Page 46 of Fifth Avenue Fling

“Christ, let me guess, Mrs. Dalton’s instruction booklet?”

She laughs. “You haven’t read it?”

“Fuck,” I mutter, shoving another lump of pie into my mouth. “No, I haven’t.”

“She sure knows a lot about you.” She grins. “And now, so do I.”

“Good thing your lips are sealed by an NDA in that case.”

“I’m not sure you have anything to worry about, even without an NDA.”

My gaze drops to her lips as that distracting smile consumes her face. That smile is something else. “Why is that?”

“It wouldn’t make for the best exposé. Billionaire Killian Quinn gets up at five o’clock, has his smoothie, then works all day.”

“Are you calling me boring, Clodagh?”

“No!” Pastry flakes fall onto her fat bottom lip, and she self-consciously brushes them off. She seems torn between trying to eat daintily and devouringthe pie. “You’re just… not exactly a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants guy, according to the manual. There isn’t anything in there that sounds like it’s just for fun. Besides exercising. Like, what do you do to relax?”

“I fuck.” The words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them. Probably because she’s riling me up.

She chokes on a cough. “Tomorrow. Tuesday.”

Christ. Can Isetthis manualon fire? “Look, I can’t just do what I want whenever I want,” I say gruffly, irrationally irritated that she thinks I’m a boring old man. “Some day, when you have responsibilities, you’ll understand. Teagan is my priority.”

She scowls. “I do have responsibilities.”

I raise a brow, waiting for her to elaborate.

“Me. My manual might be shorter than yours, but it’s still being written.”

I chuckle at that and take a sip of water. I study her,recallingtheimageof herin the flimsy cotton T-shirt and shorts. “Where’s the ring gone?”

She shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “My nose ring? I hide it when you’re around. I didn’t realize you’d watch me through the cameras this afternoon.”

“I don’t care what you have pierced.” My eyes hold hers. “Just wear more clothes than you were wearing today when I’m around.”

Or we’ll both be in trouble.

Her cheeks flush red. “Most Irish houses don’t have air-conditioning. No need. My room in Queens was in an attic, and it didn’t have any. We got used to sweating. Stupidly, I forgot to turn on the A/C here. Now I know.”

My eyes wander for a second to the oversized bunny eyes before finding her face again. I can still see the image of Clodagh in my bedroom from earlier and the air around us suddenly feels charged. My grip on the glass tightens. “Now you know.”

We fall into silence as we eat. As she lifts the fork to her mouth and takes tiny bites, I find myself acutely aware of every movement she makes, wondering why I’m so riled.

Maybe it’s because my daughter despises me so much that she can’t bear the thought of eating dinner with me. Maybe it’s because Clodagh’s presence in my house gets under my skin in a way Mrs. Dalton’s didn’t. Maybe it’s because despite getting paid a fortune for a job she’s underqualified for, it’s clear Clodagh doesn’t want to dine with me.

Maybe a bit of all three.

I clear my throat. “Is all your family back in Ireland?”

Her fork pauses halfway to her mouth, as if she’s surprised by the question. “Yup. My three younger brothers, Mam, and Granny Deirdre.”

“Are you close to them?” My arm brushes hers as I reach for the pepper. It’s an innocent contact, but with the look she gives me, you’d think I gave her third-degree burns.

“Yes.” She nods. “I miss them. That’s why I wanted to make sure I stayed here legally so I could visit home when I want.”

Her sponsorship is based on this job. Marcus has been instructed to look for a replacement, but of course, Clodagh doesn’t know that.

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