Fifth Avenue Fling: A Grumpy Boss Romantic Comedy (Billionaires In Charge)
Fifth Avenue Fling: Chapter 13

I might have found the whole damn thing comical if I wasn’t so irritated. God knows why I didn’t fire her on the spot. Instead, here I am, against my better judgment, waiting for Clodagh to have a nightcap with me.

Soft footsteps pad toward the kitchen. I look up to see her wrapped in a nightgown. Thank fuck. I could do without the unwanted arousal.

“Hey,” she says sheepishly, hovering at the doorway of the kitchen as if worried I’ll bite her.

She glances at my outfit—gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt—and seems relieved that I’m no longer in just my underwear.

I get off the stool and go to the drinks cabinet, giving her a slight nod in greeting.

She comes to stand beside me, loitering awkwardly. Her robe is looser than I need it to be. I avert my eyes from the slit on her thigh to reveal soft, creamy skin.

“Do you want me to pour it?”

I direct my chin toward the barstool. “You’re not on the clock now.”

She smiles coyly, tilting her head up. “If I’m not on the clock, does that mean you’re not my boss right now?”

I step closer to her, close enough to smell her scent and see every light freckle dotted on her nose.

Lust hits me at the worst possible time, and my cock thickens in my sweatpants. On a caveman level, I want to fuck her. To lay her body out on the kitchen table, push my angry throbbing cock deep inside her tight young pussy and feel it spasm around me.

But just because I want her physically doesn’t mean I’m foolish enough to act on it. New York is overflowing with beautiful women, and I have no intention of crossing any boundaries with the little Irish troublemaker.

“I’m always your boss. Do as you’re told and take a seat.”

Her face flushes as she nervously laughs, trying to hide her obvious reaction to me. Is that little pussy getting wet for me right now?

She does as she’s told and sits.

I pour two generous portions of whiskey on the rocks before making my way over to the kitchen island and taking a seat on the opposite stool. That way, I can’t see the slit running up her thighs while she’s seated.

I hand her the glass, our eyes meeting as she takes it from me. “The Irish don’t do whisky as well as the Scots. This is one of the finest whiskys you’ll ever taste, aged in the Highlands for over thirty years.”

“Older than me.” She places it under her nose and erupts into a coughing fit. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Try it.”

She takes a second sniff. “What if I hate whisky? Don’t I get a choice?”

“You won’t hate it.”

Unconvinced, she brings the glass to her lips and tentatively takes a sip. Her face screws up as the liquid hits the back of her throat.

“Good?” I ask.

“Strong. I don’t have much to compare it to.” She attempts a second sip. “It burns on the way down.”

She swivels gently on the stool, eyes crinkling in contentment. “I’m glad we’re past the unfortunate incident this evening.”

“We’re not past anything. I’m still deciding whether to reprimand you.”

“Oh.” Her mouth falls open as she tries to ascertain whether I’m being serious. She nervously bites her lower lip, her eyes conveying the thrill she’s trying to conceal. “How… how would you reprimand me?”

Our eyes lock, the surged energy charging in the air between us.

My grip on the glass hardens. “You sure you want to go there?” I let my gaze linger, and her face turns bright pink.

She bottles it. She nervously twirls a lock of her deep red hair and looks down at her glass. “I don’t understand how Liam got the address,” she says softly, trying to defuse the tension in the air. “The only person who has it is my friend Orla, and she wouldn’t give it to him.”

“My address is on the internet.”

“See?” She blows out a breath. “You can’t blame me for that. In fact, I’m the victim in all of this.” The glass comes to her lips again, and the sip is much larger this time.

Her robe is falling loose. Under it, she’s still wearing the flimsy top. In another life, I would have stepped closer to her, gently pushing the robe off her shoulders to reveal her smooth skin. I’d start at her neck, slowly traveling down to her breasts where my tongue would caress each one until she begged me to fuck her. Dammit. I’m getting hard just thinking about it.

“Are you trying to tug on my heartstrings?” I ask, my voice full of gravel.

“Yes.” Her eyes hold mine as I take a long gulp from my glass. “Is it working?”

“No.” But I can’t help the hint of a smirk. “Resilient little thing, aren’t you? You really gave it to him with those flowers. I almost didn’t have to step in.”

She laughs, the tension leaving her shoulders. “I’ve had a lot of practice growing up with three crazy brothers. I get that you’re concerned about Teagan, but Liam won’t be setting foot near here again. I swear I’ll kill him myself if I have to.”

