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Chapter 11
MAY 2024
The invitation had said “black tie,” which obviously meant that Angela and I spent hours shopping to find the perfect thing to wear. I was thrilled with the floor-length glittery black gown I found, and for half the amount I’d planned to spend.
As we step into the lobby of The Midland Hotel, I immediately feel out of place, as though I’ve wandered onto the set of a period drama and someone’s about to ask me what I’m doing here.
The annual Catalyst charity gala is apparently the event of the year – or at least it was before Covid hit. This is the first time they’ve held it since 2019 and from what I’ve gathered, it’s been sorely missed.
“Stop fidgeting,” Angela hisses beside me, looking completely at ease in a fitted red gown that makes her look like she belongs on a red carpet. “You look amazing.”
We step through the doors into the ballroom, and I’m momentarily stunned. Women in sweeping floor-length gowns float across the space, and men in crisp tuxedos mill about, champagne flutes in hand. The air smells of expensive perfume and polished marble.
Angela grabs two flutes of champagne from a passing server, handing one to me. I take a grateful sip, the bubbles dancing on my tongue.
“Is it always this fancy?” I ask.
“Apparently, this is scaled back. I heard the last one, they hired out the Victoria Baths and turned the old pool into an orchestra pit.Stephen was saying how they’re ‘keeping it modest’ this year as it’s the first one post-pandemic.”
My eyes widen. “This is modest?”
The Midland is one of the most exclusive hotels in the city, with chandeliers that probably cost more than my annual salary and soaring pillars that make you feel like you’ve stepped into a palace. A warm glow filters in through the tall windows, washing over round tables draped in ivory linens. A violinist plays in the corner, and at one end, glass doors open onto a balcony with what I assume must be a spectacular view of the city skyline.
And then I see him.
He’s standing by the far wall, deep in conversation with Amanda Kline, the VP of Client Development. Even from a distance, he’s impossible to miss. His tux fits him perfectly - sharp lapels, broad shoulders, one hand tucked in his pocket like he doesn’t even know how arresting he looks. His hair is swept back neatly, though a single strand falls onto his forehead, softening the clean lines of his face.
As if sensing my gaze, he glances up. Our eyes lock for a split second – just long enough to make my heart lurch. Then he gives the slightest nod, professional but personal, and focuses his attention back to his conversation.
“God, you’re doing that thing again,” Angela says at my side.
“What thing?”
“The dreamy, borderline-obsessive eye-lasering. Honestly, Lila. Just fucking talk to him already.”
“I’m just looking,” I mumble.
“Looking,” she repeats with a smirk, raising an eyebrow.
I roll my eyes, but I can’t help them drifting back towards him anyway. He shifts slightly, gesturing with one hand as he speaks, relaxedbut deliberate. It’s maddening how composed he always is. Like the chaos of the room just bends politely around him.
“Well, if it makes you feel better, I think Carter might combust,” Angela mutters. “Look.”
I follow her gaze toward the bar. Carter is leaning against it, drink untouched in his hand, nervously twisting the stem of his glass. Harrison stands in front of him – confident and sharp. They’re talking, but it’s quieter than the conversations around them. Closer.
Harrison says something and Carter laughs – that real, surprised laugh that crinkles his eyes. Their fingers brush – delicate, uncertain. Harrison’s hand turns, palm up, waiting. And Carter… takes it.
They stand like that for a beat too long. Too intimate for a crowded room.
“Holy shit,” I whisper.
Angela nudges me. “Told you. I think they’re actually… like… not just a one-off thing.”
We watch as they murmur something to each other, then quietly slip away toward the corridor that leads to the restrooms. Harrison casts a quick glance over his shoulder before they disappear through the door markedGentlemen.
“They’re so obvious,” Angela laughs. “I mean, I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but…”
“Oh, we’re jumping,” I say, grinning.