Chapter 22: Fifth Avenue Fling: Chapter 22

Orla: What did you get?

I smile to myself as I meander through Central Park, typing a response to her.

Me: Everything. Underwear. Shoes. Black sexy dress.

I send her a picture of me in my fuck-you-Killian-Quinn outfit.

Fuck you, Killian Quinn.

Fuck you and your ridiculously blue eyes, stupid, handsome face, and big dick.

And fuck me.

Fuck me for obsessing over you and your ridiculously blue eyes and your stupid, handsome face and your big dick.

And for letting myself become a miserable emotional wreck because of a guy. Again.

This outfit reflects those thoughts perfectly.

It’s a slim black bodycon dress with a lace finish. I picture the woman he was with in the hotel wearing the same dress, the woman who strode out of the hotel with him like she owned it.

I’ll need to don my body-control underwear to keep all my bumps in the right place.

Orla: Nice. Is it a bit sexy to be meeting his mam in?

Maybe. But what does it matter? I’m not meeting his mum as a girlfriend. I’m being offered a seat because Teagan wants me there.

Killian’s expression this morning made that clear. He had a face like a constipated grump. Seriously, what was up with him? He was even weirder than he had been these past few days.

Me: I’ll wear a cardigan—

Ahhhh!

I collide full force into a solid body, eliciting a grunt from the person I’ve walked into. I look up in horror to see I’ve walked into a guy holding a fast-food drink. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a white T-shirt that molds nicely over muscle, now soaked in fizzy liquid.

My hands fly to my mouth. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”

“Forget it.” He sounds way more forgiving than I deserve.

His grin catches me off-guard more than the fact that I’ve doused him in his own drink.

Flustered, I fumble in my bag for a napkin. “I didn’t look where I was going.” I groan, feeling my cheeks heat. “Can I pay for your dry cleaning or something?”

“Relax,” he drawls, his hand coming up to stop me. “Seriously, it’s fine.”

I sigh harshly. I’m sure karma will bite me later for this.

“What’s your name?”

“Clodagh.”

“Lovely name. I’ve never heard of it.” His eyes gaze leisurely over me. “It suits you.”

I smile at the hot stranger, feeling a bit off-kilter. Is he flirting with me? “It’s Irish. And yours is?”

“Alfred.” He holds out his hand to me. “Tell you what, Clodagh, I’ll forgive you if you give me your number and let me take you out for a drink.”

Oh.

An unattractive snort escapes me as I take his hand. I’m about to respectfully reject him when I stop and think.

Why wouldn’t I accept?

“Sure, Alfred. I’d love to.”

***

Bucket list number four: the exquisite L’Oignon du Monde restaurant. Translation: The world’s onion. Everything sounds more glamorous in French.

It’s like I’ve stepped inside a French palace.

Reservations here are like gold dust. There’s a one-year waiting list, so I don’t know how they slipped me in for Teagan’s birthday. Maybe Killian has his own list. The billionaires’ waiting list involves no waiting, while the ordinary people’s waiting list involves a year of waiting.

Killian motions for me to sit between him and Connor. That’s great; I’m in the middle of a Quinn sausage sandwich.

Teagan sits opposite me, flanked by her grandma and her friend Becky, who she talks about constantly. I can’t believe I fucked her dad. I’m a trollop nanny. I can’t look her in the eye without feeling severe Catholic guilt.

Killian’s mum is a timeless beauty. Since we entered the restaurant, I haven’t had a chance to speak with her properly, but my gut tells me I like her. Maybe it’s because she was polite to the hostess as she took her coat off, while the snobby woman in front of us practically hung hers on the hostess’s head.

Just as I’m about to take my seat, a server appears behind me, and then there are six servers at the table, one behind each chair.

What the fuck is going on?

This is over the top. I restrain myself from laughing as they help us all into our chairs. No one else seems to find it funny.

“You’re welcome,” I say with a wide smile to the server who assisted me in my chair and set a white napkin onto my lap.

Wait, what?

That didn’t make any sense. I meant to say thank you. My words are all jumbled up because I’m nervous.

But before I can apologize for my verbal faux pas, he’s gone. Talk about embarrassing.

A flurry of activity ensues as the servers scurry around us, offering us water, breadsticks, olives, and little amuse-bouches.

People at the next table nudge each other. “The Quinn brothers,” a guy says loudly.

I glance around at the other tables, and all eyes are on us. Women are staring at us. Correction, ogling Killian and Connor.

I’ve seen more subtlety at strip clubs.

Teagan barely bats an eyelid. At thirteen, she’s used to this?

“You okay?” Killian asks in a lowered voice as Teagan and Becky chatter excitedly about meeting the pop star. They’re obsessed. If I never hear about bloody Cayden again, it’ll be too soon.

I side-eye Killian. “Yeah, I’m great.”

