Not red. Too aggressive.
Not black. Too aloof.
She chose the slate blue: a wrap-style evening dress that grazed the tops of her heels, with long sleeves and a soft drape. Elegant but unobtrusive. Confident without the need for shine. It complimented her figure but didn’t flaunt it. Veronica Hale wasn’t meant to steal her focus, she was there to be supportive.
Jewellery: minimal. Makeup: natural. Hair: loose waves pinned back from her face.
She would play the kind of woman Kathleen Knowles would feel safe beside.
The foyer of the East River apartment building was as discreet as she’d expected. Pale stone, brushed steelfinishes, no concierge desk. Quiet, private. The sort of place someone could disappear into without ever having to make small talk in the elevator.
Marise waited in the lounge beside the lifts, legs crossed, hands resting lightly in her lap.
She didn’t fidget or scroll her phone. Stillness was her resting state.
At exactly 6:58 p.m., the elevator chimed.
Marise stood as the doors slid open.
Kathleen Knowles stepped out and Marise tilted her head slightly, studying the woman before she had time to catch herself.
She wasn’t quite what Marise expected.
The scientist was prettier and more human. The press photos hadn’t captured that.
She wore a simple light green dress, modestly cut, with a tailored waist and short sleeves. No jewellery beyond a slim silver watch. Her hair was pinned back in a relaxed twist, a few strands curling loose at her temples. She looked tidy and wholesome.
Marise saw the subtle signs of nerves: the way Kathleen’s fingers clenched and unclenched by her side, the tight breath she took before she approached.
“Dr. Knowles?” Marise said gently.
Kathleen gave a small nod. “You’re Veronica?” Her voice was low and even, but the name came out a fraction too fast.
“I am. You look lovely,” Marise said, keeping her tone soft.
Kathleen blinked, as if surprised by the compliment. “Thank you. You do too.” She hesitated, then glanced toward the quiet seating area near the window. “Sit a moment. The car will be here shortly.”
Marise nodded. “It’ll be nice to talk a little.”
They crossed the space and sat facing one another, a low marble table between them. Kathleen smoothed her dress after she sat, then folded her hands neatly in her lap. Her shoulders were tight.
“I don’t usually…” She trailed off, searching for words. “I don’t usually hire people for things like this.”
Marise smiled gently. “You’re not the first client to say that.”
Kathleen’s eyes flicked up, curious, then dropped again. “I …these events. They’re complicated, and terrify me. People expect certain things. Social things. I’m not... natural at it.”
“I don’t expect you to be,” Marise said. “You’re not hiring me to perform. I’m here to help you.”
Kathleen nodded, slowly. “I’ve had... bad experiences. With people assuming too much.”
Men would think her an easy mark, Marise thought, though Kathleen didn’t elaborate. There was nothing to suggest in her looks that Kathleen preferred women. She was feminine in a girl-next-door sort of way.
“I don’t want to be looked after,” she said. “Or flirted with. Or paraded. I don’t want to be alone in a room where everyone’s pretending to understand me.”
Marise tilted her head slightly. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”
That got a breath of something like relief. Kathleen looked at her directly for the first time. “I picked you because you were older than the other two. And not so…so out there.”