“One,” I begin slowly, my fingers curling around the tumbler. “I know your friend won’t be back, I guarantee it. Two, he is zero threat to my daughter’s welfare. And three, tonight, you gave me reason to be concerned about your welfare.”

She looks surprised. “You don’t have to be, but that’s very kind.”

“It’s not kind. I have a duty as an employer. When my staff is kidnapped from my house, it’s my business.”

Her face falls. “Okay. Well… thank you anyway for coming to my rescue. You didn’t have to.”

“It shouldn’t have been me.” I sigh. “An inquiry will be launched to determine why the team was so slow to respond.”

“What?” Her eyes grow wide in horror. “Don’t fire anyone because of me!”

“It won’t be over you. They know their scope.”

“Well, I think they were quick. I swear they just appeared out of thin air.”

My mouth twitches slightly in amusement. “The security system detected unusual activity and alerted them.”

“I guess a drunken Irish man howling is a bit unusual on Fifth Avenue.” She shifts uncomfortably, looking contrite. “I almost feel sorry for Liam. He wasn’t expecting an army of bodyguards.”

“Then he’s a fool. I’m the thirteenth wealthiest man in the States. Of course I have security.”

“But it seems so safe in this part of New York.” Her brow furrows in confusion. “I didn’t think you’d need such heavy security.”

“Nowhere is safe. New York isn’t a fairy tale.” Harlow was like Clodagh—she believed the world was full of good people and didn’t understand why anyone would need protection. My chest tightens at the thought of something happening to Clodagh under my watch.

Not like that Irish idiot. A real threat.

I swallow another sip of the whisky, studying her. “So that’s the type of guy you’re interested in?”

She looks affronted. “Now I feel the need to defend my taste in men. He’s not always such a dumbass.” She pauses, rimming her fingers over the glass. “He was sweet in the beginning. He just turned a bit territorial after we…”

My brows rise. “I just stopped a guy from kidnapping you and carrying you down the street like a sack of potatoes in the middle of the night. I don’t think you’re in a position to defend your taste in men.”

She scowls. “I’d prefer not to be compared to a sack of potatoes, thanks very much. Was that supposed to be a racist joke? Believe me, I’ve heard all the potato jokes out there about the Irish.”

I can’t help but chuckle. “The Irish aren’t a race, Clodagh.”

“I do fit the stereotype, though,” she says, grinning. “I love potatoes. They should be eaten for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. There’s nothing better than butter flowing over all that creamy, fluffy heaven melting into your mouth. Everything else on the plate is just a side accessory.” She actually licks her lips.

Jesus Christ, she makes eating potatoes sound erotic.

“There’s not enough potatoes in your menu options.”

“You can add some.”

She gasps, feigning shock. “I’m allowed to make amendments to the manual?”

I’m beginning to begrudge Mrs. Dalton for being so thorough. “I’m not that stuck in my ways.”

Her smirk implies that she thinks the opposite is true. “Am I the worst nanny maid you’ve ever had?”

“Probably, but the past two didn’t last long enough for me to be sure.”

She nods. “You scared them away.”

“Must have.” I pause. “Do I scare you, Clodagh?”

I watch her weigh the response in her mind. “I find you intimidating. You make me a bit nervous.”

I don’t attempt to appease her and let her words hang in the air. “You were thankful for me scaring people away this evening.”

“Oh God,” she groans. “I’m so embarrassed. I promise you won’t have to scare anyone else off.” She pushes her lower lip between her teeth to suppress a smile. “Although you must have your fair share of crazed admirers.”

“Because I’m a billionaire?”

“No, because you’re… hmm…” She looks away quickly. “It’s obvious you have plenty of admirers. From the manual.”

“Guess the manual has me all figured out.”

She drains the last of the liquid from her glass, then gives me a coy grin that makes me want to bend her over my knee and show her exactly how I want to reprimand her for tonight. “I’m not sure anyone has you figured out, Mr. Quinn.”

I run an agitated hand across my jaw. If she keeps looking at me like that, I’m liable to break my own rule about no fraternizing with staff.

Instead, I hear myself say, “You have the widest smile I’ve ever seen.”

Her laughter rings out in the kitchen. “Is there a compliment in there somewhere?”

“You have a beautiful smile,” I correct. Her smile is the first thing I noticed about her.

Her eyes widen in surprise. “People say it’s too big for my face.”

“Those people are idiots.”

Stunned, she stammers out, “Thank you.” She looks so floored that I’ve complimented her that I have to wonder if she thinks I’m a monster.

I’m closer to being a saint after how much she’s tested me this week. In some ways, she’s all over the place. In other ways, she seems to have her head screwed on.

