The charity gala was exactly the kind of event Jay Mariano avoided.
Too many people. Too much small talk. Too many minutes she could've spent on patient reports or reviewing surgical videos.
But the hospital board had insisted. "Face of the pediatric surgery department," they'd said. "Good for donations," they'd said.
So here she was, trapped in a too-expensive dress that itched, holding a glass of water she had no intention of drinking, counting the minutes until she could escape.
"You look like you're planning your exit strategy."
Jay turned. Aries stood beside her, looking annoyingly comfortable in his suit. "Because I am."
"At least try to look like you're enjoying yourself." He nudged her elbow. "For the donors."
"I'm a surgeon, not an actress." She scanned the room, eyes flat. "Who are all these people?"
"Rich people. Business people. The ones who write checks so we can buy new equipment." Aries nodded toward a cluster of men in expensive suits. "Like that guy over there. Youngest CEO in Watson history. Mark Keifer something."
Jay followed his gaze.
Tall. Dark suit, perfectly tailored. Dark hair, sharp jaw. Standing with his hands clasped behind his back, listening to someone speak with an expression that suggested he'd rather be anywhere else.
He looked up.
For one second—just one—their eyes met across the crowded room.
Jay looked away first. Not because she was intimidated. Because she didn't have time for whatever that was.
"He's staring," Aries murmured.
"Let him stare. I'm not a painting."
But when she glanced back a moment later, he was walking toward her.
Keifer didn't do galas.
He did board meetings. Strategy sessions. Profit analyses. Not rooms full of people pretending to care about each other while calculating networking opportunities.
But his grandfather had asked. "The hospital charity event, Keifer. It's good for the company image."
So here he was. Smiling when necessary. Nodding when expected. Counting the seconds until he could leave.
Then he saw her.
Across the room. Dark hair pulled back. Simple black dress. Holding a glass of water like it was a shield. She wasn't smiling at anyone. Wasn't working the room like the others. She looked... bored. Annoyed. Ready to leave.
Interesting.
She met his eyes for a fraction of a second. Then looked away like he was furniture.
Keifer's eyebrow lifted slightly. Most people held his gaze. Tried to impress him. She looked at him like he was a mildly inconvenient obstacle.
He found himself walking toward her before he'd consciously decided to.
"Mark Keifer Watson," he said, stopping in front of her. No smile. Just those sharp eyes studying her face.
She looked up at him. No recognition. No flutter. Just flat, professional disinterest. "Jay Mariano."
"I know who you are." He let the words hang. "The young surgeon everyone's talking about."
"Then you know more than I do. I just do my job."
"You're twenty-six and already revolutionizing pediatric surgery. That's not 'just a job.'"
She tilted her head slightly. "And you're twenty-eight and the youngest CEO in your company's history. Should I be impressed?"
Something flickered in his eyes. Surprise, maybe. Or interest. "Most people are."
"Most people have time to be impressed." She checked her watch. "I have surgery at six tomorrow morning."
"So?"
"So I don't have time for whatever this is." She gestured vaguely between them. "The staring. The walking over. The conversation. I have patients."
Keifer felt his jaw tighten. No one dismissed him. No one.
"You're rude," he said flatly.
"I'm efficient." She met his eyes without flinching. "There's a difference."
Behind her, a man who looked like her—older, softer—appeared. "Jay, everything okay?"
"Fine, Aries. Mr. Watson was just leaving."
Keifer's eyes narrowed. "I wasn't."
"Well, I was." She set her untouched water on a passing tray. "Goodnight, Mr. Watson. Try not to take it personally. I don't have time for anyone."
She walked away.
Keifer stood there, watching her go, something unfamiliar twisting in his chest.
Annoyance? Definitely.
But something else, too. Something that felt dangerous.
Three days later, Jay was in her office, reviewing charts, when Percy burst in without knocking.
"You will not believe who's in the building."
"Unless it's a patient, I don't care."
"Mark Keifer Watson. CEO guy. From the gala."
Jay's pen paused. Just for a second. Then she kept writing. "Why?"
"Something about a donation. A big one. He's meeting with the board." Percy dropped into a chair. "He asked about you."
Now she looked up. "What?"
"Apparently he wanted to know who the 'surgeon with the attitude' was." Percy grinned. "I like him already."
Jay shook her head, returning to her charts. "Good for him."
"He's coming this way."
"What?"
But it was too late. A knock. Then the door opened, and there he was. Same sharp suit. Same sharp eyes. Same expression that said I own every room I walk into.
"Dr. Mariano."
"Mr. Watson." She didn't stand. "This is my office. Generally people knock and wait for an answer."
"I did knock."
"Then you ignored the part where you wait."
Percy coughed, clearly enjoying himself. "I'll just... be outside. Watching. Through the window." He slipped out.
Keifer stepped further in, glancing around at the stacks of files, the medical journals, the single photo of what looked like her family. "You work a lot."
"I'm aware."
"Your brother said you haven't taken a day off in months."
"My brother talks too much."
He moved closer to her desk. "When's the last time you ate something that wasn't coffee?"
Jay finally set her pen down. Slowly. Deliberately. "Why are you here, Mr. Watson? The donation meeting is three floors up."
"I'm aware." He sat down across from her without being invited. "I wanted to understand something."
"What?"
"Why you looked at me like I was nothing."
For the first time, something like surprise crossed her face. Then it was gone. "I didn't look at you like anything. I don't have the energy for that."
"You have energy for surgery. For patients. For your family. But not for five minutes of conversation at a gala?"
She leaned back in her chair. Studied him the way she studied scans—looking for the problem beneath the surface. "You're used to people wanting something from you. Attention. Approval. Money. I don't want anything from you. That bothers you."
His jaw tightened. "It doesn't bother me."
