Fifth Avenue Fling: A Grumpy Boss Romantic Comedy (Billionaires In Charge)
Fifth Avenue Fling: Chapter 28

Glacial-blue eyes burn into mine with unapologetic intensity.

Everything and everyone around me fades away. The noise in the pub recedes into nothing. Time stands still. Aidan is talking to me, but I’m not listening.

I stare at Killian across the pub, my heart in my throat. He’s wearing a baseball hat and a low-key blue T-shirt, but nothing can hide how devastatingly handsome he is.

He nods in acknowledgment.

With a hitched breath, I watch as he navigates through the crowd of drinkers toward me. With every step he takes, our gazes remain connected as if tethered.

What the hell is he doing here? I knew something was off this morning. His annoyance was barely concealed under his cool, detached exterior. I didn’t understand why.

It’s then, as he walks toward me, that I realize I’ll never get over this man. Never get over how handsome he is or how he makes me feel. On my twenty-fifth birthday, I’m living legally in New York. I’ve had an amazing meal and am surrounded by my best friend and people who care about me. I’ve never laughed so hard in my life.

But nothing comes close to how I feel right now as Killian Quinn approaches me.

I’m doomed.

And then he’s right in front of me, within touching distance. So close I can smell his cologne, and I swear I can feel the heat emanating off his body.

“K-Killian?” I stutter as if he might be a figment of my imagination from drinking The Auld Dog’s bad wine.

“Clodagh.”

Is he here for happy hour?

“Your bloody boss is here?” Aidan grumbles beside me.

“Sorry, Aidan.” Please fuck off.

I step away from Aidan toward Killian.

“What are you doing here?” I sound breathless, like I’ve inhaled a cigar deep into my lungs. Nervously, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. I need to get a grip, but Killian standing in front of me in Queens is making me go to fucking pieces. “Did I forget to do something at the house?”

“No.” He looks so uncomfortable that I worry he’s here to deliver bad news from Ireland like Granny Deirdre has passed away. “I’m sorry I never said happy birthday properly before.”

“Oh, right.” My pulse races, and I laugh nervously again because it’s all I’m capable of. “Don’t worry about it.”

Someone shoves me from behind, and Killian grabs my arm to steady me. He pulls me closer, his glare directed over my shoulder.

Now his mouth is nearly touching my forehead.

I blink up at him, defunct of all social skills.

He tilts his head so our eyes meet, then says into my ear, “I have a present for you.”

“For me?” I squeak. “You didn’t have to.”

“I’ll give it to you and be out of your way.” He looks around the noisy pub before meeting my eyes again. “You seem to be having a great time.”

He rummages through his pocket with a strange look on his face.

Am I imagining it, or is he nervous?

I watch as he takes out a small box wrapped in Tiffany-blue paper.

“Here.” He hands it to me. “Don’t get too excited. It’s nothing much.”

I tear off the wrapping with fat fingers, embarrassed at my trembling hands. It must be a side effect of the wine.

“Killian,” I gasp, staring down at the silver chain with a green heart. Blood floods my cheeks. “It’s… beautiful.”

He shrugs dismissively, but the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile.

“It matches your eyes!” someone shouts behind me.

I turn around to see the women from yoga and Orla hovering, watching us.

My brow arches as I give Orla a harsh glare. “Are you guys listening in on our conversation?”

She smacks her lips together to tell me I’m a moron. “Of course we’re bloody listening.”

I let out an exasperated sigh. “Go away,” I hiss, shooing them away before turning back to Killian.

He smiles as he takes the necklace out of my hand. “They’re right. It does match your eyes. Now turn around so I can put it on you.”

I rotate, making eye contact with Orla and the women, still watching me and winking. His hands are on my neck, fastening the chain. I touch the heart and nearly jump out of my skin when I feel his lips brush my neck. A delicious shiver of pleasure runs through me.

He turns me back around to face him.

“Thank you,” I choke out.

The band launches into a bad rendition of a Dropkick Murphys’ song, and the pub goes wild with whooping and cheering.

I let out a girly laugh and stare at Killian. It’s safe to say he’s the only billionaire the pub has ever seen. It’s a far cry from his fancy hotel bars.

I might be a little hysterical.

He runs a thumb possessively over my bottom lip, looking lost in thought. For a moment, I think he’s going to bite it. My lips part involuntarily, and I exhale an uneven breath, my heart pounding away.

I’ve been sleeping with Killian for weeks.

During the day, he’s still my grumpy boss, barking one-word demands and sending cryptic text messages.

Every night, he comes to my studio, and we have the most out-of-this-world sex. Going at it like horny primates. I feel all shagged out.

Every night, he leaves to sleep in his own bed. He’s never promised me more than a fling.

But here, under the lights of the pub with everyone I know in Queens looking on, this moment feels like something more.

