Chapter 31: Fifth Avenue Fling: Chapter 31

I follow the sea of suits through the revolving doors into the elegant lobby of Killian’s glittering skyscraper. It’s funny how I can forget that Killian owns a chain of hotels and casinos and isn’t just a snarky, hot, grump with an OnlyFans subscription he likes to use in the shower.

Click, click, click. Tap, tap, tap. There is no way I could listen to that sound all day long. There’s nothing worse than the incessant clicking of a stiletto heel on a hard surface.

If I had to work in an office, I’d want to work in a cool, dog-friendly, hipster office in a converted warehouse where you can wear jeans.

Everything here is evil high-gloss gleaming with the malicious shine of a corporate establishment. The water feature in the center of the reception area does nothing to create the calming and tranquil feel it’s designed for.

I scuttle along in my squeaky sneakers toward the sexy reception desk dodging busy businessmen and women coming from all angles.

Huh. Sneakers. I didn’t think “trainers” first in my head. I’m so American now.

“Hey.” A guy suddenly cut across my path, making me stop. “Do you have any of those small sausages with leek filling?”

“Erm, excuse me?”

“Sausages,” he repeats himself louder. Alright, so I heard him correctly the first time. “With the leek stuffing.”

I rack my brain for a task I’ve missed. Is this what I’m here for today? Killian wants sausages filled with leeks? It’s a bit random, but he’s been acting strange the past few days, so anything is possible.

“No, sorry. I don’t have any on me.”

“Okay, when will you?” he snaps.

“Hmm, is this for Killian?”

He looks at me like I’ve sprouted an extra head, and then a light bulb seems to go on in his brain.

“Oh. You’re not the trolley girl.”

“Nope. Not her.” I glare at him. “But if I see a girl with sausages I’ll be sure to send her your way.”

He grunts and walks on, no further use for me.

What a charmer.

I reach the sleek reception desk with a man and a woman behind it. It’s so large they must have to use microphones to talk to each other.

“Hi,” I say to the receptionist lady, in the same voice I use with Siri. “I’m here to see Killian.”

She gives me an amused once-over. The humans here are all so intimidating. I feel a tad self-conscious. In my defense, the holes in my blue jeans are by design. I’m wearing the bunny T-shirt because I know it drives him crazy. In a good way, I think.

She laughs in my face. “Killian? Killian who?”

A video of Killian and Connor being interviewed plays on the large LCD screen behind her. It’s distracting.

In return, I smile sweetly. “Killian, whose name is on the big sign outside the building? The guy on the widescreen behind you.”

She sees my sweet smile and raises it with her own saccharine passive-aggressive smile. “I don’t think so, honey. Please leave.”

“No, wait,” I start before she can alert security. “He asked me to come. I can call him if you don’t believe me.”

Her brow arches into a severe line with as much belief as if I told her a group of little fairies was outside. “And you are?”

“His beck-and-call girl,” I say sarcastically. “Clodagh Kelly.”

Her eyes narrow. “I’ll call his receptionist and find out, beck-and-call girl.”

She picks up the phone and talks to someone. “A Clodagh Kelly is here to see Mr. Quinn.”

“Uh-huh.” She talks on the phone, narrowing her eyes so much that I am surprised she can see. “Uh-huh.” There’s a pause as she stares at me. “Uh-huh.” Her face screws up with an array of emotions ranging from confusion… irritation… curiosity, and finally… is that jealousy?

The phone is slammed down.

“Here’s your visitor’s pass.” She hands me the pass over the desk, devastated that I’m allowed up. “Take the elevator to the seventh floor. Someone will meet you there.”

No retina scan. I’m surprised.

“Thank you.” I smirk at her, resisting the urge to blurt out that I’m boning the boss.

Taking the pass, I make my way to the lift.

My ears pop as I ascend. The elevators have nice music and show surround video of New York as I travel, like the Empire State Building does.

The elevator dings as the doors slide open. Thankfully, someone with a friendlier face is waiting for me.

“Hi, Clodagh,” the lady says to me. “I’m Mandy.”

“Hi. We’ve talked on the phone a few times.”

“I know. I couldn’t forget your accent. Come on, I’ll take you to his office.”

I hope that’s a compliment.

She smiles and motions for me to follow her. Nerves take over as I walk through the bustling open-plan office. A million conversations are going on.

I feel so out of place. Why couldn’t Killian call me instead? This is weird.

I see a face I know. “Hi, stranger,” I call out to Marcus.

