The Dorothy Chandler Pavilion's grand foyer rang with the fading applause and hushed discussions of departing guests, the air still humming with the excitement of the Scott Foundation's triumphant dinner. Catherine Lane stood near the service exit, her tray empty and her feet aching from hours of navigating the opulent crowd in sensible black flats. The new silk blouse clung slightly to her skin from the evening's warmth, but the wad of tips in her apron pocket—easily $400 tonight—made the pain worthwhile. At twenty-five, she was no stranger to lengthy shifts at the diner, but these events held a different weight: the brush with beauty, the whispers of riches, and now, the lingering warmth of a conversation that felt dangerously like connection.
Liam Scott. His name lingered in her mind as she sneaked into the locker room to change, the twins' eager inquiries and his steady look replaying like a scene from one of Sarah's rom-com obsessions. Victor's passionate handshake, Lois's bashful smile—they had shattered her shell just a touch, sparking thoughts of the family she'd lost and the one she could never have. And Liam... those blue eyes, not predatory but sincerely curious, asking about her like she was more than invisible aid. "Life's... complicated lately." Her own words lingered heavily. She'd said too much, or not enough. Either way, it was finished now—back to the bus, back to Echo Park, back to survival.
The coordinator, Theo, slapped her on the shoulder as she handed in her vest. "Solid work, Lane. Scott's guys spotted you—cleaned up that dessert spill without skipping a beat. Might get invites to more of these."
Catherine managed a nod, her cheeks flushing under the fluorescent lights. "Thanks. Just doing my job." Noticed. By him? She forced the notion down, changed into jeans and a hoodie, the casual layers of a wall against the vulnerability the evening had uncovered. The pavilion's back alley was a stark contrast to the foyer—dumpsters and flickering security lights, the distant hum of downtown traffic on the 101. She pulled out her phone to check the bus timetable, the screen flashing in the dimness.
A sleek black SUV idled at the curb, its tinted windows reflecting the city lights. As Catherine stepped out, the driver's door opened, and a suited man approached. "Ms. Lane? Mr. Scott asked whether you'd accept a ride home. It's late, and the foundation emphasizes safety for staff."
Her stomach flipped. Liam? This had to be a mix-up. "I... I'm alright with the bus. Really."
The driver smiled politely. "He's just concerned—saw you earlier. No strings. Hollywood Hills to Echo Park is on our way."
Echo Park. How did he know? The staffing forms, probably. Catherine hesitated, the alley's coolness seeping through her hoodie. The bus was fifteen minutes out, and walking in heels-worn feet wasn't attractive. "Okay. Thank you."
The back door opened from within, and there he was—Liam Scott, tie unfastened, jacket draped over the seat. Victor and Lois were buckled in boosters, the youngster waving joyfully. "Catherine! You're coming with us? Cool!"
Lois hugged her beloved bear, eyes wide. "Do you enjoy cars? This one's really fast."
Catherine slid in, the leather seats smooth and perfumed with mild cologne—woody, costly. "I like them fine. You two should be home in bed by now."
Liam giggled, the sound low and pleasant in the small area. "Tell me about it. These two are night owls." He leaned forward, signaling to the driver. "Echo Park, please. Ms. Lane's address from the agency."
As the SUV moved smoothly into traffic, sliding by the Civic Center's lit fountains, Catherine felt exposed—trapped in luxury she didn't belong in. The twins pelted her with questions: "What's your favorite food?" (Victor), "Do you play piano?" (Lois). She answered lightly—tacos, no instrument, but she'd always wanted to learn—her voice firmer than she felt.
Liam observed her in the rearview mirror, his countenance thoughtful. "You handled the youngsters beautifully back there. Not everyone does—most swoon over the 'billionaire dad' angle."
She met his eyes briefly, then looked out at the blurring lights of downtown. "They're easy to like. Remind me of... regular kids."
A pause, the SUV buzzing over the freeway on-ramp. "Normal's undervalued. My world's anything but." He shifted, faced her more directly. "About earlier—you mentioned life's complicated. If you don't mind my asking, what brings a woman like you to event staffing? You appear... capable of more."
The question pierced, casual but penetrating. Catherine's fingers knotted in her lap, the doctor's words flashing: Negligible chances. The accident, the losses—it was too painful to unpack. "Bad luck. Family business broke apart after... certain tragedies. Diner work pays the bills, gigs like this fill the gaps. It's temporary."
Liam nodded, no judgment in his eyes. "I have become transient. Sophia—my wife—she created the foundation as a 'temporary' passion endeavor. Now it's my life." His voice softened on her name, grief a shadow. "Loss changes everything."
The shared undercurrent hovered between them, electrifying. Catherine gazed at the twins, who were now enjoying a calm game with toy vehicles on the seat. "Yeah. It does."
The vehicle weaved through LA's midnight tapestry: the sparkling expanse of Koreatown, the peaceful elegance of Hancock Park. Victor yawned dramatically. "Dad, can Catherine come to our house? We have cookies!"
Liam ruffled his hair. "Not tonight, buddy. But maybe another time." He turned to her. "If you're open. The students could need more individuals like you—grounded, authentic."
Catherine's heart stuttered. An invitation? From Liam Scott? "I... maybe. Work's uncertain."
The SUV slowed as they neared Echo Park, the familiar streets a jarring contrast to the SUV's bubble. Palm trees flanked the sidewalks, murals blazing under streetlights. "This is me—Sunset and Glendale," she added, pointing to her building's aged front.