"Then why are you here?"
Silence.
Long. Heavy. Stretching between them like a wire pulled too tight.
Keifer stood abruptly. "The hospital is getting two million. New equipment for your department specifically."
Jay blinked. Just once. "Why?"
"Because I decided to." He moved toward the door, then paused. "And because you're the best. Even if your personality needs work."
He was gone before she could respond.
Jay sat there for a long moment, staring at the empty doorway.
Then, slowly, against her will, her lips twitched.
Just barely.
"You gave how much?!"
Keifer didn't look up from his laptop. "Two million. To the pediatric surgery department."
His grandfather, seated across from him in Keifer's home office, stared like he'd grown a second head. "You don't do charity. You barely do taxes. Why?"
"She's good at her job."
"She?"
"The surgeon. Jay Mariano."
His grandfather's eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. "The woman from the gala? The one you said was 'intolerably rude'?"
"She is." Keifer's fingers continued typing. "She's also the best pediatric surgeon in the country. Possibly the region. Investing in talent is smart business."
"Mhm." His grandfather leaned back, a small smile playing on his lips. "And has nothing to do with the fact that she's the first person in years who didn't fall all over herself trying to impress you?"
Keifer's typing stopped. Just for a second. "That's irrelevant."
"Sure it is." The old man chuckled, standing slowly. "Sure it is."
After he left, Keifer sat in the silence, staring at nothing.
She looked at me like I was nothing.
He'd spent his whole life building something. Becoming someone. Making sure no one could dismiss him, ignore him, forget him.
And she'd done all three in thirty seconds.
It shouldn't bother him.
It did.
His phone buzzed. An email.
Dr. J. Mariano: Thank you for the donation. It will save lives. - J
Short. Professional. No warmth.
He read it three times.
Then, before he could stop himself, he typed back:
Mr. M.K. Watson: You're welcome. Try eating something. - W
He hit send before he could second-guess it.
Three minutes later, his phone buzzed again.
Dr. J. Mariano: I ate a granola bar. Satisfied?
Mr. M.K. Watson: No. Granola bars aren't food.
Dr. J. Mariano: They have oats. And honey. That's food.
Mr. M.K. Watson: That's a snack. Real food requires a plate.
Dr. J. Mariano: I don't have time for plates.
Mr. M.K. Watson: Make time.
Dr. J. Mariano: Goodnight, Mr. Watson.
Mr. M.K. Watson: Goodnight, Dr. Mariano. Try sleeping more than four hours.
Dr. J. Mariano: How do you know I sleep four hours?
Mr. M.K. Watson: I'm a CEO. I notice things.
Dr. J. Mariano: That's unsettling.
Mr. M.K. Watson: So is your caffeine intake, I'm sure.
Dr. J. Mariano: Goodbye, Mr. Watson.
Mr. M.K. Watson: Goodbye, Dr. Mariano.
Keifer stared at the screen.
He was smiling.
Actually smiling.
He couldn't remember the last time that happened.
Two weeks later, Jay was in the middle of surgery when the OR door opened—which it shouldn't have.
"Dr. Mariano—"
"Not now." She didn't look up, hands steady, focused on the tiny incision. "Vitals?"
"Stable. But—"
"Then not now."
The nurse hesitated. "It's... someone from the hospital board. They're insisting."
Jay's jaw tightened. "They can insist from outside. I'm in the middle of saving a child's life."
Silence.
Then the door closed.
Twenty minutes later, she stepped out, exhausted, scrubs still on, to find Mark Keifer Watson leaning against the wall outside the OR.
Waiting.
For her.
"What are you doing here?" She didn't bother hiding her annoyance. "You interrupted my surgery."
"I didn't interrupt. I waited."
"For what?"
He pushed off the wall, moving closer. Too close. She could smell whatever expensive cologne he wore. Could see the tiny flecks of gold in his dark eyes.
"For this." He held up his phone. "You haven't answered my last three emails."
"I've been busy." She crossed her arms. "Saving lives. You know. Actual work."
His eyes flickered—something between irritation and amusement. "I work."
"You push numbers around. I hold hearts in my hands." She stepped around him. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have post-op reports."
He caught her arm. Gently. But firmly.
They both froze.
Her eyes dropped to his hand on her arm. Then lifted to his face.
"You should let go of me," she said quietly.
"Probably." He didn't. "You should answer your emails."
"I don't answer to you."
"No." His voice dropped. "That's the problem."
The air between them felt heavy. Charged. Like the moment before a storm breaks.
"Dr. Mariano?" A nurse appeared at the end of the hall. "Post-op in room four?"
Jay pulled her arm free. "Coming."
She walked away without looking back.
But her skin tingled where he'd touched her.
And she hated that.
That night, alone in her office, she opened her email.
Three messages from M.K. Watson.
Subject: Lunch
You need to eat. I know a place. - W
Subject: Lunch (again)
Ignoring me doesn't make me go away. - W
Subject: Dinner
Fine. Dinner. Or breakfast. Whenever you're free. Which I'm guessing is never. - W
Jay stared at the screen.
She should delete them. Ignore them. Block him.
Instead, she typed:
Subject: Re: Dinner
*I'm free Saturday. 7pm. But if you waste my time, I'll never speak to you again. - J*
His reply came in less than a minute:
Subject: Re: Re: Dinner
I don't waste time. And neither do you. That's why this is going to be interesting. - W
Jay set her phone down.
Looked at it.
Picked it up again.
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Dinner
Don't be late. - J
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Dinner
Don't be rude. - W
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Dinner
That's like asking the sun not to be bright. - J
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Dinner
Then I'll bring sunglasses. - W
Jay pressed her lips together.
But she couldn't stop the small smile that crept across her face.
Damn it.