slid into the backseat and the door shut behind them, Marise saw the subtle unclenching of Kathleen’s shoulders.
Trust, beginning to form. Quietly.
The car pulled smoothly into the circular drive of the Institute, to the gala. Impressive columns rose on either side of the wide steps, their surfaces glowing under the warm floodlights. A pair of valets in dark uniforms opened the car door as soon as they drove up.
Marise stepped out first and turned to offer a hand to Kathleen. Not as a gesture of formality, but as something steady to tether her.
Kathleen took it without hesitation.
Marise noticed how Kathleen’s free hand tugged at the waist of her dress as they entered the lobby, like she was still unsure she’d made the right choice. She leaned over and whispered in Kathleen’s ear. “You look lovely.”
That earned her a shy smile.
Inside, the space widened into a tall atrium with polished floors and crystal lights. Staff moved silently through the crowd with trays of champagne and chilled wine. The guests were already gathering in clusters near the long bar at the back of the room—men in dress suits, women in designer gowns.
Kathleen's shoulders tensed. She stood a little too upright, like someone preparing for an oral exam.
Marise stepped closer, not touching but present, and turned toward her with an easy, almost conspiratorial expression. “Let’s walk around the crowd,” she murmured. “No sudden social attacks.”
Kathleen gave a nod of agreement. They moved slowly around the edge, Marise always half a step ahead, fielding eye contact, deflecting greetings, offering quiet nods and measured smiles in place of awkward introductions.
When an older man in a tuxedo approached with too much cheer, glass half-empty, Marise stepped gently between him and Kathleen, turning her body with subtle grace and catching his attention long enough for Kathleen to ease away.
When they reached the far side of the room, near a tall indoor plant and one of the less crowded drink tables, Marise slipped them into the small alcove created by the curve of the wall.
“Better?” she asked softly.
Kathleen took a glass of punch from a passing tray, sipped and nodded. “You’re very good at this.”
“I’ve had practice,” Marise said.
Kathleen watched the crowd. “I know half of them are wondering what you’re doing with me,” she said, not bitterly... plainly.
Marise tilted her head. “Let them. They’re probably wishing they were standing where I am.”
That earned her a surprised, pleased glance. Kathleen blinked once, looked down at her glass, then back up. “I don’t always know when people are flattering me or just trying to get something.”
“I’m not doing either.”
Kathleen looked at her again, longer this time. Her gaze was still careful, but the edges had relaxed.
A chime rang out from the front of the atrium, followed by the arrival of one of the hosts in a charcoal suit, who announced, “Dinner will be served shortly. Please find your places.”
“Do you remember your table number?” Marise asked.
Kathleen nodded. “Eight.”
“Perfect. Let’s let the crowd move first and then we’ll go in.”
Kathleen didn’t respond right away, but she didn’t step away either. She stood beside Marise, shoulder shy of brushing hers, and watched the tide of guests begin filing toward the double doors at the rear of the hall. For the first time since she’d stepped out of her apartment, she wasn’t so rigid.
They waited until most of the crowd had moved before making their way to the dining hall.