Dani snorted, leaning back against the wall with her arms crossed. “Yeah, because you’re the poster child for professionalism.”
“Hey, I can be professional when I need to be,” Sloane shot back, lowering her gaze to the paper.
“Sure,” Dani said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “This coming from the woman who once painted an entire mural on her landlord’s wall without asking.”
“That was art, not vandalism,” Sloane said absently, her focus shifting back to the note. “Now hush. I need to concentrate.”
The words came quickly, flowing from her pen in loops and flourishes that betrayed her energy. The handwriting was as chaotic as her thoughts, letters leaning at odd angles, the ink smudging as she moved too fast. When she finished, she leaned back to admire her work:
Dr. Harrington,
I’ve never met anyone who looks less like they belong at a party and yet somehow owns the room. Consider this your official invitation to my art show. Bet you won’t show up.
– Sloane Bennett
“Subtle,” Dani said dryly, peering over her shoulder.
“It’s perfect,” Sloane said, ignoring her friend’s skepticism. She folded the paper neatly along with a card with the details of the art show and slipped it into an envelope, sealing it with a quick swipe of her tongue.
“And what if she doesn’t show?” Dani asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Then she doesn’t show,” Sloane said with a shrug, though her tone was lighter than her thoughts. “But something tells me she will.”
“You’re impossible,” Dani muttered, shaking her head as she pushed off the wall.
“And you love me for it,” Sloane replied, flashing her a grin.
Later that afternoon, Sloane stood in the gleaming marble lobby of Harrington Memorial Hospital. The contrast between her paint-splattered jeans, leather jacket, and the clinical sterility of her surroundings was almost comical, but she didn’t care. If anything, she thrived on it.
The receptionist glanced up from her computer, her expression polite but wary. “Can I help you?”
“Yeah,” Sloane said, sliding the envelope across the counter with a charming smile. “This is for Dr. Catherine Harrington.”
The receptionist hesitated, her gaze flicking to the envelope. “Dr. Harrington doesn’t usually?—”
“It’s not a subpoena or anything,” Sloane interrupted, her grin widening. “It’s just an invitation. Besides, who could say no to this face?”
The receptionist stared at her for a moment before shaking her head with a reluctant smile. “I’ll see that she gets it.”
“Thank you,” Sloane said, her tone warm. “You’re saving lives today. Probably.”
The receptionist gave her a bemused look as Sloane turned on her heel and sauntered toward the exit, her leather boots clicking softly against the polished floor.
As she stepped back onto the bustling city street, Sloane felt a flicker of satisfaction. The sun was dipping lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the sidewalk, but her energy was as bright as ever.
She didn’t know if Catherine would come. The woman had been a puzzle from the moment they met, all sharp edges and guarded walls. But something about her had struck a chord in Sloane, a challenge she couldn’t resist.
“Here’s hoping you surprise me, Ice Queen,” Sloane muttered to herself, slipping her hands into her jacket pockets as she headed back toward her studio.
Whether Catherine showed up or not, Sloane knew one thing for certain: this was going to be interesting.
3
CATHERINE
The first sliver of dawn crept through the blinds, painting the room in muted shades of gray. Catherine Harrington opened her eyes as her alarm chimed softly. She didn’t need it; her body was already attuned to the demands of her life, her internal clock as precise as the instruments she wielded in the operating room.
She rose immediately, her movements deliberate and efficient. There was no room for hesitation in her routine. The floor was cool beneath her feet as she crossed the room, grabbing her neatly folded workout clothes from the chair by the window. A quick session on the treadmill was a necessary start to the day, her version of meditation, though she would never call it that. It was more about preparing her body for the grueling hours ahead than clearing her mind.
