Chapter 12
Connor
Shit. I thought I was doing the noble thing, stepping in to shut up that asshole. Instead, I’d put Hannah in an impossible situation.
Smooth, McNamara. Really smooth.
I wanted to apologize, to tell her I’d figure something out. That I’d suddenly develop a shellfish allergy so severe I couldn’t risk the wedding reception. That my apartment would flood. That I’d be called away on urgent business to… literally anywhere else.
But before I could even open my mouth, Hannah shut me out. She marched back to the bar and threw herself into customer service mode—all smiles, generous pours, friendly chitchat with every guest who approached.
Just not me.
The party swelled around me, getting louder as the alcohol flowed. I tried to find a quiet corner, but there wasn’t one. Every time I shifted, someone else wanted to make small talk or congratulate me on my promotion.
I lasted ten minutes before retreating to Victoria’s side.
She clocked my discomfort, angling her body to create a buffer between me and the crowd. I may have been her COO, but in moments like this, she acted more like a protective older sister than my boss.
“You okay?” she murmured between conversations.
“Fine,” I lied, and she didn’t push.
So I watched, disconnected. Sebastian said his goodbyes to Alex—all backslapping and promises to “circle back on those numbers”—then left without a backward glance at Hannah.
Something caught in the corner of my eye as the balcony door swung open.
Kate ducked back inside looking absolutely drenched, wrapped in an oversized suit jacket—and made a beeline for the exit.
And Kate’s fiance Paul—who I hadn’t even seen arrive at the party—steered her out with a firm firm at her back.
So I turned back the performance, forcing a soft smile onto my face, still feeling a residual surprise of seeing Victoria being so emotional as she sang to her boyfriend.
Her whole life had been flipped upside down this year, and I’d been along for the ride…
yet with Cruz, it seemed she’d found true joy.
A moment later Mallory slunk through the balcony doors, looking damp and uncharacteristically serious. Nick followed, completely drenched.
Yeah. Something weird definitely happened out there.
The party finally began to wind down around eleven-thirty. I approached the bar cautiously. Hannah was wiping down the counter with precise, controlled movements.
“You heading out?” I asked. “Or moving to the main bar?”
She didn’t look up. “Mike said I could go, just let me clock out.”
I waited by the employee exit, hands shoved in my pockets, running through how I’d apologize without making it worse.
She emerged a minute later, face carefully blank.
We stepped outside into the September night.
The temperature had dropped at least fifteen degrees since the party started, the air damp and biting.
Cigarette smoke wafted from the alley between bars.
Music and laughter spilled from Donnelly’s front entrance—the main bar would be packed for another four hours at least.
Hannah walked fast, arms crossed tight over her chest. I tried to match her pace, but she was nearly jogging. Our footsteps echoed off the brick buildings, hers light and quick, mine heavier, falling just slightly out of sync.
“Hannah—” I said, but she sped up. I yelled to her back. “I’m sorry."
“For what?” She still didn’t turn, breath coming out in small clouds that dissipated in the damp air.
“For stepping in back there. I’m sure you had it handled, but I hated the way he was talking to you.”
“It’s fine.” She turned the corner, footsteps slapping against wet pavement.
I reached for her arm, gently pulling her to a stop under a streetlight. She tried to keep moving, but I held firm until she finally turned to face me.
Her pupils were blown wide, pulse hammering visibly in her throat. Breathing too shallow and quick—the way my mom used to breathe during a flare-up, when her chest would tighten and her body forgot how to regulate itself.
“Hannah.” I kept my voice low and steady. “Look at me.” I didn’t let go, but I loosened my grip. “Slow down for a second. You’re okay.”
I waited, watching her pulse and the rapid rise and fall of her chest.
After a moment, her breathing started to even out. We stood under the streetlight until a group of laughing kids stumbled past us toward the next bar, and I pulled her into a nearby alley for privacy. Her shoulders slowly dropped from where they’d been hunched near her ears.
“Better?” I asked quietly.
She nodded, finally meeting my eyes. That fierce defensiveness was still there, but underneath it—fear. Real, raw fear that Sebastian could destroy whatever fragile thing she’d built here.
