“Fun,” she echoed flatly. “Right.”
Malcolm introduced her to a circle of benefactors, their designer clothes and carefully styled hair broadcasting their wealth before they even opened their mouths. Catherine slipped into autopilot, shaking hands and nodding at their anecdotes with just enough interest to seem engaged.
“She’s our star surgeon,” Malcolm said, beaming. “Her work is unparalleled. I’ve seen her do things in the OR that most surgeons wouldn’t even attempt.”
“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 themuted 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.