His arm comes up to rest on the back of my chair. It settles there. I don’t know if he means to be so close, but it’s giving me goose bumps. He’s so big that his thigh brushes against my bare skin every time he shifts.

I could tell him politely to stop manspreading, but I’m a glutton for punishment.

The servers appear again to take our orders. They never really leave; they seem to be waiting behind the curtains, ready to jump whenever we need them.

While everyone else mulls over the menu, I don’t have to bother. Fancy restaurants and their pretty fonts make it impossible to read the menu. It’s like they don’t want you to know what’s on offer.

“I’ll have the half-young cockerel for starter and the steak tartare for main,” I tell the server. “Oh, and a side of purée d’échalote caramélisée, please.” I’m 99 percent certain I’ve pronounced it correctly because Siri and I practiced it a billion times.

Killian raises an eyebrow as if mildly impressed.

My lips purse. The arrogance of him to assume that I can’t pronounce things correctly in French. Disclosure: I practiced this afternoon.

I’ll never relax with him being in such proximity. Nervously, I pop a soft cheese ball in my mouth. Delicious.

Connor chuckles as the servers retreat. “A woman who knows what she wants.” His eyes twinkle with amusement.

“I checked out the menu this afternoon,” I tell him.

“I couldn’t do that. It would make me hungry and impatient. And I’m fickle. I’ll change my mind two hours later.”

“It’s because I have dyslexia,” I explain. Until a few years ago, I wouldn’t have revealed this, but now I feel comfortable discussing it. “The fonts can be tough to read, so if I know I’m going out to eat at a restaurant, I’ll look at the menu online before I go.”

The whole table is listening now. I blush as I become the center of attention.

Killian’s mum looks genuinely curious. “It must be tough, darling.”

“You never told me,” Killian murmurs beside me. I tilt my head to see a deep frown on his face.

“What’s it like?” Teagan asks. “Being dyslexic, I mean.”

“It’s hard to describe. It’s like your brain plays tricks on you, and the letters all get mixed up and jump around.” I take out my phone and scroll to the article I use to explain to people. It’s much easier if they can see for themselves. “Here, have a look.” I pass over my phone to Teagan.

Her eyes widen as she stares at it. Becky gazes at it over her shoulder. “This is insane. Things are moving. Dad, look at this!”

Killian’s arm tenses against mine. He takes the phone from Teagan and studies it, his frown deepening. “Do you have everything you need to be comfortable at home? You should have told me about this.”

“It’s fine.” I wave a hand in dismissal, my heart stupidly fluttering at Killian saying home.

And it really is fine. I know how to cope with it by myself. Otherwise, I’d be screwed.

“Sorry,” I say, looking around them. “You guys didn’t come out for dinner to talk about my issues.”

“Nonsense.” Killian’s mum waves a hand. “It’s so nice to meet you, Clodagh. I think it’s wonderful for Teagan to have some young female company in the house.”

Killian’s mum pronounced my name right the first time because she’s Irish. You could easily mistake her for an American until a few words slip through with her Irish accent.

“You’re not imposing,” Killian says gruffly beside me. “Teagan really wants you here.”

But do you?

“Yes, we’re delighted to have you here.” Killian’s mum tents her arms on the table and smiles warmly at me. “Tell me all about yourself, Clodagh. Killian tells me you’re a trained carpenter.”

He did?

All the blue-eyed family are watching me now.

“Hmm, yeah, a carpenter by trade,” I say, fiddling with my fork. “I’m taking a career break while I settle into New York. Trying something new.” I can’t say that the only reason I took the job was to get a visa.

I bite into another soft cheese ball and get a funny look from Killian.

“Is there a reason you’re eating balls of butter?”

“What?” I gasp, gawking at the ball. “I thought it was some sort of gourmet cheese!”

“No, it’s butter.”

Killian’s mum winces. “Jesus, dear.” She reaches for my hand. “If you keep eating like that, you’ll never keep your figure.”

Mortified, I return the butter ball to my plate, my face burning hot with embarrassment. I’m an idiot. They’re going to think we don’t have any fancy restaurants in Donegal. I’ll never get through three courses with the Quinn family.

Next to me, Killian lets out a low chuckle.

“I remember my first day in New York,” Killian’s mum starts, thankfully moving on from my embarrassing butter faux pas. “I was willing to do anything for work when I came over. Anything.” Guess she has me all figured out. “I was eighteen. Fresh faced off the plane from Dublin. So young.” She sighs wistfully. “The seventies were wild in New York. It was a really special time.”

“Everyone was doing drugs, and smoking was good for you,” she adds mournfully.

Killian erupts into a cough beside me. “Mom, for fu—flip’s sake.”

I hide a smirk. I don’t know why I hid my tattoos under a lace cardigan over my dress now. I even took out my nose ring, thinking his mum would be posh as hell.

