Page 143 of Fifth Avenue Fling

A doctor appears in the doorway. As soon as he sees me, he does a double take. “Mr. Quinn.” He glances back and forth between Clodagh and me. “I’m here to talk to Clodagh.”

I nod and gesture for him to come in.

He moves forward, smiling. “X-ray looks good. You have some deep bruising but no sprain. Take it easy on your wrist for the next week or so.”

Grinning, Clodagh pumps the air with her uninjured hand. “Does that mean I get to go?”

“You can indeed.”

“Awesome.” She hops off the bed. “Teagan will be home from school soon. I need to make dinner. I hope you’re not expecting a gourmet feast from a one-handed chef.”

My stomach clenches as I watch her. “You’re not cooking. I’ll cook.”

“Shut up.” She laughs. “That I have to see.”

My jaw locks tight. She’s so carefree, so oblivious to how differently this could have gone. The naivety of someone who has never experienced deep tragedy. A crushing guilt descends upon me like a physical presence in the room.

“Boss,” Sam says from behind me. “Sorry, we shouldn’t have called a code red. It wasn’t this time.”

This time.

I failed her again.

This ends now. I know what I have to do, even if it means shattering my heart in the process.

THIRTY-ONE

Clodagh

I follow the sea of suits through the revolving doors into the elegant lobby of Killian’s glittering skyscraper. It’s funny how I can forget that Killian owns a chain of hotels and casinos and isn’t just a snarky, hot, grump with an OnlyFans subscription he likes to use in the shower.

Click, click, click. Tap, tap, tap. There is no way I could listen to that sound all day long. There’s nothing worse than the incessant clicking of a stiletto heel on a hard surface.

If I had to work in an office, I’d want to work in a cool, dog-friendly, hipster office in a converted warehouse where you can wear jeans.

Everything here is evil high-gloss gleaming with the malicious shine of a corporate establishment. The water feature in the center of the reception area does nothing to create the calming and tranquil feel it’s designed for.

I scuttle along in my squeaky sneakers toward the sexy reception desk dodging busy businessmen and women coming from all angles.

Huh. Sneakers. I didn’t think “trainers” first in my head. I’m so American now.

“Hey.” A guy suddenly cut across my path, making me stop. “Do you have any of those small sausages with leek filling?”

“Erm, excuse me?”

“Sausages,” he repeats himself louder. Alright, so I heard him correctly the first time. “With the leek stuffing.”

I rack my brain for a task I’ve missed. Is this what I’m here for today? Killian wants sausages filled with leeks? It’s a bit random, but he's been acting strange the past few days, so anything is possible.

“No, sorry. I don’t have any on me.”

“Okay, when will you?” he snaps.

“Hmm, is this for Killian?”

He looks at me like I’ve sprouted an extra head, and then a light bulb seems to go on in his brain.

“Oh. You’re not the trolley girl.”

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