Page 115 of Fifth Avenue Fling

Gross. He’s drunk now; I can see it in his glazed eyes. He’s managed to get crumbs all over the floor.

“Any chance of a pint of the black stuff?” he slurs, thinking he’s funny.

“We don’t have Guinness,” I snap.But I’ll give you a black eye if you want instead.

I drop to my knees to clean the crumbs off the floor and lock eyes with Killian.

The only way I’ll get through this evening is if I turn into a husk of a human, void of the ability to feel.

I leave the dining area and head to the main bathroom on the ground floor, trying to pull myself together.

Maybe I’ll take a bottle of wine down to my studio. That way, I’ll forget about Killian and Maria having sex a few floors above me.

Minutes later, I walk out of the bathroom and collide with a chest.

“Hello, angel,” the mayor says in a voice that makes my neck hairs stand on edge.

He takes a step closer, his eyes sweeping up my body.

I bluntly move away from him, but he puts his arm up across my stomach to stop me.

What the fuck is happening?

“Excuse me.” I forcefully try to pull his arm away.

“Killian said he has an Irish present for me.” He smirks, pressing his hand to my hip. “I didn’t expect it to be so lovely.”

I freeze, feeling bile rise in my throat.

“Get off me, you sleazy old bastard,” I screech, pushing his hand away. My legs are shaking, my arms are trembling, and my pulse is pounding.

Hechuckles.He has the audacity to chuckle as if this isn’t the first time he’s been called that.

“I like the fighting Irish spirit,” he drawls behind me as he walks into the bathroom. “This isn’t over, doll.”

With shaky legs, I sprint down the stairs to the lounge.

“Clodagh,” Killian calls after me as I’m about to escape into the kitchen. “Can you open another bottle of red, please? Then call it a night.”

“Yes, sir,” I say in a very loud, strange-sounding voice, causing a few of them to give me a second glance. The room is a blur; I can barely see people. “It would be my pleasure.” My voice betrays me at the end and comes out wobbly.

I hiss another“sir” at Killian.

His eyes widen, and his glare changes to something perplexed.

I storm into the kitchen and pull the cork out of a bottle of red with such force the wine nearly sprays everywhere.

An Irish present?

How dare he.

How dare he think he canpass me around to his colleagues?

He can go to hell.

I march into the dining area and head straight to Killian.

I’m beyond caring about my visa.

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