Fifth Avenue Fling: A Grumpy Boss Romantic Comedy (Billionaires In Charge)
Fifth Avenue Fling: Chapter 11

When I come home from work, astonishingly, the fire-engine redhead hasn’t burned the house down. I hear voices as I head toward the kitchen. Laughter. Female laughter mixed in with the deeper tones of a male.

Sam and Clodagh rest against the island counter, their forearms almost touching. It’s a nice surprise to see Teagan plopped on a barstool, engaging in conversation rather than retreating to her room.

Sam says something, and both girls laugh. Clodagh’s laughter is loud, too loud; her warm abrasive tones dominate the kitchen, and I wonder what Sam said that’s so amusing.

My hackles instantly rise. My security staff doesn’t need distractions. This is how people get hurt.

“Hi,” I call out, more as a warning than a greeting, walking to my daughter. “Princess.” I pull Teagan in for a kiss on her forehead.

Clodagh’s laughter dies in her throat. “Mr. Quinn.”

“Boss,” Sam says quickly, standing up straight. “I was checking if Clodagh needed anything. What with it being her first day.”

“Get back to work, Sam,” I say abruptly. “Last time I checked the schedule, you were on duty.”

My sharp tone startles him, but he nods, giving me a quiet, “Yes, sir,” as he leaves.

Not before Clodagh flashes that megawatt smile at him that pisses me off for no explicable reason. Thank fuck she’s wearing more clothing than she was this afternoon. Now she’s in jeans and a short tight T-shirt with a ridiculous cartoon bunny and sleeves in an attempt to hide her tattoos. On her stomach, a sliver of skin peeks out. Her auburn-red hair is in a messy bun on top of her head.

Her smile slips into something more measured as she moves toward the oven. “Dinner’s ready.”

“Right on time.” My eyes dip to the distracting bunny. Is she aware that the bunny’s eyeballs align with her breasts? She looks even younger than twenty-four. I need her to wear that big, old, floral skirt again, like she did when she first arrived.

Dropping my tie on the table, I ask my daughter, “How was school, princess?”

Teagan doesn’t look up from her phone. “Fine.”

“When I’m talking to you, Teagan, I expect you to look at me.”

She drags her gaze up. Fuck’s sake. We’ve gone around in circles about the black smudge she insists on smearing over her eyes. She’s too young for all this shit on her face.

I don’t have the patience for the fight tonight.

“The security team told me you didn’t go to cello this afternoon. What’s wrong?”

She shrugs. “I had a sore head.” My daughter is a terrible liar.

I feel her head. “Is it still sore?”

She leans away from me. “I’m fine, Dad; stop fussing.”

“Okay then. What did you learn today? Did anything fun happen?”

“The usual,” she says without looking up.

I take the phone from her hand. She glares at me and tuts.

Another night of having a conversation with myself. “Where are your manners, Teagan?”

She wants to roll her eyes but knows better. “This morning, I did geography and learned that we’re slowly killing ourselves and heading for extinction. This afternoon, we did an hour of religious studies. Is that enough, Dad?”

“Less of the attitude,” I say sharply, trying to rein in my annoyance. “I’m taking an interest in your day.”

“I hung out with Becky at break time. Her mom’s letting her get highlights in her hair.”

She gives me the stink-eye, and I sigh. Not this again. “Well, Becky’s hair probably isn’t as beautiful as yours.”

She huffs out air. “Can I have my phone back, please?”

I resist the urge to fire the damn device across the room and ban her from using electronics until she’s thirty. “No, princess. Thirty minutes a day, we agreed.”

“How do you know I’ve used my minutes?” she wails.

Exhaling, I lean my forearms on the counter, rubbing my forehead.

“Uh… shall I serve?” Clodagh asks tentatively.

I give her a nod as I undo the first few buttons on my shirt. She looks away quickly.

“I’m having mine in my TV room.” Teagan grabs her plate. “Thanks, Clodagh.”

My jaw tenses. “I want us to eat dinner together, Teagan.”

She lifts her chin defiantly and tries to brush past me. “I want to talk to Becky.”

“Well, isn’t that a fucking surprise,” I snap, then immediately regret it. “Teagan,” I call after her, but she’s gone.

I let her walk off because I’m too tired for another fight tonight. Sadness washes over me. How is it that my employees skitter around me nervously, but my own daughter is brazen enough to turn her back on me?

When I turn, Clodagh looks like someone shoved a lemon in her mouth and demand she suck. I don’t need judgment in my own home from a girl who’s never been a parent. “Do you have something to say?” I snap.

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.”

“I tried. 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.”

“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 devouring the 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 I set this manual on 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, recalling the image of her in 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.

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.

“Why are you so determined to live in 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.” Her smile fades as quickly as it appeared as she looks 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 imagine what that must have been like as a child.”

“I didn’t. I grew up in Queens.”

Her mouth forms a little O.

“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 my upbringing in Queens. I keep the details limited, 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 I earned my billionaire status. Clodagh’s more interested to know what growing up in the city was like. I chuckle as she screeches when I tell her I took the subway by myself at age ten.

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.”

Up close, her emerald eyes sear into mine. I have a vivid thought of what it would look like to have her gazing up at me while she takes my cock into her mouth.

Her eyes widen as I let out a frustrated growl.

What the fuck am I doing?

I step back. “Clock off. You’re done for the night.”