Page 47 of Fifth Avenue Fling

I exhale heavily.

She shifts in her seat uncomfortably, as if reading my mind, and sets her fork down. Her eyes lock with mine. “Look, I know you don’t think very much of me, but I want you to give me a fair shot. I’m a hard worker. And… I really need this job.”

I hesitate. I don’t make promises I can’t keep. “This position was never going to be a permanent solution for you.”

She nods, her face falling, and I feel a twinge of guilt.

“Whyare you so determined tolivein New York City? You’re so far from your family.”

She smiles. “The same reason the Irish have been immigrating to the States for years. We believe in the promise of the American dream.” Hersmilefadesas quickly as it appeared asshelooks down at her plate. “And sometimes we just need to get away.”

“What is it that you’re running from, Clodagh?”

“Nothing important.” She shakes her head, closing down.

Her eyes lift to mine. “Tell me, what was it like growing up in Manhattan? I can’t imaginewhatthatmusthavebeen likeas a child.”

“I didn’t. I grew up in Queens.”

Her mouth forms a littleO.

“My parents were Irish,” I say, amused at her shock. “From Dublin. But I’ve been out of Queens for nearly two decades. I moved Mom, me, and my brother, Connor, to Manhattan years ago.”

“Wow,” she breathes. “I read you were self-made. Your mum must be so proud.”

I give a slight shrug. I’ve been in this game so long that Mom barely bats an eyelash when another hotel appears.

Clodagh fidgets with a lock of her hair, wanting to ask me something else but stopping herself. Whatever it is, she’s not brave enough to ask.

I finish the pie while she asks me about myupbringingin Queens. I keepthedetailslimited, avoiding the shit parts that no one needs to hear, like what a deadbeat dad I had.

She has a fresh-off-the-boat innocence about her that’s endearing. Most people want to know how Iearnedmybillionairestatus. Clodagh’s more interested to know whatgrowingup in the city was like.I chuckle as she screeches when I tell her Itookthe subway by myself atageten.

Her phone dings on the table, distracting us, as a message flashes. It’s close enough for me to read.

You’re driving me out of my fucking mind.

She slides the phone over beside her, pursing her lips as she reads.

“Is that a boyfriend in Queens?” I ask.

“No. Just a guy who’s on a different wavelength than me.” Annoyance flickers over her face as she studies the message again.

“Is there something you need help with?”

She turns the phone over to hide the screen. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Her expression tells me she doesn’t want to pursue the topic. She jumps up from her seat and starts busying herself at the sink.

I rise from my stool and come to stand close behind her, so close we’re almost touching.

She freezes, plate in hand. I think she may have stopped breathing.

My chest grazes her back as I lean over to open the bin. “Lie to me again, and I will personally put you on the next plane back to Ireland, sweetheart,” I murmur into her ear as I lift the Le Grand Cochon container from the bin and set it on the worktop in front of her.

She goes perfectly still. If I put my fingers on her neck, I’d find her pulse racing.

“Okay,” she croaks, tilting her head to look up at me. “I’ll try better.”

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