But Teagan is warming up to her quicker than the other nannies, and my daughter comes first.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks.

I must be frowning. “I can’t figure you out.”

“That’s funny coming from you. I’m an open book. What do you want to know?”

“Why did you really come to New York? Why did you leave your life in Ireland?”

She takes a breath, then smiles. “Maybe my life in Ireland wasn’t everything I wanted it to be.”

My curiosity is piqued. “Elaborate.”

Her gaze settles on the glass on the table. “I told you my business didn’t work out,” she finally starts. “I started it with my ex about a year ago. He had these grand plans about marketing strategies, renting a space, an online store… I got swept up in it, and I put my savings into it. Not billions, but enough to hurt me.” She smiles sadly.

“He had me dreaming big without understanding any of the details.” Her chest rises with a sigh.

“Then one day, the money was just… gone. Poof. Just like that. It just imploded in my face. Still, to this day, I don’t know how he spent it.” Her voice trails off into a bitter laugh. “I think he spent it on his new car.”

Her expression stirs something protective in me. I’d kill any bastard who tried to screw over Teagan.

She looks up at me ruefully. “I quit my job to start the business. My dream was always to live in New York, so when everything imploded in my face like that, I figured it was the right time to go. Staying in Ireland just kept reminding me of how stupid I was.”

“You’re not stupid, Clodagh,” I say softly. “You’re just trusting. You deserve to be treated better than that. He sounds like a scumbag.”

“I’m naïve, more like. I looked up to him because he was so smart. I never thought I could start my own business. In school, I came bottom of the class in the important subjects.” She blanches. “I probably shouldn’t tell you that. If I were your daughter, you’d be so disappointed in me. I’m bowled over by how much Teagan does, never mind her schoolwork.”

“You’re not my daughter.” I stare hard at her, feeling my jaw tense up. “And that’s not how being a father works. You love your daughter for everything about them, even their vulnerabilities.”

She shrugs. “Anyway, it’s not all doom and gloom. I’ve wanted to live in New York ever since I watched Home Alone when I was eight. And here I am.”

“If only life in New York was a Disney fantasy.”

“I don’t need the fantasy. I’d be happy living in New York and sanding doors. That’s it. I’m a simple gal. No big dreams.” She looks at me curiously. “What’s your dream? Have they all come true?”

“I don’t dream.”

She eyes me skeptically. “I don’t believe that. Everyone dreams, even if they’re scared to share them.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so.” Her grin suggests she’s won some unspoken battle between us. Her fingertips trace around the rim of her glass, hinting at a refill. “I also think underneath the cool exterior, you’re not as scary as you’d like people to believe.”

My chest tightens as she stares at me, her eyes smoldering with a mixture of heat and hope. “Don’t doubt it; I am.”

She pouts slightly. “Do I really have to keep calling you Mr. Quinn? Can I call you Killian? Killy?”

I drain my glass and stand. “Go to bed. We both have to be up at five.”

Her emerald eyes widen in disappointment, but she nods.

Her robe slips off one shoulder as she stands, exposing the top of her perfect, small breasts. Definitely never getting to sleep now.

“And yes, you can call me Killian. Don’t expect to keep your job if I hear you call me Killy even once.”

***

I’m exhausted in the morning. After my run, I decided to go to work late. It’ll be nice to have breakfast with my daughter for once. We don’t get enough quality time together, and when we do, all I get these days are sullen looks and tantrums. Getting my baby girl to talk to me is like drawing blood from a stone.

“Heya,” Clodagh chirps when I enter the kitchen. She hands me a coffee. “I made it to the end of the week.”

My brow lifts. It’s a little premature, considering the events of last night. “The week isn’t over yet.”

She scowls but knows to leave it.

The sound of Teagan’s footsteps down the hall makes me smile. She doesn’t know I’m here.

I turn to greet her. “Morning, hon—what the fuck?” This better be a joke. “Tell me that is a wig!”

My daughter’s beautiful, naturally auburn hair is a horrific neon red. Her forehead looks like it’s breaking out in a rash.

Teagan winces, but stubbornly lifts her chin in defiance as she comes into the kitchen.

I slam my coffee down and push to standing. “What the hell have you done?” She looks like a mad fucking clown.

She takes the breakfast plate from Clodagh, avoiding my glare. “Thanks, Clodagh.”

“Teagan,” I growl, trying to temper my anger.

Finally, her eyes meet mine as she sets the plate down and takes a seat. “It’s my hair. I can do what I want with it.”

I narrow my eyes. “No, you damn well can’t. Look at the state of your head! How the fuck do you expect to go to school like that?”

