Fifth Avenue Fling: A Grumpy Boss Romantic Comedy (Billionaires In Charge)
Fifth Avenue Fling: Chapter 20

“You’re an idiot,” I whisper to the bathroom mirror.

My bare, pasty face stares back at me with its red-rimmed eyes, blotchy cheeks, and a charming new zit as the cherry on top. Lack of sleep, sleeping with your boss, champagne sweats, and being rejected by your boss equals hormonal meltdown.

Blasting hot water over my skin in the shower for twenty minutes did nothing to cleanse my shame.

Fucking. Idiot.

I can’t believe I fucked him. I’m the stupid nanny maid who drops her pants for her boss less than two weeks into the job.

I wish I’d never invited him to yoga.

I wish I’d never stormed into his bedroom.

And I really wished I hadn’t let him use me for a convenience fuck.

I wish the whole damn day had never happened.

Now he has all the power. He marched into my studio, made me beg for him to fuck me, then discarded me like a moldy, rotten spud. He had barely pulled out of me before the revulsion took over.

Bastard.

I twist my wet hair up in a bun with a towel, then walk out into the bedroom and curl up on the bed with my hands wrapped about my knees.

I stare at nothing, feeling my eyes well up with tears again. All I can see is the disgusted look on his face, his words repeating in a loop in my head.

Besides the advice of using rubbers, Granny Deirdre warned me never to let a man control my emotions. I thought I was smarter than this.

I swore I wouldn’t let another man make me feel worthless again. My ex walked away with most of my savings and chipped away the self-esteem that I had built up since leaving school. He threw a huge grenade into my life and left a big, ugly hole.

Now Killian has the power to do the same.

What if he doesn’t want to see me again and gets rid of me?

My phone pings. Mam on the family group chat. It’s dinnertime back home.

I stare at the picture of Mam, Granny Deirdre, and my brothers eating dinner until my eyes are too wet to see it properly.

It’s my youngest brother, Mick’s, sixteenth birthday.

For the first time since I landed in New York, I feel homesick.

***

I didn’t sleep at all last night. Zero minutes. I spent all night wondering how I was going to face Killian. I bet he’s already over it. He’s probably forgotten we had sex last night.

Orla bounces toward me, dodging dog walkers and joggers. Everyone in Central Park looks so happy. I hate them for it.

I already messaged her this morning to inform her of my major blunder.

“So?” she asks excitedly, handing me a water bottle with electrolytes. “Spill. Have you seen him this morning?”

I swallow a big mouthful of the drink as we stroll by the bronze Alice in Wonderland sculpture. “Thanks. You’re a lifesaver. No, I snuck out of the house. I’m too haggard after the champagne and lack of sleep to face him today. I still need to work out my communication strategy for dealing with him.”

She smirks, shaking her head in disbelief. “Can’t believe you slept with him.”

“Ugh.” I groan in exasperation. “I can’t believe it either. This is the worst Catholic guilt I’ve ever felt.”

The guilt has nothing to do with being religious. I only go to Mass when Gran nags me at Christmas. But every Irish Catholic is born with the guilt gene, and it only gets worse if you go to a Catholic school. I get it bad when I slack off on a sick day when I’m not really ill. Or if I don’t do yoga three times a week. Or if I have dirty thoughts in inappropriate places like the hospital, as I found out when Gran slipped and fell.

Or a new one—sleeping with my cold-hearted, billionaire boss.

We’re silent for a moment as we sidestep a group of roller skaters.

“We all make drunken mistakes,” Orla says eventually. “You’re not the first person to have accidentally shagged their boss, and you won’t be the last.”

“This is my second drunken mistake in New York, and both times, I dropped my pants. I need to get my shit together.” I chug down the bottle of water. “I can’t even blame the alcohol. On a drunk scale, I was buzzed but not wasted.”

“Come on, you’re being too hard on yourself. From how Killian looked at you at yoga, there’s something there. He’s not a complete robot.”