There are a million questions I want to ask. A million answers I need.

Instead, I ask, “Do you want a pint, Killian?”

He opens his mouth, but before he can respond, Liam is in our faces. “I’ve done some digging on you, Quinn.”

“Back off, Liam.” I hiss, glaring at him. Bloody Liam cockblocking me. Seriously? Why is everyone in this bar so nosy?

Liam addresses me and ignores Killian. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret, Clodagh.”

I never lift my glare from Liam. “Do you want flowers stuffed in your mouth again?”

“You heard the lady,” Killian growls in a severe tone, flashing angry eyes at Liam. “Get lost.”

Liam’s undeterred. “You’re dangerous. I fucking know all about you.”

I stare at him, clueless as to what he’s blathering about.

“And now you’re after our Clodagh.”

“Our Clodagh?” I hiss at Liam. The cheek. “Who exactly are you talking on behalf of?”

Killian’s arm tightens around me. “She’s not your anything,” he snarls, his voice dropping to a low growl. Conversations around us cease as eyes turn to us. “She’s mine. Now get out of my face before I do something we’ll both regret.”

But Liam isn’t done yet. My heart skitters as he edges closer.

I tug on Killian’s shirt to get his attention before things escalate out of control. His muscles tense, and his chest rises and falls as his anger threatens to boil over.

“Let it go, please,” I plead, trying to defuse the tension.

To my relief, Liam decides I’m not worth fighting for after all. He puffs out his chest but steps back, not looking so sure of himself. Perhaps because Killian is easily a head taller than him.

“Let me know when you come to your senses,” he hurls at me before marching away.

I huff indignantly in response.

“I’m serious, Clodagh,” Killian says in a low voice, his gaze fixed on me. I feel it right between my legs. “You belong to me.” The intensity of his words hangs in the air, overshadowing any trace of Liam’s outburst.

I bite back a goofy smile.

Before I can reply, his lips crash down on mine with a ferocity that takes my breath away. Every nerve in my body comes alive as I’m suddenly entangled in the most intense kiss of my twenty-five years on earth, right in the middle of The Auld Dog.

***

I wake up in a cage.

A sexy man-cage with a muscular thigh wrapped around my hip and a heavy arm draped over my stomach. Stubble tickles my shoulder blade, and a warm chest rises up and down against me. Warm breath caresses my neck, making my nipples pebble.

God, he smells good.

He’s fallen asleep in my bed. The last thing I remember was melting into his hot body and falling asleep naked in his arms.

He mumbles something near my neck.

“What?” I ask softly, confused.

“Teagan’s tutu,” he breathes. “Pink tutu.”

“Uh, sorry?”

“It’s at the buffet.”

I stare up at the ceiling, trying to stifle a giggle. I remember him speaking gibberish last night; Killian is a sleep-talker, it seems. He only had a few beers last night, but he must have conked out cold. He never stays the night with me. Each time he shuts my studio door behind him, I’m reminded of the uncertain nature of our relationship; it almost makes me feel like a prostitute, considering he supplies me with a credit card.

I tilt my head, trying not to make any movement, but it’s hard when his face is buried in the crook of my neck.

The clock reads six o’clock, making me an hour late for work. He’s late too. He said he can’t sleep past five, yet here he is, snoring and talking shit in his sleep.

So he is human.

Is it okay to tell your boss you’re late for work because he’s on top of you?

As if sensing my thoughts, his thigh tightens around me, and the cage gets smaller. He stirs, and I can feel something hard against my leg. Is that…?

Yes, my boss’s hard dick is against my leg.

Heat floods my body, a weird combo of arousal, warmth radiating from Killian wrapped around me, and nerves at what he’s going to say when he wakes up to find he’s slept over.

I angle my head to get a better view of his handsome face. He has such a masculine profile. The sexy scar running through his thick brow, the strong nose, his powerful jaw, his luscious mouth—which is just as appealing whether he scowls or smiles. The formula makes for a beautiful man.

His blue eyes are hidden beneath thick lashes, and his mouth hangs open slightly. He looks more vulnerable when sleeping, like his tough exterior has dissipated.

I can study him now without hiding my feelings on my face.

Sadness washes over me. I know what we’re doing won’t last; it’s a fling, and it’ll be over when I leave this townhouse. I’m not naive. I thought I’d accepted that. I thought I could live in the moment. It’s what I tell myself every day.

Yet I can’t help the pang in my chest when I think of our expiry date.

I don’t want to let you go.

At least when Killian and I part ways, I’ll be left with one positive—I know I can orgasm with a guy. At least when he uses a skilled tongue.

“Are you watching me sleep?”

I stiffen beneath him. “No. How would you even know that? Your eyes are closed.”