“Language, Dad.”

I lean against the counter, pinching the bridge of my nose. Give me fucking strength. “You’re twelve years old. You can’t do things like this without my permission. No, scrap that; you can’t do anything without my permission.”

“You wouldn’t have let me!” she cries, spearing her eggs with her fork. “And I’m nearly thirteen!”

“Damn right, I wouldn’t,” I yell.

She huffs as I take her chin in my hand to assess her forehead. “You look like you’re having a goddamn allergic reaction.”

I’ve had zero sleep. All I wanted was a nice breakfast with my daughter, yet here we are.

“You bought hair dye without my permission. I’ve consistently told you that you’re too young to dye your hair, yet you still went against my command.” And the cheapest foulest shit on the market, judging by the horrific state of her head. “When?”

She pulls away from my touch. “I didn’t buy any… it’s… food coloring and some Jell-O.”

I gape at her incredulously. “Are you insane?”

My chest tightens as I exhale. Is this normal behavior for young girls? Why would she want to do something so ridiculous and nasty?

“Clodagh did it when she was my age,” Teagan says defiantly.

I turn to Clodagh. She’s so quiet I’d forgotten she was in the kitchen.

She watches with her mouth open in horrified silence.

“Sorry, Clodagh,” Teagan says meekly beside me.

Clodagh swallows a mouthful of air, the cheeriness drained from her face. “I just said I hated my hair when I was younger and…” Her voice trails off. “I didn’t mean for Teagan to do it.”

“That’s what kids do, Clodagh,” I say through clenched teeth. “They mirror adults. They repeat what we do.”

Jesus Christ. This is my fault for accepting a young nanny with no experience.

“I’m nearly thirteen,” Teagan whines behind me. “I can make up my own mind.”

I whip my head around, giving my daughter a murderous look. “Teagan, if you say another word, I’m adding another week to your two-week grounding period.”

Her lips quiver as she slams the knife and fork down on her plate. “But I’m meeting Becky tomorrow. I hate you. This isn’t fair!”

“I know you hate me,” I growl. “But you still need to show me some respect.”

“A word, Clodagh,” I say through gritted teeth, nodding to the back deck. Between my daughter and her nanny, I’ll have stumps for teeth by lunchtime.

She follows me outside in silence.

“Do you have any idea how to be a responsible adult?” I snap at her as soon as she closes the sliding doors.

She frowns at me. “I don’t know if you want a serious answer to that.”

“What else did you do that I should know about? Is my daughter going to come home pregnant next?”

Her forehead creases into something angrier. “That’s really out of line, Killian. I didn’t lose my virginity until I was twenty-one if you must know. I was a late starter.”

Three years ago.

I didn’t need to know that.

I lean against the wall, towering over her. “Let me be clear for you. You do not influence my daughter in any way. Do you understand?”

She presses her lips together as hurt flashes across her face. “I think you’re overreacting. She didn’t harm herself or anyone else. You’re acting like you caught her smoking meth.”

“Don’t tell me I’m overreacting,” I snap, folding my arms. “You know nothing about being a parent.”

She stiffens and stands tall, attempting to meet my gaze. “No, but I was a teenage girl once.”

As she rears up, she’s close, so damn close that her scent of coconut and flowers floods my senses. So heady, sexy, fucking delicious. I almost forget why I’m angry for a moment. If I step forward just a little bit, I’ll feel her soft lips against mine…

Instead, I let out a tense sigh. “Teagan can be easily influenced. I need you to be careful about what you say around her.”

“Got it.” She nods. “Look, if you really want her to heed your warnings, you need to explain why, not just fob her off with ‘it’s bad for you, because I say so.’” Her voice deepens as she mimics my accent, and I glare at her. “She just wants to express herself, that’s all. Do you even know why dyeing her hair is bad for her?”

My jaw clenches with frustration. “It’s full of chemicals. Obviously, it’s bad for her.”

“But she sees adults use it, so that’s not a good enough answer for her. I think it’s because young people have thinner hair that’s still developing, so the dye is more harmful. But don’t quote me. I’m not a doctor. Obviously.” She lifts her shoulders in a shrug. “But you should look into it and explain it to Teagan in a way she understands.”

I open my mouth to respond, then shut it again. Damn. Clodagh has a point. My answer isn’t entirely based in fact, and she knows it. I’m repeating what I presume to be true.

I exhale heavily, the fight leaving me.

“For the record, I’m sorry I caused the argument,” she says softly when I don’t speak. “Here I was, thinking I had survived the first week. Famous last words, hey?”