The restaurant was called "Off the Record."
Appropriate, since Jay had never heard of it.
Percy had, of course. When she'd reluctantly admitted she had dinner plans, he'd nearly climbed the walls.
"Keifer Watson? The Keifer Watson? Youngest CEO, billion-dollar company, every business magazine cover for the last three years Keifer Watson?"
"I don't read business magazines."
"He was on the cover of Time last month!"
"I was on the cover of Medical Excellence last month." Jay had shrugged into her coat. "Your point?"
Percy had stared at her. "My point is—wait, you were? Why didn't anyone tell me?"
"Because it's not important."
"Not important? Jay, you're twenty-six and they called you 'the future of pediatric surgery'!"
"They also called me 'intense and slightly terrifying.'" She'd almost smiled. "Accurate."
Now, standing outside the restaurant, she wondered if she'd made a mistake.
The place was hidden—no sign, just a black door with a small brass knocker. The kind of place where celebrities went to not be seen. Where conversations cost more than her monthly salary.
She'd worn what she always wore: black. Simple dress. Minimal makeup. Hair pulled back because she didn't have time for it to be otherwise.
She looked like herself.
If that wasn't enough for Mark Keifer Watson, that was his problem.
Keifer arrived early.
He was always early. It wasn't politeness—it was control. Being early meant being prepared. Meant watching people arrive, studying them before they studied you.
He'd chosen Off the Record for three reasons:
Private. No photographers. No journalists pretending to be diners.
Quiet. He wanted to hear what she said. Every word.
His grandfather's friend owned it. Which meant the best table. The best service. The best everything.
At 6:58, the door opened.
And there she was.
Same black dress she'd worn to the gala? No—similar, but different. Sleeves instead of straps. Still simple. Still her.
She scanned the room like she was looking for threats. Found him. Walked over without hesitation.
"You're early," she said, sitting down before he could stand. "I hate that."
"I'm always early."
"I noticed." She picked up the menu, glanced at it, set it down. "I don't eat most of this."
Keifer raised an eyebrow. "You haven't read it."
"I don't need to. I don't eat rich food before surgery days. Tomorrow I have three procedures."
"It's Saturday."
"Surgery doesn't care about Saturdays."
The waiter appeared. Keifer ordered water. Jay ordered the same.
"You're not drinking?" he asked.
"I don't drink before surgery days."
"It's Saturday night. Surgery is tomorrow."
"You just said that. And I just answered."
Keifer felt his jaw tighten. "Do you ever stop working?"
"Do you?"
Touché.
He leaned back, studying her. In the low light, she looked different. Softer? No. Not softer. Just... less guarded. Still sharp. Still watching him like he was a puzzle she hadn't decided to solve.
"You're famous," he said.
"So are you."
"I mean really famous. Medical journals. News segments. They did a profile on you last month—'The Surgeon Who Saves Children Before Breakfast.'"
She winced slightly. "That title was not my idea."
"They called you a prodigy."
"They call everyone a prodigy. It's lazy journalism."
He almost smiled. "You don't like attention."
"I don't like distraction." She met his eyes. "Attention is distraction. It takes time. Energy. Focus. I have limited amounts of all three."
"And yet you're here."
"You asked."
"I asked three times."
She said nothing. Just watched him with those dark, assessing eyes.
The waiter brought water. Jay drank half her glass in one go. Keifer noticed she hadn't eaten since that granola bar at noon. He'd checked. (He'd done more checking than he wanted to admit.)
"Order something," he said.
"I told you—"
"I heard you." He signaled the waiter. "Soup. Whatever's lightest. And bread."
Jay's eyes narrowed. "I didn't order that."
"I did." He looked at her. "You need to eat. I refuse to watch you pass out in my presence."
"I don't pass out."
"You haven't eaten properly in days. Your brother told me."
"You talked to my brother?"
"He calls me. Worried about you. Gives me updates I didn't ask for." Keifer paused. "Your whole family is worried about you."
Jay's expression flickered. Just slightly. "They worry too much."
"Or you don't worry enough."
The soup arrived. Steam rising. Fresh bread on the side.
Jay stared at it like it might attack her.
"Eat," Keifer said.
"Why do you care?"
Good question.
He'd been asking himself the same thing for two weeks.
"I don't know," he admitted.
That made her pause. She picked up the spoon. Tasted the soup. Something in her face softened—just a fraction, just for a second.
