Page 45 of Fifth Avenue Fling

Her eyes widen, and she looks mildly put out. “No, Mr. Quinn. Uh, are you having your dinner in the dining room or…”

“Here’s fine.” I watch her awkwardly fumble with a knife and fork. “Before morning would be nice.”

She forcefully sets the plate down in front of me and does a little bow. “Yes,Sir. You’re a big guy, so I gave you an extra-large serving.”

My eyes narrow on her. If I wanted a second snarky teenager, I would have adopted one.

She leans over the island counter so the bunny stares me right in the eyes. Is she trying to fuck with me?

I’m about to tell her she’s already walking a fine line after her snooping act today when the contents of my plate catch my attention. Impressive.

But of course, it’s impressive; I hire Michelin-star chefs in my restaurants.

“You’re quite the chef.”

Her face heats. “I try.”

I don’t know whether to put her across my knee for lying to me or give her a pay raise for having the balls to bluff me.

“Impressive woman.” I smirk. “This must have taken you hours.”

The pink in her cheeks stirs something unhelpful inside me.

“Uh-huh.” She beams, all sweetness and light. “Yeah. It took a wee while, alright.”

I lift a fork and trace along the faint remains of the restaurant pig logo imprinted on the pie. “Join me for dinner.”

“No, I’ll leave you in peace—”

“Sit.” I gesture to the barstool opposite me.

She looks like she would rather swallow her own tongue than eat dinner with me, but in silence, she digs out a small piece of pie, places it on a plate, and tentatively lowers herself on the opposite stool.

Her eyes widen as I take a large bite. “You’ve really excelled yourself. I don’t know how you found the time to cook up a storm between rifling through all my private belongings. And it’s only day one.”

She stiffens. “In my defense, the picture fell, and I was putting it back in place. I’m sorry for breaking your frame, though. Can we start over? Just tell me what you need from me.”

Believe me, you don’t want to know.

“Honesty, Clodagh.” I raise a brow. “I need honesty.”

“What if you don’t like what I have to say?”

“It takes a lot to faze me.”

“Okay.” She nods. “If I’m allowed to be honest, why is your bedside table off-limits when all you have in there are condoms?”

“You must not have found the hidden compartment for my knives.”

Her eyes widen. She sets her glass down.

“To reprimand disobedient nannies.”

“Oh. You tried to crack a joke.”

“Itried. Have you ever thought I might not want to subject my staff to my condoms?”

She smirks. “I know you have… lady friends. On Tuesdays.”

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