Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
A t wit’s end, Marise sat at the desk in her hotel suite, scrolling through her laptop. Ten days she’d waited for Kathleen to book another night with her, but it hadn’t happened.
Kathleen Knowles had disappeared.
Not in the literal sense—she still clocked into the lab early every morning, left after five, and drove straight home. But there were no detours, no coffee shop visits, no drinks after work. She existed along a narrow corridor of routine, and the rest of the world slid by without her noticing.
Marise had assembled her profile. Nothing intrusive. Not yet, merely quiet observation, though it was like chasing a ghost.
Kathleen didn’t do social media, had no club memberships, and no standing commitments outside her foundation work. No exes with grudges, no wildcards in her history. Even her colleagues were cordial, respectful, distant. It was as though Kathleen had mastered the art of invisibility.
She opened her academic file, studying names from Kathleen’s early publications. Most were tenured faculty. One stood out, Dr. Barbara Reilly, co-author on several foundational papers. A quick search found her in Helsinki, on sabbatical.
Then after pouring through science magazines for an hour, she found photos of the two women together at various functions. Reilly was likely her best friend, perhaps. Maybe more, once, though no longer in the picture.
Kathleen’s parents were doctors, the father, John, a cardiology specialist and her mother, Rhonda, worked in a fertility clinic. She was an only child. No arrests, scandals, or late-night ex-lovers lurking in background checks. Her life was orderly, boringly so.
And that was the problem.
Kathleen was unreachable. Marise couldn’t lob up at her work or her home, and there was no place like a coffee shop she could conveniently run into her.
She closed the file and leaned back, frustrated. She’d expected... something.
She’d had five clients since the gala dinner. They wanted warmth in the moment, then the second they closed the door it was over. That was the job: you played a part, filled a need, then stepped out of their lives.
With Kathleen it had felt different.
Veronica Hale was a part she played with ease, slipping into poise and charm, giving her clients her undivided attention until it was over. Then she forgot about them. Kathleen remained in her memory, not because she had responded to her charm, but because she hadn’t.
She sighed, laptop forgotten, fingers drumming her thigh. If she couldn’t reach Kathleen through her world, she’d have to find another entrance. A chance meeting? But where? A run-in at a conference? That was too farfetched. For once in her life, Marise was stumped and it wasn’t a good feeling.
Her phone rang as she was thinking. She picked it up, recognizing the number—the internal agency line.
Shit. Another client to entertain. Not that she disliked the interaction with these women, all were interesting in their own way, but Marise wasn’t built for this type of life.
“Elise,” she said, already composing herself.
“Good morning, Veronica.” Elise’s voice was well-modulated, as always. “You’ve been requested tomorrow night.”
Marise put on a bright tone. “Very good.”
“Dr. Kathleen Knowles asked for a private dinner. No driver, no formalities. The two of you. Tomorrow night, seven-thirty. We’ll send the location shortly.”
“Confirmed,” Marise said, careful to keep her voice even, though her relief was nearly palpable. “I’ll be ready.”
“She asked for you personally,” Elise added, a note of curiosity in her tone. “Only you.”
Marise smiled. Pleased. So, Kathleen hadn’t been put off by her. “Understood.”
The line clicked off. She set the phone down and gave a fist pump. Everything was back on track. The door was opened again and this time, she’d make sure she’d win her confidence.
M arise arrived five minutes early and waited outside.
The restaurant sat tucked beneath an ivy-covered awning on a quiet city street, its name, Marinos, was painted on a plague above the door. The smell of garlic, crushed tomatoes, and Italian herbs hung in the air.
When the cab pulled up and Kathleen stepped out, Marise could only stare.
She looked nothing like the woman from the gala. Gone was the stiff neckline and hesitant posture. Tonight, she wore a sapphire dress that clung to her curves and her hair hung in soft blond waves. She looked radiant.
Kathleen caught her look and gave a small, bashful glance. “I hope I didn’t overdress.”
“You didn’t,” Marise said with a welcoming smile. “You look... lovely.”
Kathleen flushed a little deeper. “Thank you. Mom picked out the dress. She loves shopping.”
