9. Marcella
nine
Marcella
The Next Day
I wake up gasping.
Flushed. Breathless. Pillow shoved tight between my thighs.
It takes a second to remember—my bed. My condo.
No one’s here.
Except for the ghost of him.
Seamus McGloughlin.
Again .
I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to scrub the dream away.
Impossible.
It clings to me—hot, vivid, and absolutely inappropriate.
His talented hands had been everywhere. Mapping the curve of my waist. Pressing into my thighs. Tangling in my hair as his lips dragged over my pulse, down my collarbone, lower—
I whimper in frustration and throw the pillow to the floor.
What the hell is wrong with me?
This isn’t some random guy. This is an adversary. A man eight years younger than me. Worse—a man whose mentor I’m actively trying to hold accountable in a multimillion-dollar malpractice suit.
Today, I’ll see him in person for the first time. I’ll sit across from him, stare him down, push him until I get the truth.
Why does my stomach roil at the thought of it?
I stand abruptly and head straight for the shower. Make sure the water is hotter than necessary. I tell myself I need to get my head on straight. Sex dreams about Seamus McGloughlin are my body playing tricks on me. The attraction isn’t real.
Deep down, I know better.
Thirty minutes later, as I drive toward the office, my phone buzzes— Rosa .
I sigh and press the button on my steering wheel, connecting the call through the car’s system. “Hey, I was going to call you later.”
“ Mmm-hmm ,” Rosa hums knowingly. “Sure you were. Too busy being a badass lawyer to call your baby sister back?”
I smirk despite myself. “Something along those lines.”
She huffs. There’s warmth in it, though. “I won’t keep you, just wanted to check in. We all miss you, you know? Papa—he won’t say anything. I can tell he’s feeling it too.”
“I know.” My fingers tense on the steering wheel. “Work’s been insane. I’ll come down soon.”
“You said you’d come home two months ago.” There’s no accusation in her voice, only quiet understanding. “I get it, Chellie. I really do. You’re allowed to take a day off and let your people take care of you sometimes.”
The lump in my throat is unexpected. I swallow it down. “I will. Tell them I love them, okay?”
“Maybe you should tell them yourself.” Her voice softens. “We miss you. I know you miss us too.”
“Yeah. I do.” I blink at the road, my chest tightening. She’s right.
There’s a beat of silence before Rosa clears her throat. “Okay, I’ll stop now before you get all weird and awkward. Love you.”
“Love you too.” I end the call and stare at the city skyline ahead.
I do miss my family. More than I let myself think about. Unfortunately, right now, there’s no room for anything else. Not until this case is over.
By the time I step into my office, Ethan and Natalie are already seated in the leather chairs across from my desk, laptops open.
“Morning.” I set my bag down and reach for the coffee I picked up on the way in.
“Big day,” Ethan murmurs, flipping through a document. “You ready? Need anything?”
“Let’s go through everything one last time.” I perch on the edge of my desk, sipping my latte.
Natalie taps on her screen. “Caldwell’s defense is clear—he’s low-key throwing Seamus McGloughlin under the bus, painting him as an inexperienced, overeager resident who went beyond his role and caused the surgical error.”
I nod, waiting.
“Caldwell’s deposition seemed off,” Ethan adds. “He wasn’t as controlled as I expected him to be. He was dismissive. Arrogant. When we pushed, his answers didn’t hold up.”
“Which matches what we know about him,” I say. “Two previous malpractice suits. Two other residents who found themselves blamed while Caldwell walked away unscathed.”
Ethan nods. “Now McGloughlin is next in line.”
“You think he’ll go against Caldwell?” Natalie shuts her laptop.
I take a slow sip of coffee. “Not unless he has to.”
“Ahhh.” Ethan leans back. “Which is why we make him nervous.”
I nod once. “He’s a surgeon. He’s prepared for medical questions, expecting us to hammer him on the procedure, on the science. If we shift gears and bring his personal life? Reputation? Then he’ll have more to lose.”
“You don’t think he’ll see it coming?” Natalie frowns.
“No.” I shake my head. “His entire focus will be on justifying their actions in the OR. Not on defending himself.”
Ethan closes his laptop and shoves it in his bag. “So, you’ll shake him. Make him think twice about toeing the party line.”
“He needs to see what Caldwell is doing to him.” I stack my files and place them in my briefcase. “He needs to feel like he has something to lose if he stays quiet.”
Natalie studies me carefully. “What if he doesn’t crack?”
“We keep the pressure on.” I lean back smugly.
Ethan grins. “This is so cool.”
“We need to get to the hospital.” I push off my desk and grab my coat.
The drive is mostly silent, filled only with the occasional rustle of paper and the click of Natalie’s pen as she reviews notes. I keep my eyes on the road, navigating the car on autopilot. My mind is already in the deposition room. Already locking into strategy.
The possibility of Seamus McGloughlin turning from foe to ally if I play this right.
If I can keep my wits about me.
A flicker of something hot curls in my stomach. I know no matter how much I try, the second I see Seamus in person, my sex dreams are going to come rushing back. It’s going to take all of my strength not to react.
I won’t let it deter me, though.
To make my plan work, I’ll need to ask questions to make him hate me.
It will give me the best chance to make sure the Blacks are compensated for Caldwell’s mistake.
It also will endear me to my partners. Because the way Joe Finney championed Seamus’s family and their deep ties to some of our firm’s biggest clients, wasn’t a directive—it was a suggestion.
Go easy on him.
Which I absolutely will not do. By the end of the day Sarah Mahoney will realize we’ll need to combine forces and, with Seamus’s help, take Caldwell all the way down.
God, I feel it—victory within reach.
We pull into the hospital parking garage and I kill the engine, glancing at my clock on the dashboard. Right on time.
Ethan lets out a low whistle. “So, this is it.”
“This is it,” I confirm, pushing open my door.
As we step into the hospital, the familiar scent of antiseptic and anxiety floods my senses. The halls are busy with doctors and nurses in scrubs. Patients being wheeled past. Conversations clipped and efficient.
The entire operation is a machine, its rhythm precise and controlled. It reminds me of a courtroom—everyone plays their role and the stakes are always high.
We take the elevator up to the administrative floor, the polished doors sliding open with a soft chime.
I take a deep, cleansing breath. It’s time to work.
The conference room is at the end of the hall. As we approach, my pulse kicks up a notch, an unexpected rush of nerves threading through me.
I push the feeling down.
I am not nervous.
I reach for the door handle, open it, and step inside.
Then I see him.
Seamus McGloughlin.
Something inside me shifts. It’s instant. A visceral jolt lands somewhere deep in my chest, spreading lower, sinking into my bones.
He’s not merely attractive. He’s undeniable.
Seated at the table with his hands clasped together, his wavy, light-brown hair is slightly tousled and his blue eyes are sharp and assessing.
He carries himself like a man who knows exactly who he is—strong, commanding, capable.
He seems completely unbothered with his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows.
Though he’s sitting, I can tell he’s a big man. It seems like he takes up all the space in the room.
Good God, the charisma—he radiates something unshakable.
Fuck me, he is young .
Much younger than me. Too young for me.
Our age difference is forgotten when his eyes lock on mine with lethal precision.
Something flickers there—quick, sharp, dangerous.
Attraction. Appreciation.
Lust .
I freeze.
Suddenly, my dream doesn’t feel so far from reality.
Every warning I’ve ever ignored lives in his eyes.
I came here to bury him.
Something tells me, I’m the one going under.