11. Marcella
eleven
Marcella
One Week Later
Seamus McGloughlin is late.
I drum my fingers against my desk, inhaling slowly through my nose.
He’s already dragging his feet, and we haven’t even begun.
Across from me, Sarah Mahoney checks her watch. “He’ll show. You know how this goes. People don’t like facing reality, even when it’s the only way forward.”
I offer a single nod.
No emotion. No invitation.
This isn’t about patience.
It’s about control. Nothing more.
I already know what I’m going to say. How I’m going to get him to listen.
The reality is, my offer is his only option if he doesn’t want to have a malpractice suit on his record. Whether he wants to admit it or not.
The door swings open, and Seamus steps inside. It’s the first time I’ve seen him stand to his full height.
Jesus Christ. He’s massive.
The Orgasm Whisperer is easily six foot five, broad as the damn doorframe and could throw me over his shoulder without breaking a sweat. He’s all man—strong, solid, effortlessly powerful in a way having nothing to do with arrogance and everything to do with sheer biology.
No wonder every woman in the hospital threw themselves at him.
His dark jeans and button-down shirt only emphasize what’s underneath—thick, muscular thighs, broad shoulders straining against the fabric and a trim waist. Like he doesn’t lift weights—he destroys them.
Despite his strength, there’s a tension in the way he carries himself. His neck is stiff. He looks exhausted, like he hasn’t slept in days.
I know the feeling.
Seamus’s blue eyes flick to Sarah and when they land on me, something ignites—deep and primal, like the slow burn of embers waiting to roar to life.
Desire. Unmistakable. Undeniable. Then—gone.
My breath catches and I blink, convinced I imagined it. I’m too old for him. He has no reason to look at me like he’s interested. Yet—for one fleeting moment—he did.
Now it’s gone, and his mask is back in place.
He drops into the chair beside Sarah and exhales sharply. “All right. I’m here. I have a lot on my plate. Why do you need me?”
I glance at Sarah and she nods, giving me the go-ahead.
Seamus looks me up and down and steels his gaze.
Without thinking, I tug at the fabric of my wrap dress, suddenly feeling foolish for choosing it this morning.
It’s a deep navy, cinched at the waist, and the soft jersey fabric clings to my curves more than I’m comfortable with.
It’s not my usual sharp, structured blazer and pencil skirt, and now, under his gaze, I regret the choice entirely.
Ah, well. I’ve got to forge ahead.
“You’re here because we both know Caldwell is throwing you under the bus.
” I lean forward, folding my hands on the desk.
“You seem to have been his star resident. It doesn’t change the fact he was the lead surgeon and made the call leading to Miranda Black’s catastrophic injuries.
In my opinion, he’s trying to shift blame to you. ”
Seamus doesn’t react right away. Instead, his fingers drum restlessly against his knee. His eyes flick to the floor, his expression unreadable.
I see the way his breathing changes. The way his body stiffens at the mention of her name.
“Seamus.” I lower my voice. “If you cared about Miranda…”
He exhales sharply, dragging a hand down the stubble on his handsome face. “Sarah, you told me anything I say here is protected, right?”
“Yes.” Sarah nods. “This is a settlement discussion. Whatever you say in this room can’t be used against you in court.” She gives him a pointed look. “Marcella is a professional. This is a matter of legal ethics, so don’t worry.”
His gaze snaps to mine, and something fractures behind his eyes. This giant man’s voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks, as if saying the words out loud makes them more unbearable.
“I stayed with her for hours after the surgery,” he murmurs, almost like he’s confessing something he’s never said before.
“I check in on her every night. When her parents go home to sleep, I sit by her bed. Adjust her ventilator. Watch the monitors. Not a day goes by where I’m not thinking, if I did one more thing… if I held my ground…maybe.”
Seamus’s throat bobs as though he’s struggling not to cry. His fists clench on his thighs.
“She was twelve.” His voice cracks, raw and jagged.
“She loved horses. She wanted to be a vet. Her mom told me once she hated the smell of hospitals. Miranda never complained—not once. She was brave. Braver than anyone I’ve ever met.
I—” He shakes his head, exhaling sharply, like he’s trying to steady himself. “I didn’t fail her. I know I didn’t.”
The pain in his voice betrays him.
He believes he did fail her. It’s eating him alive.
Seamus swallows hard, staring down at his big hands, his voice thick with something broken. “I was there when it happened. I saw it. Now, I have to live with it.”
He drags his fingers through his hair at the back of his neck, his breath uneven.
“If I could tell her parents anything, it wouldn’t be about the surgery.
It wouldn’t be some rehearsed explanation regarding risk or medical outcomes or statistics.
