Page 24 of Fifth Avenue Fling

“Funny enough, we seem to get more American tourists than Dubliners,” I say. “How long have you been in New York?”

“About six years.”

So Sam’s legal. Of course he’s legal if he works for Quinn. “And how long have you worked for Killian Quinn?”

“Five years.”

Oh. “You must know him well.”

He chuckles softly again. “I’m not sure anyone truly knows Mr. Quinn. Except his brother, Connor.”

“But you’ve survived five years with the guy.” I search his expression. “Do you have any tips to help me not get sacked?”

“Just stay on the right side of him.”

I groan, leaning back in my seat. “That’s a tad fluffy. You got anything more tangible?”

He grins, giving me a quick glance. “Sorry, Clodagh. I guess if it were easy he wouldn’t fire so many people.”

Sonot what I needed to hear.

It’s time to try out the bed. The lounge door opens into the bedroom.

“Do you live here in the house, too?” I ask curiously, turning to Sam, who has strolled into the bedroom behind me.

He shakes his head. “I live a few doors down. Mr. Quinn owns several houses on the street. Most of the security staff live nearby.” Our eyes lock. “I’m close enough when you need me.”

This does not fill me with comfort. There’s safety in numbers. “Then why do I live here and not with the other staff members? Why am I the only one?” I sink onto the bed, testing the mattress. I’m going to sleep like the dead.

He watches me bounce, then averts his eyes sheepishly. “You’re cleaning and cooking for him and Teagan. If Teagan wants something,”—he pauses—“anything, then you have to be close enough to jump.”

I freeze mid-bounce. Teagan sounds spoiled. “She’s a bit old for a nanny.” When I think of what I was getting up to when I was twelve…yikes.

“Billionaires think differently.” He nods toward the manual I had dropped on the bed, smirking. “I’m sure Mrs. Dalton has covered everything in that handbook. I better head off. Get a good night’s sleep, Clodagh.” A smile plays on his lips as he steps away from the wall. “You’ll need it.”

“No kidding.” My fingers tighten around the manual. “Why does he get up so early?”

He shrugs. “You don’t become a billionaire by sleeping in.”

“I thought that was the whole point of becoming a billionaire,” I mutter.

Sam leaves me to get settled in. By settling in, I mean spending five minutes emptying my small bag of clothes into a wardrobe.

Then I nose-dive onto the bed, thrashing my hands and legs about, and let out a deep throatyYee-haw.

This can’t be real. Living on Fifth Avenue isn’t affordable without a million zeros in your bank account. It’s a pipe dream.

Rolling onto my back, I let out a long, dreamy sigh as I stare at the ceiling. I can starfish in this bed and my feet and arms don’t reach the sides. The mattress feels like I’m floating in a warm bath. Maybe this is why Quinn can get up so early.

Sure, I’m the hired help for three months, and then I’ll be back in the same shitty visa-less scenario…

But I’m here now.

I could fall asleep fully clothed above the covers… except the light above me bounces off the laminated booklet.

First things first, business before pleasure. Propping myself up on the lush pillows, I turn the first page, and my stomach lurches.

The damn thing is the size of the Bible. This will take me all night. At least with digital text, I can use text-to-speech or my software, but with printed text, I can’t process things as easily. I have to read something like three times before I’m comfortable understanding it.

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