“No, seriously, Orla, if you’d seen his face after… one minute, he’s banging me like we were the last hope for mankind’s survival, and the next minute, he’s gone, and I’m standing in the middle of the room, bawling like a child.” I turn to her. “How am I going to even look him in the face again?”

“It’ll be fine.” She squeezes my arm gently. “You’ll be grand.”

Grand. Bah. Like hell, I will.

“The worst part is he sent flowers to another woman only this week.” God, I feel sick just saying it out loud. In my lust haze, I’d forgotten that he might have a girlfriend. How will I feel when he brings Maria back on Tuesdays, as the manual says?

“I don’t even know how serious they are. Sam said they’ve been out a few times. Maybe they’re exclusive.” I sigh for the millionth time today and bring up the source of my torture on my phone. “This woman.”

Orla stops in her tracks to examine the photo on my phone. She physically blanches, and not because Maria is painful to look at.

No, Maria is an absolute stunner. I’m ashamed to admit that I spent an excessive amount of time researching her this morning.

“I guess it’s not a surprise.” Seeing my expression, she bites her lip. “But, Clodagh, you’re stunning too.”

She’s trying to make me feel better, but it makes me feel worse. “Listen, be careful. I don’t want to see you get hurt again. We were all worried about you when you split up with asshole Niall. You lost so much weight and were quiet all the time.”

“Yeah, you’d think I’d learn to stay away from men who can hurt my heart. Anyway, it’s fine.” I shrug, picking up the pace again. “I’ll only be working for him for another few months. The cowboy agency thinks they have another au pair position for me in Brooklyn.”

Best I move off the topic of Killian. “What about the guy from…” I rack my brain, trying to recall our conversation from last night. Which state was it? The middle states are a bit of a blur to me.

Now it’s Orla’s turn to look tortured. “Kansas.”

Last night, three of us left with security. Me, Orla, and her hedge fund guy.

“I took him home with me. I have a bad dose of the Catholic guilt too. Last night, I brought home a solid ten, but this morning, I woke up with a four. I didn’t fancy him at all. I’m shallow, aren’t I?” She whimpers, looking at me to make her guilt disappear.

“You’re not,” I say soothingly, trying to hide my smirk. “You seemed quite taken with him last night.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. I’m so relieved Uncle Sean isn’t home right now. I’m twenty-five, but I still want him to think I’m a virgin. It wasn’t even worth it. I got really freaked out during the sex because I started thinking that Auntie Kathy’s ghost might be watching. She died in that room, you know?”

I groan. “I’m glad I didn’t know that when I lived there.”

“Let’s forget last night ever happened for both of us.”

I snort. “If only. I still have to live under the same roof as my mistake.”

We walk on in silence for a bit, reflecting on our mistakes.

“Was yours good, at least?” Orla asks with a sly grin.

“Yeah,” I say with as much flippancy as I can muster, thinking about Killian’s eyes blazing into mine.

My stomach churns as the unease I’ve felt since last night returns. I’m too soft to handle this.

It wasn’t just good. It was the best sex of my life.

And that realization is terrifying.

***

I spend the rest of Sunday hiding in my studio. Killian doesn’t trouble himself to seek me out.

My only reprieve of the day is when my first shipment of wood and tools arrives.

As soon as my beautiful selection of hardwoods was deemed “non-explosive” (I wasn’t kidding when I said Killian had more security protocols than JFK airport), the security team handed them over.

Sam personally delivered them to me. He wanted to hang out, but I fobbed him off by saying I was feeling under the weather. My mood isn’t conducive to talking.

Having no workshop here limits what I can do, but I have saws, clamps, and wood glue to make a decent birthday gift for Teagan. It’s a nice distraction after dicking around all day, mourning something that doesn’t exist and feeling sorry for myself.

It’s time to snap out of it.

I’m just making her a box but sprucing it up with a window for pictures and some custom Celtic designs. God knows what Killian is buying her. Teagan has more electronics and accessories at thirteen than I do at twenty-four.

