The day of the event, the office was abuzz with chatter about the evening's festivities. She couldn't help but feel a flicker of pride — pulling off the logistics of an event like this was no small feat. Now, all that stood between her and a successful night was surviving the event itself and delivering her thank-you speech without making a fool of herself.

She spent half the day fine-tuning her remarks for the donors and the other half conspiring with Brigid over their outfits, debating fabric choices and footwear like the fate of the world depended on it. It wasn't until Auden glanced at the clock that she realized how quickly the hours had slipped away. 

Back in her tiny studio apartment, she dressed carefully. A silver cocktail dress skimmed just above her knees, its fitted waist accentuating her curves without feeling too snug. She pulled on sheer tights to combat the autumn chill and zipped up a pair of sleek black ankle boots. Her auburn hair, usually unruly, was swept into a low bun, with a few loose strands framing her face, silver hoop earrings glinting through them. 

When she arrived at the venue, she immediately set to work, ensuring the caterers were in place, the waitstaff ready to circulate, and — perhaps most crucially — the bar fully stocked. A crowd of hungry, sober guests would be a disaster. 

The venue filled quickly, and soon, the event was in full swing. The space — an industrial-style warehouse transformed into something elegant — glowed under strings of twinkling lights. Golden balloons adorned the railings, and at the far end of the room, tall windows overlooked the Dublin skyline. The crisp evening air filtered in from an open balcony door, offering a brief escape for guests needing a moment to breathe.

She fluttered in and out of the kitchen, checking on waitstaff and appetizers; she adjusted crooked table cloths and threw away empty plates and plastic glasses. Auden did anything and everything to keep the event running smoothly and to avoid having to mingle.

She didn't even realize that Brigid was late, until she rolled in around nine o'clock, Brigid practically vibrating with excitement. Her friend wore a dark blue cocktail dress, the bottom hem dangerously close to exposing her underwear every time her legs moved. Tonight, she embraced the wildness of her red curls, which hung in swirling ringlets around her round, pale face.

"I've been to so many of these," she gushed as she appeared next to Auden, who was frantically cleaning a dirty table. Brigid looped her arm through hers, causing her arm to tense.

"I always love the opportunity to get close to rich men." She giggled, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. 

Auden huffed, abandoning the task of cleaning to pull her friend aside. They found a nook between the bar and the bathroom.

"Where have you been?" Auden asked, sounding flustered, "I've been running around all night picking up after people. I need help."

"I can tell," her friend studied Auden's face, her hands coming up to smooth the top of her hair, "We hired waitstaff so you wouldn't have to do that."

Auden gently swatted Brigid's hands away, "What else am I supposed to do?"

"Drink," Brigid responded as if this were the obvious choice, "or mingle. Who knows, maybe one of these rich fucks is your next husband."

"I think that's your job," Auden muttered, biting back a smile as she watched Brigid scout out her latest victim. She had a penchant for wealthy older men — chasing them with an enthusiasm that far outstripped her success rate.

"Please behave yourself," Auden found herself adding. "The last thing you want is Charles catching you in some dark corner with your tongue shoved down one of his friends' throats." 

"Wouldn't be the first time," Brigid said with a sly smile, "Besides, Charles will be too busy talking about himself to notice." 

She wasn't wrong. Charles Byrne was many things — flamboyant, popular, a social whirlwind — but self-aware was not one of them. He had an uncanny ability to turn any conversation back to himself, usually with grand hand gestures and a dramatic flair. He was exhausting, but also admittedly, oddly endearing. 

At the thought of her boss, Auden instinctively scanned the room. It didn't take long to find him. Charles was mid-monologue, arms flying in wild gestures as he animatedly explained something to a group of men, his voice carrying over the low hum of conversation.

Auden cocked her chin in his direction. "What do you think he's going on about this time?"

Brigid followed her gaze and smirked. "Probably raving about those Chinese medicinal supplements he bought in Beijing — the ones he keeps trying to make us take."

Auden burst out laughing — too loudly. The sound carried across the room, drawing more attention than she'd intended. A few heads turned. One of them, a man standing in Charles's group, twisted around to look.

Auden's stomach plummeted.

"You've got to be kidding me," she muttered.

Brigid, ever attuned to drama, perked up. "What?"