"It's good," she said quietly.
"I know."
They ate in silence. Not uncomfortable. Not quite comfortable either. Something in between. Like two animals circling, unsure if the other was predator or prey.
Outside, a camera flashed.
Keifer's head snapped toward the window. A figure ducked away.
"Paparazzi," he muttered.
Jay didn't even look. "They follow you?"
"Sometimes. You?"
"Occasionally. After the profile ran." She dipped bread in soup. "One of them climbed a tree outside my apartment. Fell out. Broke his arm."
Keifer stared at her.
"I fixed it," she added. "The arm. Not the tree."
A laugh escaped him before he could stop it.
Actual laughter.
Jay looked up, surprised. "You laugh?"
"Rarely." He was still smiling. "You're... not what I expected."
"What did you expect?"
"Someone who tried to impress me."
"And instead?"
She tilted her head. Waiting.
Keifer leaned forward. "Instead, you've annoyed me, ignored me, dismissed me, and now made me laugh. I don't know what to do with you."
"Good." She took another bite of soup. "Neither do I."
By the time they finished, the restaurant had emptied. Two hours had passed. Neither had noticed.
Keifer paid without discussion. Jay didn't argue—she'd learned to pick battles.
Outside, the street was quiet. No paparazzi now. Just city lights and cool air.
"I'll call a car," Keifer said, pulling out his phone.
"I can take the train."
"You will not take the train."
"I've taken the train every day for eight years."
"Not tonight." He was already typing. "My driver will take you home."
"Keifer."
His name. From her lips. Simple. Direct.
He looked up.
"I don't need to be taken care of," she said quietly.
"I know." He held her gaze. "But I want to. Is that a problem?"
Long pause.
Then, slowly, she shook her head. "No. That's... not a problem."
The car arrived. Black. Discreet.
Jay hesitated at the door. "This was..."
"Terrible? Amazing? Confusing?"
"Yes." She almost smiled. "All of those."
"Same time next week?"
She should say no. She had charts. Reports. Surgeries. Patients.
"Yes," she heard herself say.
Keifer nodded once. "Good."
She got in the car. He watched it drive away.
His phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number—she must've gotten his from the restaurant reservation.
Dr. J. Mariano: The soup was good. Don't tell anyone I admitted that.
He smiled. Actually smiled. Again.
Mr. M.K. Watson: Your secret is safe with me.
Dr. J. Mariano: Also, you laugh. I'm telling everyone.
Mr. M.K. Watson: You wouldn't.
Dr. J. Mariano: Try me.
Mr. M.K. Watson: I'd like to.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Dr. J. Mariano: Goodnight, Keifer.
Mr. M.K. Watson: Goodnight, Jay.
He stood there for a long time after, looking at his phone.
What is happening to me?
The next morning, Jay was in surgery at 6am.
But between cases, she caught herself staring at nothing. Thinking about black eyes and unexpected laughter and soup she hadn't ordered but was glad she'd eaten.
"Dr. Mariano?" Her assistant touched her arm. "You okay?"
Jay blinked. "Fine. Next patient?"
But she wasn't fine.
She was something else entirely.
And she didn't have time for it.
By Wednesday, the internet had noticed.
SURGEON PRODIGY AND CEO BILLIONAIRE: DINNER DATE SPARKS RUMORS
Jay stared at the headline on her phone. Percy had sent it. With seventeen exclamation points.
Below the article: photos. Her walking into the restaurant. Keifer holding the door. Her getting into his car. Grainy. Distant. But unmistakably them.
Comments ranged from "they'd make gorgeous babies" to "she's too good for him" to "he's too good for her" to "imagine that dinner conversation—both of them would just stare at each other in silence."
The last one almost made her laugh.
Almost.
Her phone rang. Unknown number.
"Hello?"
"Dr. Mariano." Keifer's voice. Tight. Controlled. "Have you seen the articles?"
"Yes."
"My PR team is handling it. They'll offer a statement. Deny everything."
"Okay."
Pause.
"Is that what you want?" he asked. "Denial?"
Jay leaned back in her chair. Stared at the ceiling of her office. Thought about soup and laughter and the way he'd said I want to like it was simple.
"I don't know what I want," she admitted quietly. "I never have time to want things."
Long pause on his end.
"Then maybe," he said slowly, "you should make time."