Page 40 of Wistful Whispers

“Sarah says it’s solid. It clears me completely. Signing it means I have to work with Marcella Delgado against Caldwell.” I try to keep my tone neutral and hide the buzz I feel at the thought of being close to her.

He whistles. “Good deal. You should sign the feckin’ thing.”

“You don’t think it’s weird? Working with the woman who’s been trying to take my mentor down?” Part of me hopes he agrees, the other part wants permission. Go figure.

“Jaysus, lad. Caldwell’s a snake. You don’t have a choice. From the sound of things, he’s been trying to blame it on you. Don’t youse forget it.” Connor sounds spitting mad. “Youdidn’t fuck up her surgery, Seamus.Hedid. If you truly believe he’s been setting you up to take the fall, sign the agreement. Make sure he never does it to anyone else.”

I close my eyes, nodding, even though he can’t see me. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“If you’re worried about the lawyer, do you want me to ask Zoey to give you a heads up on Marcella?”

I frown. Why would his bandmate’s wife be involved. “Zoey?”

“Remember, she worked at Finney Cooper when she got out of law school,” he reminds me. “She might have useful insight.”

I consider it. “Maybe. If it gets weird. Right now, I’m trying to wrap my head around all this. It’s surreal.”

“I get it.” His voice softens because he’s been through the wringer as a famous person. “Take it step by step. My suggestion is to get yourself out of this situation and move on.”

He’s right.

Yet, even after getting solid advice from Connor, I can’t bring myself to sign the damn papers.

The gym seems like a good place to work off the restless energy clawing at my insides. I push myself hard—sprints, heavy lifts, anything to exhaust my body so my brain will shut the hell up and resist the urge to masturbate.

It doesn’t work.

Even after the second cold shower of the day, fantasies of her naked body beckoning me make my dick stir. Once I’m back in my car, I pull up the Finney Cooper website and stare at her polished headshot. She’s so professional. Composed. Did she feel the heat crackling between us, dangerous and undeniable?

Am I losing my mind?

Goddammit. My cock is hard as a rock again.

Insanity.

With a muttered curse, I throw my phone on the passenger seat and start the car. I’m having a late lunch with my ma. I can’t go to her like this—sex-starved and restless. I concentrate on the one thing that’ll get my dick under control.

Wrinkly grannies. Wrinkly grannies. Wrinkly grannies.

Jesus.

When things calm down, I head to my parents’ house. Da is on the jobsite covering for Cillian, which doesn’t surprise me in the least considering the state of him last night. It’ll give me time alone with my ma.

The second I step inside, the rich, familiar scent of her famous Irish stew wraps around me. Lamb, slow-cooked until it falls apart, thick with potatoes, carrots, and onions, simmered in a rich broth perfected over generations. A fresh loaf of bread is wrapped in a dish towel.

My stomach growls despite the knot of anxiety sitting heavy in my gut.

She turns from the stove, eyes warming when she sees me. “Seamus, love, perfect timing. Sit, I’ll fix you a bowl.”

“Ma, I need some advice.” I sink into one of the kitchen chairs. “I’m conflicted.”

She ladles the stew into a bowl and sets it in front of me with a thick slice of brown bread slathered with grass-fed butter. Only when she sits across from me with her own lunch does she speak. “What’s troubling you?”

“Yesterday, I was offered a settlement to help bring Bryce down.” I stab my spoon into the stew and swirl it around. “My gut tells me to save myself. My head tells me to remain loyal and hope things work out.”

Her spoon hovers mid-air. “You know Bryce threw your name out there. So, what’s the conflict?”

“I’ll be working with the lawyer who deposed me and tore me to shreds.” I dunk a piece of bread in the broth and nearly groan with pleasure when I shove it in my mouth.

---