It’s small, so it won’t take up much space if she doesn’t like it. My mom used to tell me that the beauty of a box is that it can be whatever you want it to be.

Back when I was living in Ireland, I made them out of farmers’ disused pallets and sold them as vintage items. Although I wasn’t exactly rolling in money, there was a sense of gratification in what I’d created.

My ex filled my head full of shit that I could make a business out of it.

The following two hours are spent constructing my design, taking measurements, and carving and sanding the wood. I use grit sandpaper rather than tools to sand the wood since it’s a lightweight, delicate wood that easily marks.

This is as much for my benefit as it is for Teagan’s. Sanding helps me release some of my pent-up tension.

Carving Teagan’s name and the Celtic Knot takes about an hour.

After finishing the job, I send a picture to the Kelly family group chat and smile for the first time today.

Mam messages back. How wonderful! Your American family must love you! X

That’s all it takes for my smile to die.

***

I’m late. Shit. I run through the hallway into the kitchen to see Killian is already back from his run. It’s six o’clock.

I brace myself as he turns, scowling. He’s not happy.

“Morning. I’m so sorry. I slept in.”

I avert my eyes from the distracting sweat glistening on his thick bare biceps. Now I know they feel as good as they look. Lucky for me, he’s wearing a T-shirt. His stubble is thicker than it usually is as if he hasn’t shaved in a few days. It suits him.

His eyes move over me, reminding me he knows what I look like naked. “Week three, and you’re taking liberties already?” He raises an annoyed brow.

My face reddens. “Sorry. I didn’t sleep well last night.” Because I was running through every possible outcome of this morning in my head.

“Don’t think I’ll let you take advantage because of what happened between us.”

I gape at him. I can’t believe I thought I was falling for this guy. Am I a glutton for punishment? “It’s got nothing to do with what happened. Like I said, I overslept. It won’t happen again,” I say with more steel in my voice. Can’t he drop it now?

He sighs, and his expression softens somewhat. He looks like he didn’t sleep well, either.

“Teagan and I are heading out tonight for dinner, so you don’t have to worry about making something. That’ll give you time to catch up on sleep.”

“Sure,” I say, forcing a smile. Is he trying to get away from me? “Do you want your breakfast now?”

“Since you slept in, I don’t have time.”

His tone, his stance, his eyes. All cold as ice. Freezing.

I get a flashback of the heat in his eyes when we were fucking. Of how his large hands roamed my body like he worshiped it.

“Sorry.” I cringe. How many apologies can one make in a single morning?

“Should we talk about what happened on Saturday night?” I immediately regret asking the damn question the moment I see his jaw tighten.

“Let’s put Saturday behind us and move forward, okay?” He says it in the same tone he uses to ask Teagan to remove her eyeliner. “Can you do that?”

I feel fucking patronized.

Of course he doesn’t want to talk about Saturday night; it meant nothing to him.

I attempt to mask my hurt. I know he can see it. I don’t know why I feel so burned. I had a few one-night stands before but always managed to walk away just fine. Maybe this situation is different because he’s my boss, and I can’t simply walk away.

I hate that I wear my feelings on my face.

I hate that Saturday night meant more to me than him.

I hate that I’m the naïve, small-town girl who imagined this whole scene would end with Killian apologizing to me.

“It’s fine,” I joke weakly. “Sex with the nanny isn’t in the manual.”

He manages a slight smile. “No, it most certainly is not.”

I busy myself with loading the dishwasher as he drinks down a glass of water behind me. At least this way, he can’t read my face.

The tension in the air is unbearable. I need him to leave.

“From now on, I promise to keep my hands to myself,” he says softly behind me.

My heart flutters.

“It’s all good, Killian. Let’s go back to how things were before.” I plaster a false smile on my face. I have to protect my heart. We are two puzzle pieces that don’t fit together. “Pretend it never happened. I’ll only be working for you for another two months.”

I especially hate that he looks so relieved.