Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SELENE
Ipeered out from beneath my umbrella as a fine mist settled over the street, softening the edges of the city.
The building rose from the street in pale stone, its facade perfectly symmetrical.
A line of columns spanned the front, evenly spaced and proportioned, supporting a heavy entablature that cast a clean shadow across the entrance below.
And yet the centerline pulled slightly to the left. That shouldn’t have been possible.
Stone steps led upward, broad and inviting. An iron-framed canopy extended over the doors, its glass panels catching the gray daylight without diffusing it. The wood beneath was dark, reinforced with polished ironwork I approved of on sight.
Everything was correct. And yet the entrance felt…compressed.
I tilted my head, trying to reconcile the contradiction. If this was the project, I might be in trouble.
If Cillian had sent the project details the previous day, I would know what I’d be working on, but he hadn’t.
I pulled open the door and stepped into the building, drawing my fingers along the doorframe as I did. Inside, I found Cillian waiting for me, looking impeccable as always.
His eyes sparkled as they met mine, and it was as if they bored straight into my soul. “Don’t be nervous. You’ll do well.”
I closed my umbrella and gave him a confident nod that I didn’t feel. “That’s the plan.”
He gave the faintest smile, and I had the distinct impression he wasn’t as self-assured as usual either. “Wonderful. Follow me.”
The air inside felt cooler, denser. My heels echoed across the polished stone before dulling against the carpet beyond. I slowed and then stopped as something pressed against my senses.
I narrowed my gaze, scanning the space. The symmetry was excellent, the sight lines clean, and the light fell evenly from the high windows in long, well-behaved rectangles.
And yet… “That’s not right,” I murmured.
Cillian turned back. “Pardon?”
I blinked, and the odd sensation slipped away. “Nothing. I thought the lighting flickered.”
A warm smile curved his lips. “That happens in old buildings.”
“Is this our next project?”
He shook his head and resumed walking. “I wanted it to be a surprise. You’ll know soon enough.”
I didn’t linger in the area. Whatever had rolled through me had nothing to do with wiring. It was the air. It felt as though something had passed through the space and left pressure behind.
I’d felt something similar in an old farmhouse on the outskirts of Dublin, and outside the passage tomb at Loughcrew. Both times I’d chalked it up to the age of the structures that had been holding their weight for centuries.
But maybe it was more than that.
I followed him up the stone staircase to the meeting floor, past framed architectural renderings that didn’t belong. Voices drifted from ahead, low and irritated, and they quieted the moment Cillian opened the door.
Muted light slipped in through tall sash windows in clean, angled lines and fell upon the heads of the six people seated around a long, polished table.
I glanced at each, registering fine clothing, gray hair, and weathered faces on most, all with solemn expressions.
And then everything else fell away.
He was there.
The man from the pub.
No…
The word echoed in my mind, reminding me of the unforgettable sound of two cars colliding.
He sat halfway down the table, his posture relaxed, with one hand resting against an open leather folio, his gaze fixed on it.
Run.
The instinct hit so sharply I nearly obeyed it.
Cillian wrapped his fingers around my elbow, guiding me forward at the exact moment the man lifted his head.
Our gazes met, and everything inside me went still.
Dark gray eyes, cool and unreadable, assessed me. He dipped his head once in acknowledgment and returned his attention to the folio in front of him as if we’d never met.
I blinked as my lungs allowed the tiniest breath. He didn’t recognize me.
My thoughts jerked back to that night at the pub, and I recalled I’d dressed far more casually than I was now. Plus, I’d had my hair down and loose, so perhaps I looked different enough that he didn’t connect the two.
Cillian stepped forward. “Apologies for the delay. Traffic.”
Polite nods and informal greetings with Cillian rolled around the table in an efficient, institutional way as we took our seats. Their comments slipped in and out of my mind, until the pub man glanced at my boss in greeting. “Ashcroft. You look well.”
Cillian’s curt nod held little warmth. “You as well, McLoughlin.”
My heart stuttered as the man shifted his gaze to me. “Bren McLoughlin at your service.”
My boss intervened before I could respond, opening his hand toward me. “Allow me to introduce Selene Sullivan. She’s one of my lead designers, an invaluable member of our team, and recently completed the restoration on the Harrington.”
