13. Marcella
thirteen
Marcella
Ten Days Later
Ten days since the settlement.
I told myself I’d let it go—walk away clean, finish what I came here to do.
Instead, I’m checking the time again.
Seamus is late again.
Not by much. Enough to make me wonder if this was a mistake.
I was so relieved when he finally signed, it brought me one step closer to bringing Caldwell down and giving the Blacks the peace they deserve. Getting him here tonight hasn’t been easy, though.
After he executed the paperwork, I pushed to meet before Caldwell could get to him at the hospital. His lawyer reminded me—more patiently than I probably deserved—Seamus was already drowning in work because of the lawsuit and as an R4, he was mostly in the lab not the OR.
He’s working hard to make sure he doesn’t fall behind before his winter break.
It was a reality check. As much as I need Seamus for this case, he has a whole life and career to worry about.
Of course now, as Ethan, Natalie, and I wait for him in the conference room, my patience and understanding is wearing thin. He was supposed to be here half hour ago.
Meanwhile, we’re going over our notes, prepping questions, and reviewing Caldwell’s deposition. The more I dig into the man, the more I know we’re on the right path. Seamus has firsthand experience to finally pin Caldwell down. Getting him to talk freely might take some finesse.
I check my phone again. No message.
“He better not bail,” Ethan mutters, drumming his fingers on the table.
Natalie glances at me. “You think Caldwell got to him?”
No. I don’t want to believe it. Seamus seems too damned principled to go back on his word. Then again, what if he is having second thoughts?
As the minutes drag on, frustration creeps in.
A text from Seamus finally pops up. Seamus: Running late. My car battery died. Had to get a jump. Be there in 10.
I exhale sharply and set my phone down. “Seamus is on his way.”
“I really thought he might’ve chickened out.” Ethan leans back in his chair, smirking.
Natalie grins, twirling her pen between her fingers. “It’s nice when a man keeps his word. I like him.”
Something akin to resentfulness gnaws at me. Natalie is only a couple years younger than Seamus, far more age appropriate.
Shut up, Marcella. There’s no competition, you’re not even in the running and you know it.
Exactly ten minutes later, the door opens, and he strides in. Seamus McGloughlin is a lot of things—frustrating, broody, intelligent, entirely too attractive—and, thankfully, a man of his word.
Tonight, he’s in dark jeans and a charcoal hoodie stretched perfectly across the breadth of his shoulders, every inch of him looking like a man built to ruin me in the best possible way.
His hair is slightly tousled, as always, and the shadow of exhaustion under his sharp blue eyes seems more pronounced than it was ten days ago.
There’s something else, though. Something quieter, more subdued. He’s here, not because he wants to be.
It’s resignation. He has no choice.
I didn’t give him one.
“Sorry I’m late.” He plops into the chair across from me. “It’s been a day.”
Natalie flashes him a dazzling smile, leaning forward a little too much. “No worries, we were just getting started.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Seamus doesn’t even glance at her. He leans back and exhales heavily like he’d rather be anywhere else.
“Let’s get to it.” I decide to cut to the chase so we can let him go home as soon as possible.
“We want to go deeper into your time working under Caldwell, particularly what you saw in the OR. How he operates, his decision-making, and how he treats his patients from start to finish, especially during high-risk procedures.”
Seamus’s expression shifts into something more guarded. “Right.”
He shifts in his chair, the fabric of his fitted hoodie pulling across his broad chest as he crosses his arms. He looks down for a second, like he’s seeing something only he can.
“Caldwell is—” He stops, searching for the right words. “Brilliant. Uncompromising. The kind of surgeon people write about in textbooks. He knows it too. Walks into every OR like there isn’t a single person in the world more capable than him. For a long time, I believed it.”
His fingers flex against his biceps, tension radiating through his frame. “He has this way of making you feel like you’re chosen. Like if he sees something in you, it means you have ‘it’—raw talent, instinct separating the good from the great. He said he saw it in me,” he snarks, shaking his head.
“The thing regarding Caldwell? He never second-guesses himself. Ever. Not in surgery. Not in teaching. Not in anything.” Seamus leans forward, elbows resting on the table, voice quieter now.
“When you’re in his orbit, his kind of confidence is intoxicating.
