Chapter 4
Collins
This was Tim’s idea to stop for a drink at the rooftop bar, one drink, he said, as if neurosurgeons were somehow meant to overindulge. A rare night off. No pagers. No alarms. Just noise, light, and a crowd that didn’t care who we were; or what we’d saved earlier that morning.
I stayed in the penthouse long enough to glance in the mirror.
The place was simple, nothing flashy, just floor-to-ceiling windows showing the city lights.
I checked myself quickly: my hair brushed back, though a stray strand kept falling over my temple.
A hint of cologne, nothing overpowering, just enough. Clean, neat, good enough.
I stepped out into the undercover bay, the cool leather of my Porsche Panamera greeting me. Just as I was about to settle in, a sleek Tesla pulled up beside me. Tim. Same building, same timing, and apparently the same taste in coming off as casual yet untouchable.
“Leave your car. Jump in with me,” he called, already swinging the door open.
I raised an eyebrow but complied, sliding into the passenger seat. The scent of his cologne hit rich. He was already fiddling with the GPS, though his attention split between the screen and the rearview mirror.
“I’m just going to pick up Marlon,” he said without looking at me, as though this explained everything and nothing.
I leaned back, hands resting lightly on the leather, studying him.
Not that I was some sort of casual observer.
Attention to detail was a habit, but there was something about the way he moved through the world: confident, decisive, but not showy.
Someone who didn’t need to make a scene to remind others of his place. I liked that.
We pulled up to Marlon’s apartment. Marlon practically leaped into the back seat, grinning like a kid.
“Hey guys! Ready to party and pick up some chicks?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Guys… we’re not teenagers. Early thirties. Almost thirty-three in my case,” I said dryly.
Marlon laughed, slapping me on the shoulder. “Exactly! Single, free, and off days don’t come easily. Tonight’s about making the most of it.”
“Suit yourself,” I muttered. “I’m just here for a relaxed drink. Observation, not participation.”
We arrived at the bar, the hum of city lights below us, the faint thrum of music vibrating through the floor.
“This place feels… almost too romantic for a bar,” I said, glancing around.
Tim chuckled, shaking his head. “We’re here for the girls, remember? This is exactly the kind of spot you’ll find them at—a little fancy, a little lively, perfect for a night out.”
The bartender slid our drinks down the polished counter. I barely glanced at it, fingers loosely wrapped around my glass. Habit. Always scanning. Always calculating. Observation without participation.
That’s when Tim elbowed me sharply.
“Good grief,” he muttered, nodding toward the other side of the bar. “Tell me you’re seeing that.”
I followed his gaze, indifferent—until I did.
A group of women had just arrived. Laughter spilling, glitter catching the low light, the unmistakable chaos of a bachelorette party. Sashes draped over shoulders. And in the centre, the bride. Crown slightly askew.
She was laughing at something one of her friends had said, head thrown back, utterly unaware of how many eyes were drawn to her.
She wasn’t calculated. Not seductive. Just…
light. Effortless. Warmth spilling from her every gesture.
Unguarded happiness. I hadn’t seen it in a long time, if ever, outside the operating room.
I looked away immediately, jaw tightening.
“Too bad,” Tim said, grinning. “She’s stunning. Shame she’s taken.”
I didn’t respond.
“Cold as ever, Collins,” he continued, amusement in his voice. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”
I noticed. That was the problem.
“She’s getting married,” I said flatly, eyes back on my untouched drink. End of discussion.
Tim laughed, tilting his glass toward mine. “Still. I’d ask her if she’s saving her best for the last night of freedom.”
Marlon snorted. “Horny bastard.”
“Come on,” Tim said, voice low, leaning closer. “She’s not married yet. It’s a bachelorette party. Isn’t that what these nights are for?”
“You’re screwed,” Marlon muttered, shaking his head.
I took a slow sip of my drink, feeling the cold liquid settle in my chest. Observation only.
I kept my gaze professional, scanning the crowd, but a small, reluctant part of me registered her presence. The bride. Bright, fleeting, and completely off-limits.
One of the bride’s friends leaned in close, whispering something animated into her ear. The bride shook her head, laughing softly, then lifted her gaze to scan the room.
Her eyes passed over me.
Then paused.
For a fraction of a second, barely measurable, our gazes locked.
Something tightened in my chest. Subtle. Immediate. Entirely unwelcome.
I looked away first.
She was someone else’s future. Someone else’s certainty. A joy already claimed. I had no place in that orbit, and no interest in pretending otherwise.
I shifted my stance, turning slightly away from the bar, creating distance where none was technically required. Old habit. Control the environment. Remove variables.
Tim leaned closer, eyes still fixed in their direction. “We should go say hi.”
I blinked at him. “No.”
He scoffed. “There are five of them. What are the odds they’re all taken?”
“The one wearing the crown is,” I said flatly.
“So? She’s not married yet.”
I looked at him then. “That’s not how it works.”
Marlon snorted from the other side of the bar. “You’re impossible, Collins.”
“Feel free to embarrass yourselves,” I replied, lifting my glass. “I’ll stay right here.”
Tim grinned. “Suit yourself.”
“Suit yourself,” Marlon added, already sliding off his stool.
I didn’t watch them go.
Instead, I focused on the condensation sliding slowly down the side of my untouched glass—on the neutral, predictable physics of it. On anything that wasn’t the echo of laughter behind me or the inexplicable awareness of a woman I had no intention of knowing.
Some things were better left untouched.
And I intended to keep it that way.