Chapter 6 Isla #2
"I am too. Every day." Isla looked up, meeting Marianne's gaze. "That's why I do what I do. That's why I can't wait for permission when someone is dying in front of me. Because I've seen what waiting costs."
"And you decided you would never be that person."
"I decided that hesitation kills. That in the moments when it matters most, you have to trust yourself, because the system isn't fast enough to save anyone.
" Isla felt the familiar anger rising, but it was tempered now by something softer.
"I know you think I'm reckless. I know you think I take unnecessary risks.
But every time I deviate from protocol, I'm thinking about that patient.
I'm thinking about the cost of waiting."
"I don't think you're reckless." Marianne's voice was barely above a whisper. "I think you're brave. I think you do what I was always too afraid to do."
Isla stared at her, momentarily speechless. Of all the things she had expected Marianne Cole to say, that wasn't on the list. Not even close.
"Brave," she repeated, tasting the word. It felt foreign in her mouth. She had been called many things over the years. Reckless. Arrogant. Insubordinate. A liability. No one had ever called her brave.
"Every time you make one of those decisions, you're putting everything on the line.
" Marianne's gaze was steady, intent. "Your career.
Your reputation. Your sense of yourself as a competent physician.
One wrong call and it all falls apart. And you do it anyway, because you believe it's the right thing to do. "
"It's not bravery if you don't have a choice."
"There's always a choice. You could follow protocol. You could wait for authorization. You could be the physician who covers herself instead of the one who takes risks." Marianne shook her head slowly. "You choose differently. That's what makes it brave."
The silence stretched. Isla felt something shift in her chest, some barrier that had been holding firm since their first meeting suddenly threatening to give way.
Marianne reached across the desk to point at something in one of the files, and her hand brushed against Isla's. The faint scent of her perfume reached Isla, something subtle with notes of vanilla and sandalwood that she had noticed before but never this close, never this intimate.
Neither of them moved.
The contact was minimal, just the backs of their fingers touching over the edge of a manila folder. But Isla felt it like electricity, like the spark before a storm. Her breath caught. Her pulse jumped. Every nerve in her body was suddenly, acutely aware of the inches of space between them.
She looked up and found Marianne watching her with eyes gone dark, pupils dilated in the harsh fluorescent light. The mask of professional composure had cracked, and underneath it burned something raw. Something hungry.
Something that matched exactly what she was feeling.
Time slowed. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Somewhere in the building, a door closed, but it might as well have been miles away. The only thing that existed was this moment, this desk, the warmth of Marianne's skin against hers.
Isla wanted to move closer. Wanted to close the distance between them and find out what would happen. Her body was already leaning forward, already responding to a pull she couldn't control.
But Marianne was her auditor. Her antagonist. The woman who could end her career with a single report. This was the worst possible idea, the most destructive choice she could make.
And she wanted it anyway. Wanted it more than she had wanted anything in years.
"Marianne." The name came out rough, barely voiced.
The sound broke whatever spell had held them frozen. Marianne pulled her hand back as if she had been burned, her composure reassembling itself with visible effort.
"It's late." Her voice was steady, but a pulse fluttered visibly at the base of her throat. "We should... I should go."
"Marianne—"
"The reviews are looking better. You've made real progress tonight." Marianne was already standing, gathering her briefcase with movements that were too fast, too jerky to be casual. "I'll send you notes on the remaining cases. You should be able to finish them on your own now."
"Wait."
But Marianne was already at the door, her back straight and her chin lifted, every line of her body projecting a professionalism that felt like armor. "Goodnight, Dr. Bennett. Thank you for your cooperation with the review process."
The door closed behind her with a soft click that sounded like an ending.
Isla sat motionless in the empty office, surrounded by files and the ghost of a touch that had lasted barely three seconds.
Her hand was still warm where Marianne's fingers had brushed against it.
Her heart was still racing, blood pounding in her ears with a rhythm that had nothing to do with work or exhaustion.
She wanted Marianne Cole.
The realization crashed through her like a wave, undeniable and devastating. Not just wanted her in some abstract, theoretical way, but wanted her with an intensity that felt like falling, like losing control, like every careful boundary she had built was suddenly made of paper.
She wanted to follow Marianne out of this office and press her against the nearest wall. Wanted to find out what sounds she made when her composure finally cracked. Wanted to trace every line of that controlled body and discover what lay underneath the armor.
It was insane. It was impossible. It was the worst possible complication at the worst possible time.
Marianne was still building a case that could end Isla's career.
They were still on opposite sides of a conflict that showed no signs of resolving.
Any relationship between them would be professional suicide for both of them, a scandal that would give the board exactly the excuse they needed to remove Isla from the equation entirely.
And yet.
Isla couldn't stop thinking about the way Marianne had looked at her before she fled. The hunger in her eyes, the visible effort of restraint. The way her voice had trembled when she said goodnight.
This wasn't one-sided. Whatever was happening between them, Marianne felt it too.
The knowledge should have been terrifying.
In many ways, it was. But underneath the fear, Isla felt something else stirring.
Hope, maybe. Or recognition. The sense that she had finally found someone who understood what it meant to build walls around yourself, to hold the world at arm's length because letting anyone close felt too dangerous.
Marianne understood because she did it too.
They were mirrors of each other, opposites in approach but identical in their isolation.
Two people who had learned that safety meant control, that vulnerability meant risk, that wanting something badly enough to let your guard down was the fastest way to get hurt.
But maybe, Isla thought, maybe there was another way. Maybe the walls they had built could protect them together instead of keeping them apart.
Or maybe that was just exhaustion and desire talking, making her believe in possibilities that would seem ridiculous in the light of day.
Isla stood slowly and began gathering the files, her movements mechanical. The chart reviews would wait. The committee would wait. Everything would wait.
Right now, she needed to go home and figure out what she was going to do about the fact that she was falling for the woman who held her career in her hands.
No answers came. Just the memory of Marianne's fingers against hers, and the certainty that nothing was ever going to be the same.