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.
