Page 40 of Doctor One Night

“It’s normal to get overwhelmed with all of it,” I say, keeping my tone even. “But you don’t have to have all the answers right away. Just being there for them, supporting them—that’s what really matters.”

She nods, taking in my words, and for a moment, we just sit there in silence, the noise of the bar fading into the background. I can tell this is weighing heavily on her, and I want to do more, say more, but I don’t. We both bask in the comfortable silence instead.

“Thanks,” she says quietly, finally looking up at me again. “It helps to talk about it, even if I don’t have all the answers.”

“Anytime,” I reply, meaning it. “And if you ever need to talk more… you know where to find me.”

She smiles a small, genuine smile that sends a warmth through me. One that I haven’t felt in a long time. For the second time tonight, I have to admit something I have been running from: it feels good.

“Geez,” she says suddenly. “I didn't realize how late it was. I probably should get going.” With that, she turns up her glass and drains her beer.

Damn. Her hotness level just went up another notch.

FIFTEEN

Frankie

Saturday, May 25

The Florentine

2101 2nd Avenue North

7:12 pm

The grand ballroom is everything you’d expect from a high-society gala... right down to the opulent chandeliers sparkling like diamonds swimming above us. The golden glow projected over the sea of elegantly dressed guests ups the fanciness and my anxiety. I don't do these types of events willingly.

The hum of polite conversation mixed with the clink of champagne flutes, and the soft strains of a string quartet playing in the corner is a testament to whoever planned this. Whoever planned this took care of every detail.

It’s the kind of event that would make anyone feel underdressed, no matter how much time she spent getting ready. For me, there’s no amount of lipstick that would transform me into the kind of person that fits in here. I stick out like a sore thumb.

I step inside, my heels clicking softly on the polished marble floor, and take a slow breath to steady myself. The dress I’m wearing is beautiful. It’s a deep, emerald green gown that Carly insisted would bring out the color of my eyes. It’s more like armor than anything else.

Carly sadly swapped her dress for a night on the sofa. She is still too sore from the accident to make it. I wish I could trade with her—I know how much she was looking forward to coming. And, Lord knows, I don’t want to be here.

The fact that I’m here without her, my wingman, to woo a potential sponsor for the pacemaker trial doesn’t help make it any better. But this is part of my job. So, here goes nothing.

As I scan the room, looking for familiar faces, my eyes land on Hunter. He’s standing near the bar, a glass of something amber in his hand, looking both completely at ease and deliciously handsome.

He’s dressed in a sharp black tuxedo, the kind that makes every man look good. But on him, it’s different. It fits him to a tee. The perfectly tailored fit hugs him in all of the right places.

The usually gruff, intense surgeon seems almost… relaxed. There’s still that underlying tension in his posture. I’ve come to recognize it in our after-hours meetings and discussions about our now-shared project.

He hasn’t spotted me yet, so I take a moment to observe him, letting my gaze linger a little longer than I probably should. It’s always an unexpected treat seeing him like this, outside of the hospital.

Here, under the soft lights of the gala, he seems more human, less of the driven, borderline-obsessive doctor I’m used to working with. But that’s not what surprises me the most.

What surprises me is the stirring in my belly. I've been noticing it more and more lately, when we are together, so it shouldn't surprise me. But with both of us dressed up like this, and the music, the soft lighting—the whole combination intensifies that stirring even more.

I push the thought aside, reminding myself that we’re here for a reason. There’s no time to get distracted by how good Hunter looks in formalwear. I’ve got a job to do, and it’s a big one.

As I approach him, his gaze finally shifts, and when our eyes meet, something flickers there. It's a recognition, maybe something more, but it’s gone before I have to figure out how to respond. He nods slightly, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and I can’t help but smile back.

“You clean up well, Dr. Parrish,” I say lightly, coming to stand beside him at the bar.

He raises an eyebrow, taking a sip of his drink. “I could say the same for you, Dr. Renna. That dress might just outshine the chandelier.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t hide the smile that tugs at my lips. “Flattery won’t get you out of meeting with Mr. Rich Guy tonight.”

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