His lips curl into a smile as he slowly opens his eyes. As he stirs, his hard cock presses more firmly against my thigh, rousing him fully from sleep. “I can feel you watching me.”

“Not in a stalker way,” I huff, wriggling beneath him. “You know you talk in your sleep, right?”

I study him, waiting for a reaction. Relief floods me when he doesn’t freak out about the fact we spent all night together.

“Did I say anything interesting?” he asks, his voice drugged with sleep.

“Something about Teagan’s pink tutu.”

“Ah, sounds like I was stuck in the last decade. Teagan hasn’t worn a pink tutu since she was four.” His mouth brushes softly against my neck.

Does he not care that he spent the night in my bed while Teagan is upstairs? I thought he hated the idea. I expected him to leap out of bed like he was in the military. Instead, he slowly lifts himself onto his forearms with a grunt.

“It’s already six o’clock,” I croak, waiting for him to freak out. “You overslept. And I’m late for work.”

“Uh-huh,” he murmurs in my ear, his face close to mine. “What excuse are you going to tell your boss?”

Have little green leprechauns taken over Killian?

“I have no idea,” I whisper. “He’s a real bastard.”

He lets out a low chuckle.

“Seriously, are you not concerned about Teagan finding out?”

He sighs and drags a hand through his bed hair. “She knows something is going on between us. She didn’t seem too upset. Maybe I’m overthinking the whole thing.”

What?

Am I dreaming and talking in my sleep? I drop it even though I’m freaked at the thought of Teagan finding out.

Killian lets out a contented yawn and props both hands behind his head. He looks like he’s in no rush to leave. He smiles at me. “Wow.”

“Wow, what?” I wipe my mouth in case he’s talking about drool on my chin.

“Your eyes. They never cease to take my breath away. I can’t get over the color of them.”

Oh my God, swoon alert. Be still, my poor heart. I fight a giggle. “It’s because I’m a mutant. I don’t know the science, but green eyes are a mutation, apparently. Did you know only two percent of the world has green eyes? I’m unique.”

“That you are. Sexiest mutant I’ve ever seen.”

Since the leprechauns are in control, I may as well extract what I can from him. “Hey, I have a question.”

“Mm-hmm,” he murmurs lazily.

“What was your first impression of me when we met in the hotel? I’ve always wondered.”

I brace myself.

“I was surprised that a beautiful young woman asked for my advice on underwear.” He smirks as if remembering. “Then you started breaking shit in my hotel and dropped to your knees.”

“You were very grumpy,” I say with a small pout.

His brows rise. “Like I said, you were breaking shit. And you’re a little thief. What else have you stolen besides soap and cars?”

“Nothing! Anyway, stuff in hotels is fair game.”

“Not unless you’re a resident. Which you were not.” He chuckles. “But I’ll admit that I have thought about you wearing that lingerie and choker quite a few times since then.”

Oh. My insides are turning to goo. “Good thing I bought it then.”

He seems to like this idea as his eyes blaze with heat. He rises onto his forearms, holding his weight up, and impatiently pushes my legs apart with his thigh. “Fuck my early morning meeting. Fuck them all; they can wait. This can’t.”

I feel a tiny shiver of nervous excitement. He’s all man. He would crush me if he let himself drop.

“Next time, wear the choker,” he growls as his hand travels down my stomach until he finds the sensitive spot between my legs.

My toes curl as his fingers tease my clit, pleasure rippling out in little waves through my body. “Yes, sir,” I breathe, looking right into his eyes. “Whatever you want.”

This seems to tip him over the edge. His hand closes over my jaw as he pushes himself into me.

I tense up a bit before my body relaxes into the rhythm of his thrusts.

God. This man feels so good inside me. My legs wrap around his waist, my feet digging into his butt.

“Clodagh,” he groans, and I swear there is a hint of love in his voice and the way he looks at me.

In this moment, we have an invisible bond that only we can feel. I feel warm and happy and content. If I were a poet, I’d say our souls were speaking.

The muscle in his jaw jumps as his gaze drops to my breasts, bouncing with each thrust; I can tell he’s close now. He breathes heavier, his focus slipping. His face contorts, beautiful jaw slacking, eyes drowning in lack of control.

With a heated growl into my neck, he explodes inside me.

No, Killian Quinn. I’m not giving you up.

***

“What are your plans for when Mrs. Dalton returns, and I no longer need you?”

My smile drops. Now he’s half dressed and back in business mode. An unpleasant feeling rises in my stomach. I know he’s talking about the job, but his words feel personal. They cut.

I slowly climb off the bed and reach for my leggings. “The agency might have found me a couple who need an au pair,” I say, hoping he can’t hear the edge to my tone. “It’s only three days a week, so the other two days I’m going to focus on building up some inventory to sell. Orla and I are going to try to find somewhere affordable in Brooklyn. Not the fancy part, obviously. We’re checking out the cute district with the large Polish and Hungarian community.” I’m rambling. “Do you know it?”

