10. Seamus
ten
Seamus
The Same Day
This conference room is cold, sterile.
It reeks of over-brewed coffee and desperation.
Jesus. Of course it does.
The room is where careers end—quietly, efficiently.
Is this the end of mine?
Fuck me. If residency wasn’t stressful enough, I’ve spent the past few months mired in a legal nightmare.
I never anticipated all my years of hard work, focus, and dedication could go down the tube in an instant.
Oh, it can. Everything rides on today.
I roll my shoulders back, unsuccessfully trying to shake the tension bearing down between my shoulder blades.
Marcella Delgado walks in, a picture of controlled power, with two other attorneys, probably junior.
She wears an emerald-green blazer, cinched at the waist, paired with a black silk blouse skimming sinful curves.
Her pencil skirt hugs her full hips, ending above the knee, and her heels—lethal, black, and at least four inches high—show off her shapely calves.
My mentor, Bryce Caldwell, lied. Told me she was a middle-aged ballbuster. A fat, ruthless bitch who would eat me alive if I let her.
The woman in front of me?
She’s fucking stunning .
Not just beautiful. Luscious. Striking in a way I can’t ignore. Her long, chestnut-brown hair is pulled into a sleek bun. Full lips are painted in some deep, red shade, making my mouth long to kiss them. She’s impeccably dressed, poised, and wholly unimpressed with my existence.
With a calculated glance in my direction, I can already feel her pulling apart every molecule of my being. Dissecting me with nothing more than a sharp gaze and an air of ruthless determination.
Yet, I can’t take my eyes off her, which is a huge fucking problem. The sharp pull of attraction is unexpected, so I immediately try to shove it down.
Get it together, Seamus . This woman is here to bury you alive, not join you in a fucking stairwell.
God, I’m pathetic.
Oh, I still feel it, though. Thrumming under my skin. A heat. A hunger. Instinctive. Desire, dark and inappropriate, curling low in my gut.
A reaction like I’ve never experienced in my life.
My dick is getting hard, for fuck’s sake.
So completely untimely, it pisses me the fuck off.
I can’t be thinking about her like this. Not when my career is hanging in the balance. Not for the one person who’s bound and determined to make sure my future in neurosurgery ends before it even truly begins.
I exhale sharply, dragging my focus back to the task ahead. I’m on a razor’s edge. Rattled beyond belief.
She hasn’t even spoken yet.
Beside me, my attorney, Sarah Mahoney, clears her throat and leans in slightly, whispering, “Remember what we discussed. This is a deposition, Dr. McGloughlin. I can’t interject or object to anything unless Ms. Delgado—” she gestures at my executioner, “asks you something blatantly illegal or improper.”
I nod, barely listening, determined to pull my shit together.
“You need to answer everything and I strongly recommend keeping it brief. Stick to the facts. No embellishment, no unnecessary details. If she pauses, let her. Don’t fill the silence.
You’re a doctor. You understand the power of controlled breathing,” Sarah reminds me quietly, patting the top of my hand like a goddamn child.
Nevertheless, it’s a good reminder to stay true to who I am. What I do. I know how to keep my hands steady under pressure. I’m cool as a cucumber when performing procedures requiring absolute precision.
Even if this isn’t an operating room, I can rely on my usual instincts, can’t I?
Sarah tilts her head slightly. “Seamus, did you hear me?”
“Yes,” I answer simply, steeling my inner turmoil for the fight ahead.
She doesn’t look convinced. “Good. One last thing—do not let her bait you.”
“I think I can handle one lawyer.” I try to sound confident, resisting the urge to let out the humorless laugh threatening to escape.
She juts her chin out. “I like your confidence—don’t get cocky. You’ve never been in a room with Marcella Delgado.”
I glance back across the table at Marcella, who’s now seated in between her co-conspirators, arranging her papers into neat, methodical stacks. Clearly, she’s done this a thousand times before.
Bryce’s words echo in my head: She’ll eat you alive if you let her.
Fuck me. I believe it.
I’m not going down without a fight.
When Marcella looks up from her papers, her hazel eyes—flecked with gold—lock on to mine, and for a split second, I forget how to breathe. How to think. How to do anything but fall into them.
Luckily she looks down at her notes and eases me into a false sense of security with a softball. “I’d like to begin. Could you please state your full name for the record?”
“Seamus Patrick McGloughlin.” I lean back and clasp my hands on the table in front of me, hoping to convey my ease.
She doesn’t even look up. “Your title?”
