Page 113 of Fifth Avenue Fling

I slam the coat hard onto the hook.

I hope it rips.

Again, the bell rings, and I resist the urge to groan loudly.

I open the door to a tall skinny man with a thick mustache. “Good evening, sir. You must be Mayor Williams.”

He flashes me a lecherous smirk. “And who are you, lovely young lady?” he asks, taking my hand and pressing his lips to it.

“Clodagh.” I pull my hand away as soon as I can, my skin crawling.

Ew, as Teagan would say.

“Mayor Williams.” Killian walks up behind me, and the mayor steps into the hall. “Where’s your beautiful wife?”

“She’s feeling poorly, I’m afraid,” he booms. “Her varicose veins are acting up.” When he explains this, the mayor eyes me for some reason, so I make a sympathetic “oh” sound.

“This one’s too young to worry about that.” He takes a moment to admire my legs, free of varicose veins, and licks his lips.

Ew, again.

“And how do you know this lovely one, Killian? I do hope she’ll be dining beside me tonight.”

Killian places a hand on my back again, and I tense up.

I can’t bear the thought of him touching me, knowing he’s going to have sex with another woman when dinner is over.

“Clodagh’s my live-in assistant.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say politely. Please fuck off into the lounge. You’ve already kissed my hand.

The mayor’s face lights up. “Ah, you’re Irish! I can hear it now. Of course, you are, with beautiful red hair like that. I’m Irish too. My great-great-great-grandfather came from Dublin.” For fuck’s sake. One of those dudes who wants to explain his Irish ancestry to me. “Where are you from? Dublin?”

I bristle.

Assuming every Irish person is from Dublin is as insulting as assuming a Canadian person is from the States. “No, up north. Donegal.”

He lets out a bellowing laugh even though I’m not trying to be funny, then turns to Killian. “I did a tour there once. Beautiful scenery but the transport and amenities are terrible. No trains, just old cars for rental, and the roads need some real repair. It’s such a slow way of life,” he drawls, patting Killian on the arm.

I snatch his coat, glaring at him. He’s making us out to be like country bumpkins with no teeth.

“You’re better off staying down the south coast,” he adds helpfully.

“I’m sure Clodagh’s homeland is well worth visiting.” Killian runs a hand over his jawline and actually looks pissed.

I trail them toward the lounge area, steam rising from my head.

Insulting someone to their face is bad but not as bad as insulting someone in front of their face TO SOMEONE ELSE’S FACE. That takes it to a whole other level of assholery.

Except Mayor Moron isn’t finished. He turns to me, licking his lips again, and says something gibberish in appalling Irish. “Did you understand that?”

“No,” I grit out. “I have no idea what that was.” See,thisis the type of guy I imagined when Marcus first told me about the job. I have a horrible vision of the mayor wearing a diaper, asking me to sing to him.

Killian’s scowl deepens. “Let’s let Clodagh get back to work.”

Can’t I just hide under all the obnoxious coats?

This is going to be a long fucking night.

---