“Oh stop, Killian.” She waves her hand dismissively and gives Teagan’s shoulders a squeeze. “Teagan knows better than to take drugs.”

Teagan smiles innocently at her gran.

Killian’s mum turns back to me. “Tell me, dear, where are you from originally? I can tell you’re a northerner.”

I smile. “Donegal.”

She looks delighted. “Do you know any O’Sullivans from Donegal town? They used to…”

Here we go. The ‘do you know this family’ game.

I smile at her.

My eyes stray to Killian, and as if he can sense it, he moves his attention from his mum to me and raises his eyebrows in question.

My cheeks heat, and I quickly look away.

Five minutes later.

“Do you know any Maloneys?”

“Yup, I think I know that family.”

“Lovely,” she squeals. “Do they still own the bakery in Donegal town?”

“I think so,” I fib as the army of waitstaff arrives with our starters.

My stomach growls in response; I had skipped lunch in anticipation of this moment. I quickly take a photo with my phone to send to Orla.

Half an hour passes, and I’m feeling relaxed. Different conversations at the table sometimes cross over each other. Killian’s mum is fun, and Connor uses every opportunity to wind Killian up.

Even Killian is relaxed and laughing. He may not smile often, but it’s worth the wait when he does.

I’m starving by the time the mains arrive because the starters were the size of a pea.

“Your tartare, ma’am,” the server declares, placing my dinner before me.

I squint in confusion, unsure of what I’m looking at. It looks like the mincemeat my mum buys at the butcher’s.

I take a bite and cough.

It’s slimy. And cold. Why is it cold?

My fork trails through the weird meat. This is fucked up.

“Everything okay?” Killian murmurs, watching me.

“Yeah.” I squirm in my seat because the tummy control pants are chafing. “It’s just not what I was expecting.”

“You know tartare is raw, right?”

“Like rare?”

“No. Raw. Uncooked.”

I stare, transfixed at my plate in horror. I blew my chance at the World’s Onion for this? “I thought it was like a bourguignon,” I mutter, taking a swig of water to get rid of the taste of the raw meat in my mouth. They should fucking highlight that fact on the menu. “Why would I want to eat raw meat? I’m not a dog. Is it even safe?”

“They blend raw egg and raw beef with seasonings. It’s an acquired taste.” The corners of his mouth quirk into a light smile. “In a restaurant like this, it’s safe.”

Raw egg and meat blended together? Sickos.

I tentatively gather a small sample of meat onto my fork and take a bite. This is a disaster. If I don’t think too much about what it is, I might not projectile vomit. “Sounds yummy.”

I eye Killian’s succulent steak with triple-cooked fries and peppercorn sauce.

I might cry.

How am I supposed to enjoy my potatoes with this vomit-inducing muck on the plate?

I take a big swig of wine and wonder if I could get away with requesting a neat whiskey and pouring it over the abomination on my plate to disguise the taste.

“You don’t have to eat it if you don’t like it.” Killian nudges me. I wish he wouldn’t watch me. This is traumatizing enough as it is without spectators. “Do you want to order something else?”

“I can’t,” I groan in despair. “I have to finish everything on my plate because I’m doing it for all the starving children in the world who can’t.” Damn Catholic guilt.

He nudges my hands away from my plate as the others are caught up in Teagan’s and Becky’s gushing about the pop star dude.

“What are you doing?” I ask, confused, as he swaps my plate for his. “No! I can’t let you do that.”

I’m tortured between taking a bite of the steak and doing the right thing and swapping the plates back. “Do you even like steak tartare?”

He takes a bite, the picture of ease. “Love it,” he says with a wink.

“Liar.”

“What are you two doing?” Connor interjects, watching us.

“I’ve changed my mind.” Killian shrugs, a smile playing on his lips. “I fancy the tartare.”

My cheeks flush as I look at Connor, and give a dismissive shrug. I bite into Killian’s steak. Fuck that, there’s no way I’m giving this back.

As he loads the next forkful of raw food, his arm brushes against mine. Wow, that was sweet. The guy is eating raw meat for me. It must be the dad side of him.

I don’t know if it’s my pride, ego, or something else, but I wish he would see me differently.

I’m just a quick one-night fling. Correction. A fifteen-minute fling, a mistake, not a serious proposal.

My core heats as I imagine him forcing me up against the wall of my studio and fucking me.

Now I feel as raw as the damn meat.

Feeling someone’s eyes on me, I shift my gaze to the next table. They’re talking about Killian.

One woman stares at me as if she wants my organs. I narrow my eyes at her. Back off, lady. I’m his nanny maid. I don’t need negative vibes in this fancy restaurant.

“People are talking about you,” I say in a hushed voice.

His eyes crinkle. “Are they? Hadn’t noticed.”

His face is warmer this evening. He’s in a good mood. Being out with the Quinns is less weird than I expected. Killian’s mother is down to earth, despite having birthed two billionaires. Connor’s a lot of fun, too.

