Page 44 of Wistful Whispers

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.

fourteen

Seamus

Same Night

Thisdoesn’tfeelreal.

Marcella walks beside me in a coat worth more than my car.

I’m tired. Starving. Running on fumes, wired from everything and nothing.

The night air is cool, carrying the crisp scent of autumn as Marcella and I walk the short block to the Metropolitan Grill.

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