” He looks into my eyes and the devastation there wrecks me.
“I would tell them I’m sorry. I’d tell them I whisper to her when no one else is around, even though I know she can’t hear me.
It sounds so trite—so stupid. I’d trade places with her. I really would.”
Seeing the raw agony in his eyes, hearing the quiet, broken way he speaks of her—I believe him.
Completely. Unshakably. Like a truth so absolute, it settles in my bones.
Seamus’s chest rises and falls, his breathing uneven, and for a long moment, none of us say a word. Because what could possibly be said in the face of grief so deep?
A few moments later, Sarah clears her throat. “Which is exactly why you need to protect yourself. You know the truth and if you don’t speak up, Caldwell is going to let you take the hit.”
“So, what? You want me to, what, testify against him?” Seamus exhales harshly, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.
I rest my chin on my hand. “It’s not about testifying against him. It’s about telling the truth and allowing me to get the best settlement for Miranda’s family.”
“You say this like it’s so easy.” He shakes his head.
“Well, it is easy,” I counter. “It’s not comfortable. I get it. You looked up to Caldwell. You wanted to believe he was the kind of man who would own his mistakes.”
Seamus lets out a bitter laugh. “Yeah. Well, so much for blind loyalty. Even though I always planned on telling my own truth, he made it clear—well before you contacted me—I needed to back him up.”
I go still. “What do you mean well before I contacted you?”
“Caldwell pulled me aside for lunch at the hospital. He wanted to make sure we were ‘aligned’ before you deposed me.” Seamus rubs his hand over his chin.
My stomach drops. Of course he did. “Did he threaten your job?”
“Not in so many words.” Seamus hesitates, then shakes his head. “I know how this game is played. If I didn’t back him up or if I made things difficult, my future in neurosurgery would be fucked. Utterly and totally fucked.”
How incredibly infuriating. “I’m not going to sugar coat it. If this goes to trial, the hospital and Caldwell will not protect you. They’ll do everything in their power to make sure you carry as much of the blame as possible.”
Sarah nods. “They’ll argue you were competent enough to know the risks and complicit in the decision-making process.”
“Jesus.” Seamus exhales.
“I’m offering you a settlement and release agreement,” I continue. “It will protect you from liability—completely. Once you sign, you’ll be out of this case. No financial risk. No career-ending consequences.”
Seamus leans back, staring up at the ceiling, the weight of the moment pressing down on him.
“You don’t have to decide right now,” Sarah adds gently. “However, I think this is your best option.”
Seamus shakes his head slowly. “Then what? I walk away?”
“No,” I say firmly. “Then you work with me.”
His brows pull together. “What?”
“Once you’re out of the case, you help me build the one against Caldwell.” I sit up straighter. “You make sure I have everything I need to go after him instead of allowing him—or the hospital—to turn it on you.”
His gaze sharpens. “Wait, you want me to work with you ?”
“Yes.”
The word leaves my lips with more force than I intend, and my heart races—a deep, pounding awareness settling low in my stomach at the thought of spending more time with him.
Of sitting across from him, watching his sharp mind at work, feeling the weight of his presence pressing into the space between us.
No !
I force myself to exhale slowly, to tamp down the ridiculous heat curling through my veins. I’m in a position of power here. I can’t—won’t—let this…
Not when I’ve already woken up to dreams of him too many times, my body flushed and aching. Dreams of his hands on me. His mouth wrecking me. His voice—a deep, knowing whisper—telling me exactly how he’s going to make me fall apart for him.
Good God, my panties are instantly soaked. This is so inappropriate it’s not even funny.
I shift in my seat, swallowing against the sudden dryness in my throat. Seamus McGloughlin is not a man I can want. Not a man I can even consider.
It doesn’t matter how my body responds—like I’ve been asleep my whole damn life and only now, since I’ve become aware of him, am waking up.
Terrifying. I need to put him out of my mind. Immediately.
Seamus visibly scoffs. “You hate me.”
I blink, caught off guard. When I open my mouth, the words get stuck in my throat. I don’t hate him. I…resent how much I want him. How much I understand him, even when I don’t want to.
Maybe it’s better if Seamus thinks I hate him. If he only sees my sharp edges and ruthless determination—because anything is safer than letting him know the truth.
I clear my throat. “I want justice for Miranda. I think you do too.”
He stares at me for a long moment. Looks at Sarah. Then, finally, he nods. “Fine. Let’s do it.”
Sarah exhales in relief. I feel something deep in my chest unclench.
Let him think I hate him.
Let him see only the blade, never the blood.
We don’t trust each other.
We don’t need to.
We’re drawing the same line—and I know exactly where to strike.