Page 73 of The Final Contract

“Just some errands. A few hours. Tops.” I lean down, bracing my hands on the arms of her chair, forcing her gaze to mine. “You’ll stay in the building until I get back?”

She nods, but there’s heat in her eyes she doesn’t hide fast enough—a silent longing, gone as soon as it shows. Still, it wrecks me.

And there goes my cock, twitching like it has a mind of its own. At this rate, I’ll die with a permanent hard-on thanks to this woman.

Finn follows me to the front door. “What errands?”

“The kid called,” I mutter. “Think he’s into somethin’ he’s not saying.”

Finn’s jaw works. “Things are worse for folks than they let on. Cormac’s got his boot on everyone’s neck. They’re scared.”

I pin him with a look. “And what exactly do you expect me to do about it?”

His stare lingers, heavy. “You know there’s a lot you could do. Might be the only one who can.”

I stare off for a moment, weighing too many thoughts I don’t want to voice, then decide not to push. “You give Nora a call yet?” I ask, tone coy, knowing Finn’s long kept that particular desire tucked away.

He smirks like the devil with a secret. “Might have.”

Kicks his feet, shoves his hands in his pockets. “Takin’ her out day after tomorrow.”

A grin tugs at me—sharp but genuine. “Good man.” I clap him on the shoulder.

Then I blow out a sharp breath and yank the door open. “Irish problems aren’t mine anymore.”

Finn’s voice follows me into the hall, low and steady. “You might not get to keep tellin’ yourself those lies forever.”

It’s been more than a few hours, and normally I’d start to think something was wrong. But Killian’s texted me a few times—checking in, letting me know where he is. I appreciate it more than I’ll admit out loud: the reassurance, the breadcrumbs he leaves, each one closer and closer to his return.

The last ping was a picture of a little bakery I love, with a question: The pistachio macarons still your current obsession?

The way he notices makes me smile.

SERAPHINA: I wouldn’t say no to a lavender one also

I text back.

When he doesn’t reply right away, I add:

SERAPHINA: If you want to get back into the penthouse, I demand payment in macarons.

I hesitate, then bite my lip, fingers flying faster than my brain: I’ll take a slutty selfie in substitute.

I send it before I can erase it. My stomach flips. I know exactly what I’m doing—flirting with him. I also know I shouldn’t. I’m the one who started this whole suitor mess, after all.

But when I told them the suitors didn’t matter anymore, I meant it. Not just because of the stalker.

Because my Irish giant has crowded every corner of my mind. There’s no room left for anyone else.

A new bubble pops up on my screen.

KILLIAN: Are you objectifying me?

SERAPHINA: Hell yes

I type back, grinning like an idiot.

SERAPHINA: Show me something, big man.