You start to believe if he doesn’t question himself, you shouldn’t either. Hesitation is weakness.”
Something dark flickers across his face.
“It’s a problem. Because I saw it. The mistake.
” His fingers curl into fists on the table.
“I saw the vessel on the monitor before he did. I told him to stop. I didn’t push hard enough.
No, fast enough. He was determined to keep going, and in my head, I thought—who am I to question him? ”
“One split second. My hesitation. The next thing I knew, Miranda was gone.” His throat bobs, and when he looks at me, there’s something raw in his expression.
He scrubs a hand down his face, then drops it to the table with a quiet thud. “I used to think being the best meant never questioning the choices you made. Confidence was the most important thing.” He shakes his head, near tears. “Now? I know better.”
I watch him carefully as he speaks, taking in the way his fingers flex against the table, the way his throat works when he swallows between thoughts. He’s guarded. Tormented. His emotion bleeds through—I can see how much Miranda’s case weighs on him.
Damn it, his reaction affects me more than I’d like.
Natalie reaches out, resting a hand on Seamus’s forearm in what she clearly thinks is comforting. “That must have been so hard for you,” she murmurs softy, her tone filled with sympathy.
My teeth clench with irritation. I tell myself her gesture is unnecessary. Unprofessional. Whatever the case, it sets something off inside me I don’t have the time—or the patience—to analyze.
And Seamus? He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.
I clear my throat, forcing a calm I don’t quite feel. “Let’s take a quick break.” I push back from the table, needing a moment to gather myself. “Five minutes.” My voice is steady. My pulse isn’t—especially when I glance at Seamus, who still looks utterly wrecked.
Ethan shows Seamus to the restroom, allowing me to pull Natalie aside. “A word?”
“Sure.” She glances up from the tea she’s making.
“Knock it off,” I admonish.
Her eyes widen. “Excuse me?”
“The flirting.” I cross my arms. “He’s not interested. Even if he was, this isn’t the time.”
Natalie stares at me for a minute, shocked. Then she presses her lips together before walking back to the conference room. “Noted.”
Shit .
I feel a flicker of guilt. She’s young, ambitious, and she has eyes—Seamus is handsome. I know my irritation isn’t entirely about her behavior.
It’s about me.
I’m fucking jealous.
The way I keep dreaming of Seamus, waking up breathless and satiated. Aching in ways I shouldn’t be.
I’ve tried to tell myself it’s because he happens to be in my orbit and it’s been a long time. It isn’t true, though. He’s compelling in a way I can’t quite reconcile. When I go back to the conference room and catch the way his tired eyes flick to me, something shifts in my chest.
I push it down and force myself to focus. Do my job. Be professional.
By the time we wrap up, we have more than enough to work with for the time being. Ethan and Natalie gather their things. There’s a new stiffness in Natalie’s posture. She adjusts the strap of her bag with a little too much precision, her expression unreadable as she leaves without saying goodbye.
There’s no outright defiance, no snide remark—just a deliberate coolness toward me.
Does she suspect I’m attracted to Seamus?
“I’m out.” Ethan salutes before dashing toward the elevator to join Natalie.
Leaving me alone with Seamus. He sighs, checking his phone as we walk to the elevator. “Shit. My Uber is still five minutes out.”
“Your car really died today?” I sling on my crossbody bag.
“Yeah,” Seamus mutters. “Perfect ending to a long-ass day.”
Something about the sight of him, tired and worn down, tugs at me in a way I can’t comprehend.
“The Metropolitan Grill is a block away,” I blurt out before I can second-guess myself. “If you’re hungry, we could grab a bite.”
Seamus’s brows lift slightly, like he wasn’t expecting me to invite him to dinner.
I wasn’t expecting it either and I feel like a schoolgirl waiting to see if he’ll accept.
I’m a goddamn hypocrite. I chastised Natalie for her undisguised interest because I wanted be the one to comfort him.
Fuck . Well, it’s too late now to revoke the invitation.
“You’re right about it being a long day.” I feign nonchalance. “We’ve gotta eat, right?”
He nods, easy and unbothered, like I didn’t just cross a line I swore I’d never touch. “Yeah. Okay.”
I tell myself it’s only dinner.
My pulse calls me a liar.