“Doctor. I’m nearly halfway into my fourth-year residency.” I avoid Sarah’s sharp glance when I ignore her instructions and say too much.
Marcella flicks her eyes to me. “You were present during Miranda Black’s surgery?”
“Yes.” I nod, resisting the urge to embellish.
There’s a pause. Marcella scribbles something on her legal pad. When I say nothing, she strikes. “Let’s talk about the day in question.”
“Sure.” I struggle not to clench my jaw. “I’m ready.”
“ Dr . McGloughlin,” she points to her notepad with a dark-red-tipped nail, “I’d like to understand your particular role in Miranda’s surgery.”
I sit up straighter and work hard to keep my expression neutral. “I was assisting Dr. Caldwell.”
“Okay.” She nods like she expected my answer and scribbles something across the page. “What was the nature of her surgery?”
“We were removing six brain tumors using MRI-guided laser interstitial thermal therapy.”
Her eyebrow lifts slightly. “Laser therapy? How are you qualified to assist in such a procedure?”
“I’ve been extensively trained in LITT and have assisted in over a dozen similar cases.” I decide to look right at her, no matter what she asks.
She makes a note, her manicured fingers firm around the pen. Her pouty lips purse slightly as she writes. I shouldn’t be noticing the way her mouth moves. Or the way her golden skin glows under the harsh lights.
Oh, I do.
I hate myself for it.
Sure, this isn’t the first time I’ve been under pressure. It is the first time I’ve been this distracted in a life-or-death situation—mine.
I shift slightly in my chair.
Marcella leans in. “What was the risk of this procedure?”
“High,” I admit, because it’s true.
She arches an eyebrow. “Why?”
“The tumors were near critical structures—her brainstem and motor cortex. Inevitably, they would have spread to other parts of her brain or spinal cord, which would have tragic consequences.” I sigh.
“On the other hand, taking them out gave her a fighting chance, despite the risk of bleeding. Swelling. Neurological damage.”
“You explained these risks to Miranda’s family?” Marcella curls her lip in disgust for a millisecond before her professional composure takes back over.
“Yes,” I say as evenly as possible. “Dr. Caldwell and I described these risks in great detail. Her parents understood and chose to proceed. They signed a standard waiver.”
She’s quiet for a moment, studying me like I’m an equation she’s about to solve. Then she pounces. “During Miranda’s surgery, did anything go wrong?”
I hesitate for only half a second because it was, possibly, the worst day of my career. “Yes. A blood vessel ruptured.”
“What happened then?” She tilts her head.
It’s an open-ended question. One designed to get me to talk. I manage to resist embellishing. “We tried to control the bleeding. The pressure in her brain spiked and we had to close the incision before all the tumors were removed.”
“What was the outcome?” She stares into my soul because she knows exactly what happened.
I take a deep breath. “Miranda suffered severe complications including brain swelling. She’s currently in a state of unresponsive wakefulness. We don’t expect her to recover.”
“So you failed.” Marcella leans back. “Despite your so-called advanced techniques and training, the surgery cost her everything. Correct?”
I can’t cover my annoyance. “As I said before. The surgery was high-risk. We did everything we could.”
“It wasn’t enough, was it?” She squints at me. Scrutinizing. Judging.
The words land like a blow, sharp and merciless.
My fist clenches tightly. “As I said before, the surgery was high-risk. We did everything we could.”
“It wasn’t enough, was it?” she repeats. Her gaze is unrelenting, picking me apart piece by piece.
I don’t respond. Because there’s nothing I can say.
No matter how many times I go over that day in my head—every move, every decision—I can’t shake the feeling maybe there was something I could have done differently.
She’s right. Despite my training, my skill, my best efforts, we failed her.
No, you failed her.
I swallow against the nausea rising in my throat.
I think about my brothers, successful in their fields—Connor, Liam, and Padraig, rockstars with Grammys to their names. Brennan, a tech mogul shaping the future of AI. Even Cillian, despite his struggles, has built something real.
Then there’s me. The youngest. The perpetual student. The one who couldn’t save a twelve-year-old girl.
Marcella leans forward, sensing the crack in my composure. “Dr. McGloughlin, let’s talk more about your experience. As you mentioned, you were a third-year resident when you performed the operation, correct?”
“Assisted,” I correct.
She continues her attack. “How many high-risk surgeries have you led?”
“As I mentioned, I’ve assisted in over a dozen.” I exhale slowly, resisting the urge to raise my voice.
“ Assisted ,” she repeats, letting the word hang between us. “So, you’ve never led one, have you?”
“No,” I say evenly. “I didn’t lead this one either.”