For some reason, this irritates him. “I know it.” He pulls his T-shirt over his head and looks at me. “Do you even want to be an au pair?”

“Not really. But not everyone loves their job, right? I want to stay in New York, so this is a compromise.”

“I’m working on a permanent solution for you.”

My hand freezes as I reach for my vest top. “What?”

“A green card,” he says as if he were talking about getting me a hot dog from a street stand. “Not tied to the hotel. A green card that means you can work anywhere you want and stay for as long as you want.” His brow furrows like he’s scolding a child. “And you should start charging for those yoga classes on Saturday, by the way.”

He says it so casually.

Green card. Like it’s a bus pass or something instead of a permanent pass to the States.

My pulse skyrockets.

Don’t get excited.

“Really?”

He nods. “Really. I’ll help you put together a business plan.”

“Business plan?” I squawk because, apparently, I’m a useless parrot now.

He slips his foot into a shoe. “For how you’ll make carpentry work for you in New York. Quinn & Wolfe has a team that helps small businesses get on their feet; we’ll get you in to pitch. I can be there if you need me to.”

I might actually wet myself if he keeps talking. Or cry. Or pass out.

All these magical words coming out of his mouth. He can’t just bounce around suggestions like these and not expect me to have a meltdown.

“I…” I struggle around the lump in my throat, too overwhelmed to process anything. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

“It’s fine,” he says grumpily, now fully dressed. He smooths down his T-shirt. “Right, I’d better get—”

“Why, Killian?” I ask loudly. I never interrupt him.

“Why what?”

“Why would you do this for me?”

“Because I can.”

“Not because you care about me.” My voice is barely audible, but I have to press. He has to give me something.

His brow furrows. The muscles of his face tense visibly. “Of course I care about you.”

“I don’t understand where I stand with you,” I say, embarrassed to feel hot tears in my eyes. “I’ve turned twenty-five; I’m supposed to be sowing wild oats. I know this is just a fling. But…”

But what?

He edges closer and speaks, his voice almost a growl. “You don’t believe your Irish idiot? That I’m dangerous?”

My eyes widen. “No! Of course not. And he’s not my idiot.”

He takes a long look at me, scrutinizing my face. “Do you know what he meant?”

“I think he was talking shit.”

“He wasn’t.” His jaw hardens as he crosses his arms and towers above me. “You should take him seriously.”

“What do you mean?” I ask in a small voice, a trickle of fear running through me. Is Killian about to tell me Mrs. Dalton is locked away in the attic or something morbid?

He gazes at me for another long beat, debating whether to tell me something.

I watch his Adam’s apple bob thickly in his throat and stay silent.

“It’s my fault Harlow died,” he finally says in a husky voice. “She was shot in a botched robbery because I gave her an engagement ring worth a quarter of a million dollars. Something she didn’t even want.” His lips twist into an angry grimace. “She was killed because she had diamonds and no security. Both my fault. Both led to her death.”

“Oh, I didn’t… I didn’t know that.” Shit. That’s horrific. What the hell do I say? My mind goes blank as I try to come up with something comforting. Unease creeps up my scalp as I scramble for the right words, wishing I knew how to make him feel better.

I reach up to run my fingers through his hair, but he tenses up. “It’s not your fault, Killian. You can’t blame yourself,” I say, trying to reassure him, but it doesn’t do any good. He’s stuck in his own self-blame spiral.

He grunts in response like he’s had the conversation before.

I’m lost for words. After a long pause, I ask quietly, “Is that why you have so much security?”

It makes sense now.

“I had security back then, not a ton, but it would have been enough.” His throat bobs. “Harlow and I split up. She moved out, and her new place didn’t have security. I didn’t think she needed it.”

He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, a dark laugh slipping out. “I was wrong,” he says flatly. “Very fucking wrong. The only saving grace is that Teagan was at Mom’s.”

My heart breaks for him. I can’t imagine what it feels like, but if the haunted look in his eyes is any indication, I never want to experience it.

“But that doesn’t make you dangerous. It wasn’t your fault.” I shake my head in disgust. “I’m going to wring Liam’s neck for saying that to you.”

He gives a slight shrug. “A stupid rumor went around Queens. I went to her apartment that night and had a massive argument with a guy she was with. People saw us fighting and thought I had something to do with what happened next. It pops up every now and then, usually when someone’s trying to stir up trouble.”

I exhale heavily as the gravity of his situation sinks in.

“So now you know.” His lips tug into a weak smile, though it doesn’t quite hide the sadness in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Killian,” I say, burying my face into his neck. I wrap my arms around him, knowing it will take much more than a hug to get rid of his demons.

“You make me feel safer than anyone else in the world,” I whisper.