Auden gestured subtly. "By Charles. Do you see who that is?"

Brigid followed her gaze, barely reacting. "Of course. That's Cillian Murphy." She sounded almost bored, like she was discussing the weather.

Auden whipped her head toward her. "And you didn't think to mention he was coming?"

Brigid sighed, stepping toward the bar. "He comes every year. I asked if you wanted to see the guest list, and you said — and I quote — 'I have more important things to worry about, like whether we should serve mini quiches or bruschetta.'"

Auden elbowed her. "You could've at least given me a heads-up. He's all anyone ever talks about — including Charles."

Brigid shrugged. "Honestly, I don't think anyone expected him this year."

Auden frowned. "Why?"

Brigid ordered an amaretto sour and leaned against the bar as the bartender slid it over. "His wife is usually the one who handles these things."

Auden stiffened. "His wife?"

Brigid gave her a knowing sidelong glance. "Ex-wife, I mean."

Auden bit the inside of her cheek, debating whether to ask more, but Brigid, of course, could read her thoughts.

"Why don't you go talk to him?" she asked, grinning. "He's already staring at you, anyway."

Auden froze. Her pulse betrayed her, quickening at the thought.

"No," she said quickly, shaking her head and taking a sip of her drink. It was strong—sharper than she'd expected, the alcohol burning the back of her throat.

Brigid, however, had that look. The mischievous one. The one that meant she was scheming.

"He's coming over here," she whispered, delighted.

"What?"

"Cillian is coming over here," Brigid repeated, louder this time, her eyes gleaming.

Auden coughed, nearly spilling her drink. She wiped her damp palms on her dress. "I'm a mess."

Brigid squared her shoulders, tossing her red curls back with confidence. "No, you look hot."

Before Auden could protest, she felt his presence — before she even heard him.

A quiet throat-clearing. Auden craned her neck around.

"You're the girl who ran into me yesterday," Cillian said, lifting his champagne flute to his lips.

Auden exhaled sharply. "Yes. Unfortunately, that would be me."

Beside her, Brigid was enjoying every second of this.
Auden, not wanting to be the center of attention, touched her friend's forearm, a hasty attempt at control. "This is Brigid Kelley. Charles's assistant."

"I know," Cillian said, his eyes flicking toward Brigid with familiarity. "We've known each other for some time." He greeted her with a nod. "Hey, Brig. How's Charles treating you?"

"Wonderfully," Brigid grinned. "How's your son? You haven't brought him by in a while — we miss his little drawings."

Cillian's smile faltered, just for a fraction of a second. Auden was sure she was the only one who caught it.

"He's doing okay," he said, his voice softer now. "School keeps him busy, so..." His words trailed off, and the air between them shifted.

Auden sensed the discomfort and shot back the rest of her martini, letting the warmth settle in her stomach.

Cillian, clearly eager to change the subject, turned to her. "So, are you an artist?"

Auden shook her head. "No. I  — uh — I work for Charles. I'm the gallery curator now."

Cillian's expression didn't change, but something in his eyes did. They darkened — just slightly.

"Oh," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Right. I forgot that the job was open now."

Brigid let out an awkward laugh. "Anyway! Auden's been great."

Something was off.

There was something unspoken in the way Cillian reacted to her job, in the way Brigid was suddenly playing the role of diplomat. Something beyond the gallery, beyond Auden herself. But before she could place it, a loud thump echoed through the room.

Charles had taken the stage.

"Good evening, friends," he boomed, raising his glass with his signature theatricality. His white teeth gleamed under the lights, his cheeks flushed from drinking. "While I know we're having a marvelous time, I just wanted to take a moment to thank each and every one of you for attending Whitmore's annual gala."

As Charles continued, Auden risked a glance at Cillian.
She traced the lines of his profile — the sharp slope of his nose, the peak of his lips, the faint creases at the corners of his eyes, the kind that came from frequent smiling. He was the kind of attractive that made you nervous, like you lost all sense of what was right from wrong. Auden wasn't sure what to do with it.

And then, just as she was about to look away, he caught her.

Auden's stomach flipped. She averted her gaze, annoyed with herself for getting caught.

"...And now," Charles continued grandly, "I would like to take the opportunity to introduce you all to our new curator, Ms. Auden O'Donovan!"

