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“Nah, he wants to get into your pants,” Max insists.
I try to ignore the new surge of fiery tension that washes over me at the thought of it.
No, he doesn’t want that. He’s not interested in me. He can’t be. A man like Chase Keaton can have any woman he wants. With those looks, that disarming charm, that flame of determination that dances in his dark eyes…
“If he’s trying to get into my pants, it’s just because he wants to force this buyout,” I decide. “Maybe he thinks that he can get me on his side by wooing me.”
Max shrugs. “Possible. I wouldn’t mind that, if I were you.”
“Excuse me?”
He raises both of his hands in defense, almost losing the empty champagne flute in the process.
“What’s so wrong with having a little fun?” he asks. “Especially with a man like that! I mean, look at him! I wouldn’t say no to that! And when was the last time you had a little fun yourself, huh? I can’t remember, can you?”
I can, but I don’t like to think about it. My last “fun” was a rather disappointing one-night stand a few months ago, with a guy who was clearly not worth it—and who ghosted me after he got what he wanted. Not a lot of fun, if you ask me.
“It would only make things even more complicated.” The words leave my lips before I can think twice, and—of course—Max laps them up like a treat he’s been waiting for all evening. The grin on his face could not be any wider when he nods at me.
“So, you do want to get a piece of that! I knew it!” he exclaims, a little too loudly.
I gesture for him to quiet down, as people are glancing curious looks in our direction, and he ducks with an apologetic smile on his face.
“Sorry,” he whispers, raising his empty glass. “Shall I get us another?”
I glance around the crowded hall and notice that they’ve already turned on the stage lights, suggesting that the award ceremony will begin any moment now.
“I don’t know. I’m not sure if we have time—”
I’m interrupted by a sudden hush that sweeps through the festive hall. All eyes turn toward the stage. The soft glow of the chandeliers casts an ethereal aura upon the figure stepping onto the stage, and my breath catches.
Dr. Rahul Young, a name synonymous with public health and policy innovation, steps onto the stage. His presence commands attention, and I can’t help but feel a surge of excitement. I’ve read his influential books and articles, his work shaping my own understanding of improving the quality and efficiency of medical care.
And he’s the person who will give my laudatory speech. I knew this before coming here, but seeing him in person, and knowing what is about to happen, accelerates my tension to the extreme. It’s as if the pages of those books I’ve pored over have come to life, and my heart swells with gratitude for the opportunity to be recognized by someone I greatly respect.
He opens with a short formal greeting, promising that he has no intention of taking up everyone’s time for too long—followed by a quick reference to the excellent buffet that will open after the ceremonial part of the evening is done.
As much as I’ve been looking forward to the food tonight, I can’t fathom the idea of eating anything right now. My stomach is churning with nerves, and I find myself searching the crowd for Chase. I can’t see him anywhere and don’t even know whether that’s good or bad.
“As you all know, we at MediTech Visionaries strive to recognize the achievements of individuals, who have made significant contributions to the field of prosthetics through innovative designs, technologies, or research. And tonight, we’re honoring a very special young woman, who has shown herself to be more than worthy of this recognition,” Dr. Young says now—and my ears start burning with the heat of embarrassment.
Next to me, Max starts shifting from one foot to the other as well, sharing my inner unrest.
I watch as Dr. Young elaborates on my achievements and talks about the work I’ve poured my heart into, the strides I’ve made in the field of prosthetics. His voice carries a weight that reverberates through the hall.
And then, the moment arrives. His eyes meet mine, his gaze unwavering as he calls my name, his voice tinged with a warm sincerity that sets my heart racing.
Max gives my arm a supportive squeeze, offering me an encouraging smile—and taking the empty champagne flute out of my hand—before I make my way up to the stage. My heels click softly against the marble floor as I walk toward the stage, the world around me fading into a blur. I ascend the steps, my heart beating a rhythm of both excitement and nervousness.
As I stand before the microphone, Dr. Young’s gaze locks onto mine once again, a silent reassurance that I’m exactly where I belong.
“Miss Hailey,” he welcomes me, extending an arm in my direction as I join him at the center of the small stage.
He goes on to talk about my will to carry on my father’s legacy, about the impending adaption of a very new and specific 3D technology for prostheses, and mentions my young age after every other sentence. A timid smile is all I can muster as he speaks, and his words are muffled by the nervous turmoil inside my head.
I catch myself scanning the crowd for familiar faces. Max is standing right at the front, giving me a thumbs up when our eyes lock for a moment. I respond with a short-lived smile before I let my gaze trail along the rest of the crowd. They are quite visible, despite the intense spotlight, and I shy away from locking eyes with anyone else, because it makes me feel uncomfortable.
I can’t find him. Chase Keaton is nowhere to be seen, and I’m surprised at the kiss of disappointment that pecks me at this realization. Where did he go? And why? Could it be that he had no idea that I’m this year’s honoree before coming here, and he simply couldn’t stand witnessing this?
