Page 138 of Fifth Avenue Fling

“Yes, I’m boring you?” JP sounds really pissed now. “What the fuck are you looking at? We have twenty-four hours to sort this out, or the casino is dead in the water.”

Fighting a giggle, I innocently set the water jug down on his desk and resist the urge to lean over and wave at JP. It would make for an interesting story.

Killian glares at me so ferociously I’m surprised I haven’t been stripped of my underwear.

“Alfred Marek sent us a letter backed by the fucking mayor himself,” JP rants, oblivious to my presence. “Going by the expression on his face when he stormed out of your house, I don’t think it’s an idle threat. This isn’t just a silly little local protest now.”

Huh. Seems Alfred is a more common name than I thought. Like the guy I had to ghost from Central Park.

Killian mumbles something about casino builds. I don’t know what; I’m too focused on clenching my ass cheeks together and looking seductive.

“That made no sense,” JP barks. “Are you even listening?”

“No,” Killian says, still staring at me instead of the screen. Boobs. That’s what he’s thinking.

He taps something on the keyboard. “I’ll call you later.”

Since I’ve fulfilled my duty of delivering him his citrus-infused water, I turn to leave.

“Wait,” he growls, beckoning me like a king with his servant. “Come here.”

I turn to face him.

“Sorry I interrupted your call,” I say, smiling innocently at him. Lies.

“It can wait.” He grabs my hand and pulls me until I’m straddling his lap. His fingertips skim along the edge of my lingerie, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. “This is a nice surprise, my little car thief.”

His dick thinks so too. It pushes against my crotch like a hard, immovable rock.

I sling my arms around his neck and press my hips up against his. My plan is to cocktease him for a few minutes, then leave. Payback for making me wait ninety minutes outside city hall.

“Is the mayor giving you shit because of what happened at the dinner party?” I don’t like that thought. How did I end up triggering a feud over a casino?

His grip on my lower back tightens. “Just some hiccups with the build. Nothing to stress about. One of the local businesses is protesting the construction.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “They don’t want us to build there.”

I think of the times that Orla and I have visited Brooklyn for dinner or walked alongside the Brooklyn Bridge Park and stared at the tall financial towers in the city.“I get it.”

“What do you mean, you get it?”

“Imagine if some big shot wanted to bulldoze The Auld Dog and Tony’s bagel store. The whole area would go nuts.”

“That pub looks like it should have been demolished years ago. The restroom was a biohazard.”

I roll my eyes. “Tell me about it; I used to clean those toilets. I saw the worst side of humanity. Anyway.” I jab him in the chest with my finger. “That’s not the point at all.”

He quirks his brow. “What is the point?”

“You know some of the older men there have nowhere else to go? It’s the only place they get to talk to people. Like Mr. McNearney—he’s seventy-five, his wife passed away years ago, and he has no family left. He goes there every single day, even on Christmas Day. The pub stays open just for him and a few others, and they do a wee roast for them. Community is so important, you know?”

Killian stares at me intently for a long time, and I wonder if I’ve smeared lipstick on my cheek or something embarrassing like that.

“Wouldyouwant to live beside a casino?” I ask him.

He doesn’t answer me.

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