The room turned in unison.

Auden's pulse spiked.

She forced a smile, fighting the wave of anxiety clawing its way up her throat.

"Go on," Brigid whispered, giving her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. Then, before Auden could resist, she gave a light push — just enough to send her stumbling forward.
Auden nearly lost her footing, teetering to the left.

And once again, she almost crashed into Cillian Murphy.
But this time, he was ready. His hand shot out, catching her forearm in a firm grip.

Auden steadied herself, then yanked her arm away as if burned. Without so much as a glance at him, she moved forward, her skin still tingling from the ghost of his touch.
Her boots clicked against the tile, flowing into the soft sounds of applause as the crowd parted for her to join Charles in the front of the room.

Her boss wrapped a gentle arm around her shoulders, and he introduced her with ease. Auden, however, heard none of it. Blood rushed to her ears, the pulsing of anxiety overtaking any coherent thought. In a flash, she was handed the microphone, and, as if she were a robot, Auden delivered her speech. She barely registered her own words, but the crowd nodded and smiled as she took it as a good sign. She refused to look beyond the first few groups in front of her, fearful of finding herself pinned against the weight of Cillian's blue eyes.

The moment it was over, she made a beeline for the balcony, desperate for air. 

Outside, the balcony was empty. It was too cold for anyone to truly enjoy being out here, but Auden could careless about the temperature. She took a deep breath in an effort to ground herself, before fishing out a packet of cigarettes from the sides of her boot.

She had just lit a cigarette when a voice interrupted. 

"You know, smoking is terrible for you." 

Auden turned, cheeks heating — not just from embarrassment, but from something else.  Smoke filled her nostrils, and to make a point, she placed the tip of her smoke between her lips.

Cillian chuckled, moving forward before leaning casually against the railing, hands in his pockets, his gaze flicking between her and the city skyline. 

Neither of them said anything for a beat. The space between them was weighty, both unsure of what to say next. She took a long drag, finally mustering up something to say as she exhaled.

"Thanks for not letting me fall back there."

He nodded once, "I hope you don't make a habit of falling on me every time we meet."

She flicked her smoke, "I'll reassure you that I am not as clumsy as it seems."

He flicked his gaze to her, "Is that so?"

"I'm quite good on my feet," Auden found her back straightening.

He let out a short laugh, his head turning back to the sky. Auden took another long, slow drag, as Cillian said, "I love the city."

Auden followed his gaze before shrugging. "It's nice. Though Chicago is better." 

That piqued his interest. "Chicago?" 

She hesitated, before answering. "Born and raised." 

Cillian studied her. Something about her intrigued him — she could read it on her face, though he was unsure as well. Unsure about what?

Auden took one last puff of her cigarette before snubbing it out with the heel of her boot. They locked eyes, "Did you grow up here?"

Cillian shook his head, a lock of dark hair falling on his forehead, "I grew up in Cork. Lived in London for a bit, but moved back to Ireland after my son was born. I liked city living too much to give it up."

"How old is he?" Auden ventured, "Your son?"

"Ten," Cillian answered, though his voice was tight. There it was again – the slight tense in the jaw, the hardness in his eyes. It was as if his family was a touchy subject.

So, she moved on again, "Did you enjoy my speech?"

Cillian shifted his body so he was facing her entirely, "Sure."

She narrowed her eyes playfully,  "Which part did you like?"

There was a pause, before a sheepish grin filled his features, "Okay, I wasn't listening."

Auden giggled, shaking her head, "Why did you follow me out here, then, if you weren't going to applaud my excellent public speaking skills?"

He hesitated, clicking his tongue impulsively, before he admitted, "Honestly, I wanted to see if we could get together sometime." 

Auden blinked, "Are you asking me out?"

He quickly backtracked. "No, I know someone — he paints. I mean, he's not that good but  I think Charles might be interested. I'd love a second opinion though."

It was a weak excuse, Auden thought, but it was better than nothing. 

Auden smiled slightly. "I'd love to take a look. Call Brigid to set up a meeting." 

Cillian's lips twitched. "I'll do that." 

As Auden slipped back inside, he watched her go, and little did Auden realize, his thoughts had been clouded by the way her lips had wrapped around that cigarette.