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

One year later

“Come on, Teagan!” I yell into the wind as she sprints toward the goal. “Killian, are you watching?”

Killian stands beside me, his hands over his eyes and an expression of pure agony. He’s such a scaredy-cat sometimes.

I don’t know what he’s worried about. Since Teagan started playing for the Queens Gaels ladies’ team, she’s taken no prisoners.

People say Gaelic football is between Aussie Rules and English football. Teagan plays in a full-forward position, which means she’s the attacking player going for goals, and she is a machine. She quit ballet a few months back, deciding Gaelic football was more her thing.

Killian takes a deep breath. “It got a bit rough out there. I wanted to run onto the pitch and drag her off.”

I roll my eyes playfully. “I don’t know what you’re worried about; the opposing team is terrified of her.”

Teagan and I still haven’t broached the topic of her having a boyfriend on the guys’ team, but I don’t think Killian is ready for that yet.

“Five minutes until penalties,” I say, wrapping my arms around his waist. “Then you can relax.”

He nods. “How about a drink at Marek’s restaurant afterward to calm my nerves?”

I smile. It’s the first time Teagan’s team is playing at the new Brooklyn community center that Killian built.

“That sounds great. Although I’m not staying out too late. I have to get up early in the morning.”

“Your boss must be a real tyrant,” he teases.

“Nah, not a five o’clock kind of tyrant.” I’m now my own boss and have been pushing myself out of bed at six o’clock every morning.

I’m renting a tiny studio from Uncle Sean’s friend Paddy, who I think might be in the Irish mob, but he offered me a good deal on the place. It’s so small that you couldn’t swing a cat in it, but it’s only twenty minutes by bike from Orla’s and my apartment in Brooklyn. I wish I’d never told Granny Deirdre, who messages me daily about cyclists killed in the city.

The orders have been steady lately, and I recently got a more significant order from a chain of furniture stores. I finished my online business course. There were even a few tears with some of the modules, but I did it. I didn’t get any special recognition—no graduation hat or fancy certificate—but I feel better equipped to take baby steps in the business world. Now I’m like Scrooge, tracking every penny and monitoring where it goes.

Killian is mentoring me with the business side of things, and even Teagan is helping out for a few hours on Saturday. However, Killian insists on making her work for minimum wage so she can learn the value of money. To make up for it, I take her out for burgers afterward.

“Why don’t we just have one beer and then get some takeout from L’Oignon du Monde?” Killian suggests.

“That sounds like a great plan,” I reply with a smile.

What a perfect night. A low-key local bar followed by a fancy romantic Central Park dinner.

My gaze flickers up to Killian, who presses his lips against my forehead. We’ve been going from strength to strength, albeit with a few arguments, because when opposites attract, what else do you expect?

I still think he’s grumpy, and he thinks I’m a “live wire.” Sounds like old-man talk to me.

Right now, we have a great balance. I stay over at the Fifth Avenue townhouse three nights a week, which means Orla can have her hedge fund guy over (he grew on her). He was nice enough to explain the concept of hedge funds to me; it sounds like an incredibly dull job.

I wave to Liam, who is a few rows down. He has a baby now with Sheila. He moved on quickly, and I’m happy for him.

Teagan has the ball again and takes off toward the goal, dodging defenders left and right. She’s on fire today.

“Gooooaaal!” I scream as Teagan sends the ball sailing into the net.

Another year later

“I have one thing on my bucket list that I want to fulfill,” Killian tells me as we stroll hand in hand through Central Park.

I glance at him skeptically. “You don’t have a bucket list.”

“I do now.”

In two days, Killian, Teagan, and I fly to Ireland to travel the Wild Atlantic Way. We’ll end up in Donegal. I’ve been working crazy hours to get the stock orders out so I can relax on my trip.

He pulls me closer, and I glide my hands over his chest. Unfortunately it’s covered in a hoodie. I love the way he feels. I could spend all night exploring his body with my fingertips. It’s my favorite pastime.

I think back to our conversations this past week about what we’ll do in Ireland. “I’m not kissing the Blarney Stone. I’ll watch you do it, but don’t make me do it. I heard a rumor that people pee over it.”

He chuckles. “My item is more substantial than kissing the Blarney Stone.”

He pauses, then lowers himself to one knee, right in the middle of Central Park.

My jaw drops with him.

My eyes go wide, and my heart starts pounding. “What are you… are you…?”

He smiles up at me. Those eyes of his still have the power to send delicious shivers through me. “I wanted to do this now so we can tell your mum and gran back in Ireland. If you say yes, that is.”

Holy fucking potatoes. He’s got a ring. A mix of excitement and nerves rush through my veins.

I glance around, flustered. A few people seem vaguely interested, but this is New York, so no one seems too shocked by Killian’s grand gesture.

“Clodagh, Kelly. Is tú mo grá.”

I love you, in Irish. I silently pray he doesn’t try to say more because I haven’t spoken it since school and only remember the rude words now.

“You and Teagan are my whole world. You own my heart. All I want is to spend the rest of my days with you both and give Teagan lots of siblings. It doesn’t matter where we end up as long as we’re together.”

“Yes, I will marry you!” I practically scream, throwing my arms around his neck and squeezing him tightly. “Oh, Clodagh Quinn, that sounds lovely!”

He laughs below me as he says, “You didn’t let me ask my question yet. Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” I yell, resisting the urge to whoop.

Looks like I got my slice of the Big Apple. And I got seven-star orgasms.