Marcella stares me down. “A third-year resident is relatively inexperienced when it comes to high-risk cases, correct?”
Where the hell is she going with this?
“I’ve been trained by some of the best surgeons in the world.” I sit up straighter. “I’m confident in my skills.”
She lifts a single, perfectly arched brow. “Confidence is one thing, Dr. McGloughlin. Competence is another.”
Something snaps. She can fuck right off.
“I followed protocol,” I say, coldly. “I trusted Dr. Caldwell’s judgment. I stand by the decisions we made.”
She watches me, her expression unreadable. Then she shifts, flipping to a different page, her voice changing slightly. “Dr. McGloughlin, let’s talk about your reputation with the women in the hospital.”
I stiffen, shocked. A cold sweat prickles at the back of my neck when Marcella pivots—sharp, deliberate—straight into my personal life. Fuck . I never even thought to mention this to Sarah. Never imagined it would come up, and now I’m out on a limb with nothing to hold on to.
Sarah doesn’t miss a beat. “Objection—irrelevant. You may answer.”
Marcella barely glances at her. “Dr. McGloughlin, are you aware you have a reputation among the female hospital staff?”
“For what, exactly?” I try to appear unbothered by brushing the invisible lint from my shirt.
She lifts a brow, like she’s daring me to play dumb. “For certain extracurricular activities…”
“Ms. Delgado, this has nothing to do with the case.” Sarah shifts beside me, clearly irritated. Blindsided.
Marcella waves a hand. “May I remind you, this is a deposition. He must answer all my questions.” She turns back to me. “Is it true, Dr. McGloughlin, you’ve had multiple sexual relationships with female staff members?”
“I wouldn’t call them relationships.” I hold her gaze, unblinking. She’s not going to shame me.
Her lips twitch. “No. I suppose you wouldn’t.”
“I have never let my personal life interfere with my work.” I shift in my seat, the heat in my chest now boiling anger rather than discomfort.
Marcella doesn’t look convinced. “Yet, your name comes up a lot. In fact, some of your former—let’s call them acquaintances—might say you have a pattern of getting what you want and then moving on.”
I squint at her and stay silent. She’s fishing.
Sarah crosses her arms. “Unless Ms. Delgado has evidence about how Dr. McGloughlin’s personal life played a role in Miranda Black’s surgery, we’re moving on.”
Marcella feigns disappointment. “Fine. Let’s move on.”
I don’t miss the way her eyes flick over me, assessing, like she confirmed something she suspected all along. For some insane reason, I feel like I lost this battle.
For the next hour, she hammers me with questions—about my family. About my schooling. It’s grueling. It takes everything I have not to let it show.
When it’s finally over, Marcella gathers her notes with a little too much force, her lips pressing together in something like irritation.
I remain seated, unwilling to move. She’s ripped me apart without remorse and I want to get out of here. I won’t let her think she’s thrown me for a loop.
Marcella’s gaze flicks over at me—quick, assessing, not indifferent—for the briefest moment, before she schools her expression back to ice, but I catch it.
A spark of heat, quick and sharp. Like the flare of a match before the burn.
Wait, what ?
Marcella fumbles a few papers and they scatter to the ground. When she leans forward to retrieve them the slightest gap in her blouse reveals the soft curve of her cleavage and a sheer, black-lace bra.
Her abundant tits nearly spill out of their dainty constraints. The glimpse alone is enough to make my pulse stutter and my attraction reignite.
Fuck .
For a brief, damning second, I can’t look away.
My dick fills once again.
Marcella catches me gawking and her cheeks immediately flush crimson red. She narrows her eyes and her lips part like she’s about to say something. Then thinks better of it.
If I’m not mistaken, for the first time since this deposition started, the woman looks almost shy. Embarrassed.
Quickly, she stands and straightens her jacket, breaking the spell. “Thank you for your time, Dr. McGloughlin.”
“You’re welcome,” I rasp because my mouth is dry as a bone.
Our gazes lock. The air between us is thick, charged—an almost tangible energy. Crackling with a heat and tension so intense, if we don’t look away we’ll set the whole damn room on fire.
I jerk my head back and wrench my eyes to the table. I’ve never experienced something so potent in my life.
Suddenly, I’ve never wanted someone the way I want Marcella Delgado. It’s a problem. A dangerous, fucking reckless problem.
I’ve made a lot of questionable choices when it comes to sex.
Her?
It’s a line I can’t cross.
Won’t cross.
Marcella Delgado could ruin my life.
Why in the fuck do I want her anyway?