All eyes turned to me, and their combined assessment of whether I was enough left me shaking in my boots. It was bad enough that Bren was there, but the rest seemed far from impressed by Cillian’s introduction.
A woman at the far end, wearing an immaculate charcoal blazer, her gray hair swept into a tight knot, offered me a thin, assessing smile. “Hello, Ms. Sullivan. I’m Margaret Halbrook, chair of the Council’s Historic Preservation Subcommittee. Thank you for coming.”
I returned her smile, catching the ruby brooch on her tailored jacket as it winked at me.
I nodded to the rest of the committee members as I took my seat, my gaze tripping again on the dark-haired man who looked so much like the man who’d haunted my dreams for years.
“Thank you for the invitation to discuss your restoration project. I’m excited to hear more about it. ”
A gentleman with a thick gray beard and much kinder eyes peering from behind glasses gifted me with a warm smile. “You can call me O’Brien. Everyone does.” I dipped my head, and he continued. “We’ve reviewed your portfolio, and I’m impressed.”
I smiled, accepting his praise. Without meaning to, my gaze slipped to Bren, who studied me with an even look that gave away nothing. I jerked my gaze away and focused on the other members.
A thin man with little remaining hair, wearing a gray woolen sweater, studied me with narrowed eyes. “Liam Doherty.”
That was all he said to me before he lifted a hand as if to object and addressed his constituents.
“Her resume is unremarkable. Most of her experience is in design. Little of it in restoration, and little of her work has been in Ireland.” He turned to me with a scrutinizing look.
“You’ve only recently come to Dublin, correct? ”
My heart was tight enough that I feared an attack, but I kept my expression neutral. “That’s right. I moved from Washington State six months ago.”
A flicker of interest in Bren’s gaze lasted a microsecond before it disappeared. He blinked, appearing disinterested, and turned his gaze toward one of the high windows.
O’Brien waved away the thin man’s complaint. “You’re just biased, Liam. We all know you want us to choose that nephew of yours. He might be from County Clare, but he’s just graduated and has no experience.”
Cillian cleared his throat as he focused on Mr. Doherty.
“Selene may not have completed many projects as old as this one, but her eye for design is unmatched among others I’ve worked with, and the slow, deliberate care she takes with restoration is quite remarkable.
” He shifted his gaze to the chairwoman.
“I can, with complete honesty, highly recommend her.”
Deep gratitude swelled in my heart as Margaret Halbrook turned to the younger woman seated next to her. “We’ll hear your comments, Eireann.”
The woman with long flaxen hair was perhaps in her early forties. She wore a sophisticated deep green suit and studied me with piercing emerald eyes that matched her outfit. My insides pricked with an awareness I couldn’t name, but one that left me unsteady.
After a moment, Eireann shrugged. “I’m still undecided. She is quite young for something of this scale. It could have devastating consequences if we choose the wrong person.”
I still had no idea what their project was, but that didn’t keep me from responding. I curled my fingers tightly in my lap and squared my shoulders. “Age doesn’t affect the ability to perform structural analysis, and it didn’t hinder me at all with the Harrington project.”
A faint murmur moved around the table, and I wondered if this job wasn’t as certain as Cillian had led me to believe. Out of the five committee members, it appeared I had two against me and one for me so far. The odds were not in my favor.
Eireann shifted fully in her seat to face the man next to her. “What about you, Bren?”
I hated that my future depended on his judgment of me. He’d rejected me once, and I braced for a second.
But instead of discussing my professional ability like the others had, his expression turned to annoyance. “Don’t base your decision on mine, Eireann.”
Cillian tensed beside me as though he understood something I didn’t. No one else seemed to notice, since they were all focused on the two younger members of the council and whatever unspoken war waged between them.
A slow smile, almost flirtatious, curved Eireann’s pink lips. “You’ll be the one who’ll be working closely with her. I say your vote should carry more weight than the rest. I’ll go along with whatever you choose.”
Instead of answering immediately, he assessed me with a long gaze that left me with a shiver and questioned me in an even tone.
“Ms. Sullivan, if you encountered a load-bearing misalignment that had been disguised by previous renovations, what would you trust more? Your initial impression or the documented plans?”
His question landed like a test, and I didn’t hesitate to answer. “Neither.”
A touch of intrigue flashed in his eyes, and I continued. “I’d verify both against the structure itself. Buildings don’t lie. People do.”