Page 19 of Fifth Avenue Fling

I clear my throat and respond more seriously. “Nearly twenty-five.”

“You look younger,” he replies dryly.

“Oh, okay... um... thanks?” What does he have against younger people?

Another beat passes, and his scowl darkens. He rises abruptly, and I nearly follow suit until he waves me back down. “I need to make a call. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

I watch him stride through the glass doors to another room and slam them shut. Unease settles in my stomach.

This is the difference between a plane ticket back home and a life in New York. It’s obvious that I’m not what Quinn expected. I rub idle circles over the roses on Kathy’s skirt. Maybe this is karma for borrowing a dead woman’s skirt and calling it hideous.

Is this grumpy attitude because I stole soap and a glass from his hotel? Or did he find something in my pee test? Is it my accent? Most Americans love it. I’ve had a few drunken marriage proposals.

As he talks to someone on the phone, still scowling, I discreetly check him out.

He’s too imposing, too intense, too severe. Taking up too much space.

He’s too damn…big.

I bite a fingernail. When that one’s chewed up, I move to the next. What’s he doing in there? Is he calling fucking immigration or something?

He turns abruptly, looking sharply at me as if feeling the weight of my gaze. His lips move, but his focus remains solely on me.

I wish I could lipread, but the tic in his jaw is better than sign language.

I’ve fucked it.

Defeated, I sink into the leather couch, wishing it would magically swallow me up.

Goodbye, New York. Hello, Belfast.

The doors swing open, and he reenters the room, sinking into the sofa in front of me with an irritated grunt. “The domestic assistant you’re substituting has decades of experience. I expected the same from you. You’re barely older than my daughter.” He looks at me like I’m a two-headed beast that needs to be put down.

Bloody cheek of this guy.

I stare into his handsome face, wishing I could tell him to shove his job up his sexy ass. “With all due respect, sir, your daughter is barely a teenager. I’m a grown woman,” I say bluntly. “My age doesn’t make me incompetent.”

Anger flares in his blue eyes. Quinn doesn’t like being challenged. “I’m moving this person into my house, under the same roofas my daughter.It doesn’t matter if they’re doing chores. I need them to be a positive role model. Do you think I take that lightly?”

“No,” I say succinctly. You don’t take anything lightly, buddy.

“So why do you thinkyou’requalified, Miss Kelly?”

We stare at each other, the tension flowing between us like a live wire.

I promised myself I wouldn’t let another guy make me feel worthless.

“It’s Clodagh,” I correct him defiantly. “I may not be a billionaire, Mr. Quinn, or have a degree in childcare, but thatdoesn’tmeanI’mnota trustworthy hire.”

“I’ll be the one to decide that.”

There’s no point trying to bullshit the guy, so I’ll stick with what I know. “Fine. Okay, as an au pair, I’ll admit that I don’t have much experience, but I did help raise three rowdy younger brothers.”Much experiencemeaningno experiencein this instance.

He grunts in response, making it clear my spiel isn’t making an impact.

“I’m actually a trained carpenter.” I stop briefly to check his reaction and work out how the hell I’m going to make this relevant. “It might not seem like a huge feat, but as a woman in a trade job, I think I’m a good role model.” I pause to breathe. “And Marcus said you need someone, like, yesterday, and I can start today.”

I remain still and hold my breath, not wanting to be the first to look away. I’m not going down without a fight.

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