The driver pulled over. Liam unbuckled, came out to open her door—a gentlemanly move that caught her off guard. "Catherine, thanks for tonight. And for humoring the youngsters. Here's my card—foundation events, or if you ever need... anything." He put a sleek business card into her hand, his fingers brushing hers briefly, warm and solid.
She accepted it, the embossed name—Liam Scott, Scott Innovations & Foundation—cool against her hand. "Thank you. For the ride. Goodnight."
As she climbed up the steps, the SUV idled until her door snapped shut. Inside her apartment, Catherine leaned against the frame, breath coming quickly. The card burnt in her hand. What just happened? A chance encounter turned deliberate? She pocketed it, headed to the kitchen for water, the night's events spinning.
Across town, Liam placed the twins at home, their mansion's lights welcome. Victor chattered about Catherine: "She's great, Dad! Like a big sister!"—while Lois slept sleepily. Tucking them in, Liam felt a rare spark—intrigue, definitely, but something deeper. Catherine Lane wasn't like the polished socialites; she was real, resilient. He'd have his assistant dig discreetly—opportunities at the foundation, perhaps. No pressure, just potential.
Back on the balcony, scotch in hand, he dialed his best friend, tech investor Alex. "Met someone fascinating tonight. Waitress from the gala. Kids liked her."
Alex laughed through the speaker. "The great Liam Scott, smitten by service staff? Careful, otherwise the tabloids will eat it up."
"Not infatuated. Curious." But when he hung up, starring at the city lights, Liam wondered if Alex was correct. Catherine had infiltrated his universe, and he wasn't ready to let her vanish.
The next morning rose bright in Echo Park, sunshine flooding into Catherine's flat like an unexpected guest. She arose at 7 AM—no dinner work today, a rare Sunday off. The events of the night before rushed over her: the SUV's opulence, the twins' innocence, Liam's card now tucked in her wallet like a talisman. She poured coffee, stronger than usual, and sat at the kitchen table, pulling out her notebook.
Wednesday: Chance ride home. Talked losses—briefly. Kids cute. Liam... kind. Too kind? Invitation to house? Boundaries, Cat.
Sarah's text buzzed: Brunch? Spill everything from the gala!
Catherine replied: Yes. 10 AM, your place? Got stories.
The walk to Sarah's Westwood apartment was invigorating, the morning air crisp with eucalyptus from the nearby hills. Sarah greeted her with hugs and mimosas—non-alcoholic for Catherine, who stuck to orange juice. Over avocado toast and eggs, Catherine unloaded: the pavilion's charm, the violinist's performance, and the SUV trip.
Sarah's eyes widened. "He gave you a ride? In his nice car? With the kids? Cat, that's not chance—that's interest!"
Catherine sipped her juice, cheeks heated. "It's nothing. Professional civility. He's got a foundation; maybe scouting volunteers."
"Or dates." Sarah waggled her eyebrows. "Single dad, billionaire, blue eyes? Classic trope. You say yes to the house invite?"
"Not exactly. 'Maybe.' I'm not ready for... whatever this is."
Sarah softened. "Fair. But don't shut it down. You've been in survival mode too long. This could be a door."
They spent the morning gossiping, Sarah sharing her latest work drama—a client meltdown over ad campaigns. Catherine laughed freely, the sound loosening the strain in her chest. By noon, she headed home, Liam's card weighing on her mind. On impulse, she googled him: stories about green tech triumphs, society pages with gala images. One caught her eye—a candid photo of him with the twins in a park, Sophia's absence a silent undertone in publications. He knew loss, honestly.
The afternoon brought chores: a grocery run to the Echo Park market, where she splurged on fresh berries. Back home, she planned for the week—ironing her diner uniform, updating her resume with the gala gigs. The nonprofit job she'd bookmarked? She applied, providing a cover letter that highlighted her real estate background, glossing over the gaps.
As dusk fell, restlessness set in. Catherine headed to the lake, the walkways busy with joggers and families. Rosa was there, as usual, sprinkling seed. "Evening, mija. You appear... lighter."
Catherine sat, accepting a handful of feed. "Busy night yesterday. Met some individuals. Kids, actually."
Rosa smiled. "Kids have a way of cracking hearts. Good sign."
They talked—about anchors, about second chances—until stars sprinkled the sky. Home by 9 PM, Catherine emailed Sarah a photo of the berries: Pie's fate?
Yes! Baking date soon.
Sleep came with dreams of blue eyes and laughing, not gloom.
Monday faded into the restaurant routine: early shift, breakfast rush, Marge's knowing grins. "Heard you got a lift from a big shot. Spill, Lane."
Catherine waived it off. "Just a ride. Nothing more."
But the tips were good, mood great. After work, she checked her email—a message from the nonprofit: interview Thursday. Hope flickered brighter.
Tuesday echoed the grind, but Liam's card stayed in her pocket, a secret talisman.
On Wednesday, post-interview jitters were soothed with a "we'll be in touch." Catherine's phone rang—unknown number. Heart pumping, she answered.
"Catherine? Liam Scott. Hope I'm not intruding. The kids won't quit talking about you. Any possibility for that cookie visit this weekend?"
The casual encounter had evolved. "I'd... like that."
Fate's tendrils tightened, dragging her toward light.