"This is Seamus O'Malley."
There is a pause. Just long enough for my name to register.
"Yes, Mr. O'Malley. How can we assist you today?"
"I'm ready to move forward."
Chapter six
Rosanna
Things have changed so much in just a few years. Different school. Different house. People even look at me different. I sometimes wish I could go back to the way things were before. It feels like when people look at me now, they want something. —Shay (Age 14)
The ERS building feels different today. Probably because I'm too angry to be nervous.
I didn't come here to say yes.
I came here to look Seamus O'Malley in the eye and tell him exactly what I think of him without a moderator cutting me off or a crowd diluting the message.
Tessa said this meeting was about "getting to know your potential match." What she doesn't understand is that I already know him.
I know what he represents.
And that's exactly why this will never work.
Luna tried to talk me out of coming. "If you've already decided no, why put yourself through it?" she asked over coffee this morning.
But that's exactly why I need to go.
Because saying no to the man who thinks he can buy, demolish and then rebuild without consequences.
Saying no to his face? It matters to me, it will mean something in the end.
Tessa meets me at reception, her smile warm and professional.
"Rosanna, thank you for coming. Mr. O'Malley is already here. He arrived a few minutes early. I'll take you back to the private meeting suite."
She starts walking, and I follow.
My canvas bag is heavy on my shoulder. I brought my sketchbook. Having it with me feels like armor, like proof that I have a life and an identity that exists completely separate from this absurd situation.
We stop outside a heavy wooden door. Tessa turns to me, her expression gentle.
"I know this feels overwhelming, but try to approach it with an open mind."
I don't respond. I don't trust my voice not to come out sharp. She opens the door.
He's standing by the window when I enter, hands in his pockets. The light from the window cuts across his profile. He has a sharp jawline, perfect posture, and an expensive suit.
He doesn't turn immediately, and for a second I wonder if he's nervous.
Then I remember who he is.
Men like Seamus O'Malley don't get nervous. They strategize.
"Mr. O'Malley," I say, my voice coming out steadier than I expected.
He turns. Those steel-blue eyes find mine, and something flickers across his face. Like he's surprised that I actually showed up.