I released her to shrug off my suit jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders. She tugged it tight over her shirt.
I stepped back to give her space and asked in a low voice, "Do you want to tell me what happened when you broke up?" She tugged the jacket tighter, drawing into herself. "You don't have to, but it might help."
She shook her head almost immediately, but bit her lip like she was thinking. Then the story started flowing out, slow and aching.
"I told him first. When I found the inconsistencies.
He said he'd take care of it, and I thought, Huh, that was easy.
But then the next time I looked at the accounts, they were still there.
So I told my boss, who seemed surprised that Sebastian hadn't said anything to him…
but still nothing changed. So I took it to the partners—including Sebastian's dad. And that's when things changed."
She pulled my coat tighter, her face scrunching in pain. "'We'll take care of it, Hannah, this is above your pay grade,' and 'Don't worry about it, Hannah, it's a simple mistake.' But nothing ever changed, they just… placated me."
Her hands started to shake and I reached to steady them—and realized they were clammy and cold.
"So I made the phone call… and that's when Sebastian got nasty.
Started spreading rumors that I hadn't found anything, that I was just doing it for the attention, that I'd only gotten the job because I sl—because we were together. "
Rage built in my chest, knowing that not only had she done the right thing and lost her job for it—she'd been dragged through the mud.
"And he's so convincing, everyone believed him. Hell, after a while even I wondered if I made the whole thing up."
I ached to pull her close, to tell her that by every professional account she'd done the right thing—but I hadn't been there with her, living in that hell.
Finally she lifted her face to me, eyes bright with unshed tears.
“And now he’ll try to drag you down, too,” she said, trying to pull away.
“Sebastian’s going to tell Alex that you’re dating his unstable ex-girlfriend.
” Her words came fast, hand gestures frantic.
“That I targeted you once I found out about your promotion. That I’m—”
“Alex would laugh in his face if he heard any of that,” I said. “Do you know what people say about Victoria? That she’s secretly a cyborg sent from the future. That she and Cruz staged their whole relationship as a social experiment. That right before she fired her ex-husband, she broke his nose.”
A tiny smile flickered. “Those can’t be real.”
“Oh, that last one is. Her dress was covered in blood. Security had to escort him out.” I shook my head, letting admiration color my voice. “Most badass thing I’ve ever seen.”
Hannah laughed—a real one this time, brief but genuine.
“Point is, Alex knows better than to believe rumors started by bitter men trying to tear down successful women.”
The smile faded as quickly as it came. “That’s the thing, though. I’m just a bartender, and you’re COO at The Sinclair Group. No one’s going to believe you’d actually want me.”
The defeat in her voice hit me square in the chest. She was staring at her feet, shoulders hunched like she was bracing for the confirmation.
I tucked a finger under her chin, waiting until she looked up, her mouth pressed into a thin line.
“People believe what they want to believe, and anyone who saw us in that storage room would believe it,” I said, my thumb unconsciously brushing her jaw. “I sure as hell did.”
Her breath caught. The air between us changed—charged with something that felt too big for someone I’d only met two weeks ago.
I should step back, create distance between us. But I didn’t move, and neither did she.
“I don’t care what you do for a living,” I said, voice rougher than I intended. “You’re brilliant with numbers, you’re funny, you’re beautiful…”
The streetlight caught the gold flecks in her brown eyes. She wasn’t pulling away or deflecting, just looking at me like she was trying to figure out if I meant it.
And I did. That was the problem.
Because I couldn’t stop thinking about how her body molded to mine in that storage room, how her lips had tasted like chocolate and peppermint.
Not helpful thoughts when I didn’t have time for a relationship. Especially not a long distance one, with me drowning in work in Manhattan while she was two hundred miles away.
But I was coming back for the wedding anyway. And if Sebastian was going to be there…
An idea flickered at the edge of my mind. Something that could help both of us.
“Come on,” I said, offering my arm. “Let’s get you out of the cold.”
She hesitated for only a second before slipping her hand into the crook of my elbow. Her fingers were freezing, even through my coat. By the time we reached the apartment, I’d worked through the whole plan. It made perfect sense. Practical. Mutually beneficial.
I just had to figure out how to ask her.