Page 50 of Fifth Avenue Fling

“Answer the phone, Clodagh!”

Fuck.

Double fuck.

Pleasesay this isn’t happening.

I leap out of bed so quickly I feel dizzy. The vibrator falls to the ground with a thud. My pulse is pounding, but my limbs are frozen.

Stones hit the window. Not just at my window, but at the house in general.

This is not good. Not good at all.

The drunken ramblings grow louder.

Stalking toward the window, I rip up the blinds to see a disheveled Liam stumbling back and forward on the pavement.

He hasn’t spotted me yet.

Please don’t wake my boss.

Liam is singing Irish love songs. He’s changing the words to suit my name, but it doesn’t work. His feet hop as if the pavement’s on fire.

“Cloooooodagh!” It’s the desperate cry of an unhinged man, as if his soul is being ripped out of him. He closes his eyes and arches his back, rocking his hips back and forth as if in worship of the moon.

This fucker will get me fired.

I race through the studio to the front door, not bothering with socks, shoes, or a dressing gown. I don’t care that I stumble up the stairs and graze my knee. I’m going to murder him.

If Quinn comes out, it’s game over.

My heart hammers in my chest as I race out into the main hallway, the marble cold to my bare feet.I’ve never been so angry in my life.

The main door is heavy and hard to open. Finally, I pull it open with force.

Mid-sentence, Liam stops singing and stares up at me as if I’m not real. Then he has the audacity to smile.

“What the absolute fuck, Liam?” I spit out, glowering at him.

His eyes are bloodshot and glazed. His hair is a mess. He’s holding flowers that look like they’ve been stepped on.

“I’ve missed you, Clodagh,” he slurs, taking a step forward. “I’ve come to see you.” He stumbles up the first step of the townhouse. “I haven’t had sex in eight weeks because of you.”

“What do you want, a fucking medal? Stay away!” I yelp, looking for something in the hall to push him backward with. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Clodagh!” It’s another loud howl from the pit of his stomach.

“Shut up, man.” I wave my hands to shoo him away. “You’ll get me fired! Go away! Fucking hop it, dude. Go home.” I use my fiercest Donegal growl. “Now.”

There’s movement upstairs.

“Liam, please,”I whimper, begging him with every cell in my body. “Please. Just go before you get me in trouble.”

He burps.

“Soz-sorry about that. No.” He shakes his head furiously. “No. I can’t do that.” He takes one more step up, within punching distance. “That night, darlin’. God, thatnight. I can’t think of anything else since.”

Dropping to his knees, he thrusts the flowers out in front of him and begins crooning loudly again. He closes his eyes, and a vein in his forehead throbs as a painful rasp explodes out of him. It’s safe to say he’s not going to make Broadway.

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