The string quartet plays something classical that I should recognize but can't name. My thoughts are elsewhere.
"Warren! Excellent turnout." Pope materializes at my elbow, clapping my shoulder. "Janie's initiatives already secured three major commitments tonight."
Janie's initiative.
I nod, glass raised in acknowledgment. "Your people know how to throw a party."
"Not my people. Our committee." Pope gestures across the room. "Your co-chair's working magic over there."
My eyes follow his hand, though they don't need direction. I've been tracking her all night.
Janie stands in a circle of donors, an emerald green dress hugging curves I shouldn't remember so vividly. Her hair is swept up, exposing the elegant line of her neck. Her hands move animatedly as she speaks, passion evident even from across the room.
“Excuse me,” Pope says as he moves on to another man at my left. I weave through the crowd, handshakes and pleasantries automatic, my professional smile fixed in place while my attention stays locked on her.
“Our initiative will expand access to preventative care, screenings, and wellness education across the county,” Janie explains to the cluster around her. Her voice is steady, confident, drawing people in. “It’s not enough to treatpatients who can afford to come through CHG’s doors. We’re taking steps to reach the ones who can’t.”
Heat curls low in my chest. Pride. Desire. Guilt. All tangled. She belongs here, commanding attention, fighting for something bigger than herself. Goddamn, she's hot in her element.
“Quite young for a director, isn’t she?” An older board member mutters over his champagne glass, his tone dripping with condescension.
I step in before the words can settle. “Ms. Harrelson designed and launched Northwestern’s community outreach program from the ground up. She doubled participation rates, streamlined administrative costs by thirty percent, and built a model that Chicago hospitals are still adopting. Palm Beach is fortunate she chose to bring that expertise here.”
The man blinks, caught off guard. "Well then. I stand corrected."
Janie meets my eyes briefly, gratitude flashing across her face before she turns back to her circle, poised and unshaken.
That momentary connection shoots electricity through my veins. Whatever I try to tell myself, the spark between us remains stubbornly alive.
I excuse myself, suddenly desperate for air that doesn't smell like her perfume. The balcony doors offer escape, and I slip through them onto the terrace overlooking the Atlantic. The ocean stretches black and endless beneath a scatter of stars, waves crashing against the shore in a rhythm steadier than my heartbeat.
The salt-tinged breeze combs through my hair as I loosen my tie, freeing my throat from its chokehold. I down the rest of my scotch in one burning swallow, welcoming the heat that spreads through my chest.
The click of heels against stone announces her before I see her. I don’t need to turn to know it’s her.
My body knows first. Heat spikes low in my gut, tightening everything like I’ve been wired wrong. My shoulders tense, every muscle fighting between wanting to bolt and wanting to lean back into her orbit..
I drag in a breath, but it’s useless. She’s already inside it, inside me, and my pulse hammers against my collar like it’s trying to break free. My fingers curl against the rail because if I don’t anchor myself, I’ll reach for her without thinking.
I keep my gaze on the black sweep of ocean, telling myself to stay still, but every nerve strains toward the sound of her steps.
She’s behind me, close enough that the warmth of her body brushes my back, and the pause before I turn is torture. Desire coils tight, and for a moment, I swear if I move too fast, I’ll give away everything.
Janie steps beside me, the green dress almost black in the moonlight. Her champagne flute catches starlight, sending prisms dancing across the stone balustrade.
For a long moment, we stand in charged silence, the party's muffled music seeping through closed doors behind us.
"Thank you. Back there," she says finally, voice soft but steady. "That was nice what you said."
I shrug, aiming for casual indifference. "Just stating facts."
"Still." Her eyes find mine, luminous in the darkness, pulling at something buried deep. "I appreciate it."
"Guy was being an ass, huh? Men can be such dicks sometimes. Especially the rich ones."
She laughs, a small startled sound. "You always could spot them a mile away."
"When you grow up surrounded by men like that, you learn quickly. My family had more money than God, and less sense of responsibility than most guys with a hundred bucks to their name. Courtrooms just proved what I already knew—power and money don’t make men better, they just make them louder."