“I take it you don’t.”
“Heavens, no. I take after my father. He thinks shopping is Chinese water torture.”
Marise chuckled. “Shall we go in.”
The waiter led them down to an intimate alcove, an arched space partially enclosed by a carved walnut partition. It housed a single table dressed in white linen, flanked by comfortable chairs and a flickering candle in a wine bottle holder.
They sat, the waiter coming in to pour water and offer menus. Marise asked if Kathleen liked wine, recommending a bottle that would pair with almost anything. Kathleen let her order, apparently content to observe.
The conversation started with a little awkward small talk—restaurant lighting, the weather—but Kathleen soon thawed out.
“So,” Marise said, “tell me something about your research. I’ve read a few of your abstracts, but I’m not sure I understood them.”
Kathleen tilted her head, amused. “That’s because they weren’t written to be understood.”
Marise smiled. “Then explain it to me like I’m an intelligent woman with no patience for jargon.”
Kathleen paused, then gave a small shrug. “Not tonight.”
“No?”
“I’m off duty. Besides…” Her gaze was steady. “I’d rather hear about you.”
“Me?” she asked, cocking her head. “I’m hardly interesting.”
“That’s not true. You pretend, but it’s not true.”
Marise blinked, the comment slipping under her defences.
Kathleen leaned forward slightly. “Why did you start doing this?”
“This?”
“The escort work. What made you choose it?”
Marise took a slow sip of wine. “That’s a rather direct question.”
Kathleen didn’t apologize. “I think you’re used to people talking at you. I want to talk to you.”
Marise found herself smiling. Genuinely. “Well,” she said, swirling her glass, “I suppose I’ve always been good at being what other people need. That’s a marketable skill. And sometimes… it lets me be something I wish I were.”
Kathleen studied her. “Do you remember who you were before you started?”
Marise wasn’t playing anymore, she was thinking of her real job when she answered, “I think I do, but she’s quieter now.”
Three courses passed like a dream. Roasted duck, a delicate mushroom risotto, a chocolate tart that neither of them had room for but ordered anyway.
Conversation drifted between them easily.
Kathleen asked about her childhood, her favourite cities, the worst date she'd ever endured.
Marise soon realized that under her reserved demeanour, was a woman with quick instincts and intelligent insights.
She made Marise laugh. That alone was a rarity.
And yet—nothing about her work. Not a hint, not a sliver.
Every time Marise tried to nudge the conversation toward the Atlantic Foundation and her current project, Kathleen gently rerouted them, never defensive, never obvious.
It frustrated Marise no end, but she had all night.
As they talked, Marise flirted lightly with her, making it clear that the date wasn’t over once they left the restaurant.
One thing she had learned over the years was how to seduce.
To get near to someone—to learn their secrets.
That was why she was the highest paid operative in the business.
When the bill came, Kathleen reached for it. Marise let her, for it was expected that the client paid, though for once she wished she could have waved her away and said it was hers.
Outside, the air had cooled, the city quiet beneath a night sky. They slid into the back of a cab together. The silence between them wasn’t awkward, but it seemed heavy with something unsaid. Kathleen’s building came into view all too soon and Marise stepped out with her.
She handed cash to the driver and said quietly, “Wait for a minute.” If all went well, she would be able to wave him off.
When they reached the door together, Marise stood close beside her. Kathleen turned to her, hands clutching her coat loosely at the collar. “Thank you,” she said, voice low. “I had a really great time.”
“So did I,” Marise said. “You surprised me.”
“Oh?”
“You weren’t what I expected.”
Kathleen smiled. “Neither were you.”
Marise leaned forward, close enough to kiss her cheek. “May I come in?”
There was a pause. Kathleen’s smile didn’t fade, but she shook her head. “Not tonight.”
Disappointment curled through Marise’s stomach. “I understand.”
Kathleen took a half step closer, then whispered, “Goodbye,” and slipped inside.
Marise was left alone, wondering what had happened. She hadn’t expected a knock back.
She turned, pulled her coat tighter around her chest, and walked back to the cab, already replaying every word. Where had she gone wrong?