Finnegan

"Woe is me, for a dazzling jewel has slipped from my grasp."

The sun hung high over the golf course, casting shadows across the field. The air smelled of fresh-cut grass, cologne, and the faint hint of whiskey from the flasks we carried.

It was Saturday morning, and the only reason I was here listening to Eric lamenting in poetry instead of having enjoying some quality time with Abigail was that she was on a girls’ day out with my daughter and cousin.

I would have preferred to stay home and finish up my readings on the reports from the finance and engineering team, but my dear cousin had called Henry and blabbed that I would be home alone, and here I was.

"Eric, eat your sandwich, son. She wasn’t meant for you." Arthur patted his son’s back awkwardly and shoved a sandwich into his mouth to shut him up.

We’d played a few holes, then settled into the shaded private hut nearby, sinking into comfortable leather chairs around a low table stocked with chilled whiskey, sandwiches, and snacks from the cooler.

A gentle breeze rustled the trees around us, and although I would hate to admit it in front of River, I actually felt much better.

Eric groaned dramatically as he slumped back in his chair, running a hand through his hair, chewing on the sandwich his father had crammed into his mouth.

"I still can’t believe it," he lamented, staring up at the ceiling. "Abigail Kellerman is taken. Taken. The universe is cruel, gentlemen. Absolutely cruel."

Henry choked on his drink, coughing to hide his laughter. He shot me a knowing look across the table, eyes sparkling with amusement.

Don’t you dare open your big mouth, I glared at him.

I mean, sure, I enjoyed knowing my woman had made it clear to Eric that she had me — oh, I enjoyed it so fucking much.

At least now I wouldn’t be hearing any more nonsense about him wanting to ask my girl on a date.

I still didn’t want Eric knowing it was me, though. At least not until the divorce from Victoria was finalized. The divorce that was dragging on forever — Christ, Victoria was a major pain in the ass.

She refused to sign or show up when my lawyers asked to meet her. Neither she nor her lawyers turned up or were reachable. It was infuriating as hell.

I just wanted to wrap this up and be done.

Arthur raised an eyebrow, sipping his drink.

"Finnegan, did you know she was seeing someone?"

"Oh yes, please," Eric groaned, leaning forward. "Do you know who she’s seeing?"

It’s me, buddy. Me. And I would tell you how fucking amazing she is, but I’d rather keep it to myself.

"What would you even want to do with that information?" Henry butted in, saving my ass.

"I don’t know," Eric whined. "She’s smart, funny, gorgeous... and now officially off the market. I waited too long. I should have asked her out months ago instead of overthinking like an idiot. Now some lucky bastard has her all to himself."

I hid my smile behind my glass, a surge of satisfaction warming my chest. Mine. Abigail was mine.

The thought of Eric, or any other man, thinking they had a chance with her was almost laughable now. She had chosen me. She was in my bed, in my life, wearing the gifts I bought her and tormenting me with that delectable ass.

Henry couldn’t resist poking the bear. "Mhmm, since she works for Finn, that’s true — you should know who her man is."

I ignored him while Arthur tried to console his son. "You’ll survive, Eric. Plenty of fish in the sea."

Eric groaned again. "None like her. None."

I said nothing, but the corner of my mouth twitched. Henry noticed and grinned wider, mouthing to me that I was an asshole.

"How’s your daughter doing, Finnegan? Angel, right? She must be getting big now," Arthur asked.

My chest swelled with pride. "She’s doing great. Growing up too fast. She’s at a picnic today with friends."

The conversation drifted to business and then, of course, to the gala shooting.

"How’s Saxon?"

"He’s still in a coma," I replied gravely, setting my drink down. "The police are guarding his room heavily. No visitors except immediate family. The whole thing is a mess."

My mind went straight to my mother. I wouldn’t put it past her to try to finish the job on Richard. When had she become this cold?

This ruthless? How had I missed the signs for so long? The woman who raised me had turned into someone who treated human lives like disposable tissue.

That suffocating feeling in my chest swelled until my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and opened the message from Abigail.

It was a photo of her in a cute yellow sundress, beaming at the camera with Angel.

Another message followed — a thirst trap of her sundress riding up her smooth thighs, with the caption Miss me yet?

The suffocating feeling in my chest evaporated. A slow smile spread across my face before I could stop it. Was the gold waist chain hidden under that dress?

Just the thought of it stirred heat low in my belly.

Henry noticed immediately. "Well, well. Someone’s in a good mood all of a sudden. I wonder who that is."

Eric leaned over curiously. "Let me see—"

I turned the phone away quickly. "None of your business."

Arthur chuckled. "Young love. Or whatever you kids call it these days. Good for you, Finnegan. You’ve been too serious lately."

I was still smiling when my phone rang. It was Hamilton, my new lawyer after firing Atticus.

I stepped away from the group, walking a few paces toward the edge of the field for privacy.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Sir, there’s a problem," he said tersely. "Mrs. Wolfe is holding a press conference right now."

My blood ran cold. "My mother?"

"No, sir," he replied. "Your wife."