“So, Clodagh,” Killian’s mum begins, her eyes full of mischief. “Have you met any nice men in New York?”

Killian’s not interested in me. I might as well show him the feeling’s mutual. I swallow my bite of steak and say, “Actually, I met someone recently.”

Killian’s thigh presses hard against mine under the table as if in warning.

Oh my God, he thinks I’m talking about him.

I almost want to laugh. Does he think I’m going to blurt out about our one-night stand to his family?

Feeling his intense stare on my cheek, I carry on. “Just today, I met a nice guy in the park who wants to go out. We exchanged numbers.”

Killian’s leg pulls away from me. The drink hovers over his lips for a moment before he takes a sip.

I dare not look directly at him.

“I’m not surprised,” his mum drawls. “You must have guys queuing up in Central Park. You won’t stay single for long.”

“He’ll need to be vetted,” a low voice rumbles next to me.

I tilt my head to Killian.

With his cold eyes locked on mine, he takes an aggressive swig of his beer.

“We’re just going for coffee,” I say, wondering why my heart is racing. “I’ll tell you if it becomes serious. I won’t let him near the house without your approval.”

For the first time this evening, Killian’s expression contorts into the familiar scowl of irritation I know all too well.

***

“Ouch.” My shin slams against the toilet bowl as I attempt to squeeze the shapewear panties up over my thighs. Did the steak add fat to my ass already? “Fuck’s sake.”

I’ve been in here so long the Quinns will think I’m doing a number two. I don’t want Killian to know I poo.

The main bathroom door opens, and heavy footsteps approach the cubicles.

“Clodagh.”

My stomach dips. “Killian?” I squeak.

“I’d like to talk to you.”

“Er.” I look down at my shapewear stuck around my knees. “Just a minute,” I say in my best singsong voice.

My thighs shudder a bit as I pull on the underwear. The grunts will definitely give him the impression that I’m doing my business.

It’s pointless. Mission aborted.

I roll them down my legs and step out of them, shoving them into my bag.

“Hey,” I say breathlessly as I open the cubicle door and step out. “I was just…”

Just what?

Now I’ve made it even worse.

“What are you playing at?” he says with an angry scowl.

“There was a queue for the ladies,” I lie, mortified. “That’s why I’ve been in here so long.”

“That’s not what I’m asking about,” he growls. “I’m talking about you giving out your number to random guys in the park. Is this to make me jealous?”

“What?” I hiss, gawking at him in disbelief with bug eyes. “No. It’s to make me happy!”

He moves closer until he has me pinned against the bathroom door with his arms on either side of me.

My heartbeat goes fucking wild. The tightness in my chest cannot be ignored.

I need a doctor.

“It’s not all about you,” I say breathlessly, dropping my bag to the floor. “Arrogant ass boss. Boss ass.” Ugh. “You’ve made it clear you’re not interested in a rematch.” I keep talking. “Why wouldn’t I date? I’m not breaking your rules.”

He dips his head so that his icy blue eyes are only inches from mine.

I feel a rush of heat between my legs, which is an issue because I’ve got no panties to cream.

“You’re not dating.” He moves his face even closer to mine so that his minty breath is hot on my face. “No Sam, no Liam, no other fucking young idiot. While you are living under my roof, you don’t date.”

“But you said I was just a mistake. Why shouldn’t I date?”

His face darkens even more. “Fuck,” he hisses.

I’ve no idea what is going on, in this bathroom or his head.

“Because it’s in the manual? Is that why I can’t date?” I say, my voice hoarse.

We’re touching now. His thighs rub against mine. My chest brushes against his.

I squirm against him, trying to catch my breath.

“It has nothing to do with the fucking manual.” As if he feels the need to cage me further, he widens his stance to trap my legs between his. “You were mine the moment I came inside you. As long as you live beneath my roof, no one else can have you, understand?”

On impulse, I thrust my hips against him.

Holy shit, he’s hard.

“Understand?” he repeats more forcefully.

“Yes,” I squeak out.

“Good girl,” he growls against my lips, pressing his erection against me.

Gah. He’s killing me. I am a good girl. My legs are already opening for him.

His lips press firmly against mine with an intensity that feels like a declaration of ownership rather than a kiss.

Stop this. Push him away.

I’m in the bathroom of a fancy restaurant.

Before I can stop myself, I widen my legs and push my hips into his so his hard dick is between my legs.

His hands roam, trying to feel my ass through the dress.

He groans into my mouth. “You’re not wearing any underwear.”

“Not anymore, no,” I rasp.

He pulls back abruptly with a sharp exhale of breath. For a long moment, he stares at me, breathing heavily.

Then he runs a hand through his hair, gives me one last hard look, and storms off, leaving me stunned and pantiless in the bathroom.