Page 33 of Fifth Avenue Fling

Connor lets out a low whistle, eyes fixed on the widescreen. “Nice. This is what she wears to clean your house?”

That wasn’t in the fucking manual. When I said there was no dress code, I didn’t mean it literally. I’ll have to update it to say she needs to wear that hideous floral skirt.

My hands grip the remote tighter as Clodagh bends down to start the vacuum cleaner, giving us an eyeful of breasts.

Connor grins conspiratorially. “Funny how Marcus chose someone who would have been your type ten years ago. Pity she’s too young for you.”

“Hardly,” I growl. “She looks like an overgrown teenager with a bullring through her nose. And by the sounds of how much she talks to herself, she’s fucking crazy.”

“Uh-huh.” He smirks, pissing me off even further.

I might be getting aroused over the nanny, but attractive little redheads are a dime a dozen in Manhattan, and if I wanted one, I could pick one that was a tad more refined without shitting on my own doorstep.

“She’s not even qualified as a nanny. And she appears to have zero experience as a domestic assistant.” I pause, letting my eyes roam all over her body. “She’s a trained carpenter.”

“A carpenter? That’s cool. I don’t know any female carpenters.”

I have to agree with him; given a few more years and the proper guidance, Clodagh could have a decent little business.

We watch as she runs the vacuum back and forth across the carpet. It makes a grinding noise, like something is stuck in it.

No… no …

I exhale sharply as the vacuum smashes into the bedside table, knocking over the picture of Teagan and me.

Connor barks out a laugh, apparently believing the situation is more humorous than it is. “Maybe keep your valuables up high.”

Cursing loudly, she stops the vacuum with a kick and bends down to lift the picture, giving us a full view of her ass.

“Remind me why we’re spying on your hot young cleaner? I could watch her all day, but even I have morals sometimes.”

“I’m checking to ensure she can follow simple instructions and behave herself. I don’t trust her yet.” I clench my jaw.

As she puts the photo back, the nightstand drawer nudges open an inch. Indecision flickers across her face.

“Don’t fucking do it,” I snarl at the camera as her hand hovers over it.

She does it. She brazenly opens my damn drawer. Just another few inches, but it’s enough.

I swipe the speaker button. “Why are you looking in an off-limits area?”

Screaming pierces the boardroom’s speakers.

Connor and I wince as she turns in all directions to identify the source of the voice. It’s surround sound.

She shuts the drawer with such force the picture falls off the nightstand again, and this time, I hear the frame smash.

“What the hell?” she screeches, her panicked green eyes darting around the room.

Connor raises a brow, amused. “You haveoff-limitszones in your house?”

“It’s good to set boundaries. As clearly demonstrated here, people can’t be trusted.”

Especially not a woman with an ass like that.

She runs to the door to check if anyone is on the other side, then comes back to the center of the room and inhales a deep breath. “It’s the home security system,” she says softly. “He’s programmed it to trigger in an off-limits zone.”

“No, Clodagh.” My voice echoes through the bedroom. “It’s your boss.”

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