He twitches slightly, then tries to cover it with a smile. “Clodagh,” he says, stopping in front of me. “Lovely to see you again.”

“You too,” I say cheerily. “I never got to thank you properly for giving me a chance.”

He looks at me wearily. Has Killian told him about us? “I hope you’ve enjoyed your time in New York so far?”

“Yeah.” I start to tell him about the things I’ve done on my bucket list, but I cut it short when I sense he wants to run away from me. He’s practically edging away while we talk.

“That’s… nice,” he says with a nod. “Just make sure you make the most of it.”

He sets off in a trot down the hall. He was way more composed the last time I met him. The man can’t get away from me quick enough.

Very weird, indeed.

I follow Mandy to the offices around the corner from the open-plan area. I’ve never been in Killian’s office before.

I smooth out my T-shirt and fix my hair as Mandy knocks on his office door.

“Come in,” a deep, husky voice calls out after a minute.

Killian stands staring out the window when I enter, his feet spread apart and a palm pressed against the glass. An ass begging to be squeezed by me.

My knees buckle inward ever so slightly, and my spine shivers. So this is what a physical swoon is.

Pull yourself together, woman.

“Hi, Killian,” I say brightly.

He doesn’t turn his head to look at me. Maybe it’s a requirement of the job to be aloof and distant in the office. It would fit with all the movies I’ve seen.

I didn’t even think “film.” I’m so American.

Without glancing in my direction, he orders me to take a seat.

Since he’s not even looking at me, I assume it’s the seat on the other side of his desk.

I take a seat, crossing my legs, and Killian finally turns to meet my gaze. His expression is entirely blank.

I shift in my seat, feeling a tad uneasy. What’s wrong with him? I thought he was quiet this morning, and last night, he told me he wanted me to get a good night’s sleep, so he didn’t come to my studio.

I know this is his office, but no one is here, and he is the boss, after all, so I’m surprised I didn’t get a kiss. Or ideally more, because he looks so handsome in the dark-blue suit.

He takes a seat behind his large desk. Maybe he’s really strict on upholding his own company policy? His eyes wander to the bunny on my T-shirt, then return to meet mine.

“What’s up?” I ask, a bit of fear creeping into my voice as my female intuition sounds off.

“How’s your wrist?”

“It’s fine,” I reply, not for the first time. I suppress the impulse to roll my eyes because he’s being sweet. He asked me if I wanted to go to therapy yesterday to get over what happened with Alfred. He’s being a tad dramatic.

“Look.” He tents his hands together on the table. “This may seem callous to do here, and for that, I apologize. I’m not trying to hurt you. I thought it better to do this away from the house.”

“Do what?” I ask in a strangled voice.

He pauses. “Clodagh, you knew this wasn’t going to be a long-term arrangement. You understand that, don’t you?”

I blink at him, confused. “Are we talking about us… or my job?”

He doesn’t answer. A brief flicker of emotion passes across his face before settling into a stern mask.

I feel a pit form in my stomach. I don’t speak. I wait for the bombshell to drop: job or us?

“With everything that’s happened, it would be best if your time with Teagan and I ends ahead of schedule.”

I may as well have inhaled knives; his words are so painful. I stare at him, aghast. “Y-You mean you’re firing me?” I stammer out.

He frowns. “I don’t want you to see it like that. You’ll still be paid up to the last day of your contract. The circumstances have changed, and it’s not a good fit anymore.”

“Not a good fit…” I repeat, my head spinning.

I don’t understand. He wants to get rid of me?

Why is he talking like this? Why is he being so cryptic?

I sit very still and try not to cry. Because what did I expect? This was inevitable. This is stupid, why am I reacting like this? I’m not on my period. It’s just a job. It was going to come to an end in a few weeks.

“Clodagh, I care about you. I want to make sure everything is smooth for you. I have some apartments in Manhattan and Brooklyn ready for you and Orla to pick from today. Rent will be covered, of course, and you’ll have a green card guaranteed.”

I tuck my foot underneath me and grip my knee as I try to read his expression. He’s distant and closed off.

So he wants me to live in an apartment, paid for by him, but not work for him? I feel like a hooker.

Is this because he wants us to make a proper go of our relationship, and he doesn’t think it will work if I’m working for him?

“I thought we were doing okay living together and seeing each other,” I murmur, attempting a smile. “I didn’t think it caused problems.”

“It does for me.” His eyes hold mine. “We made a mistake. I made a mistake. This is all on me. I should never have put you in a compromising position.”

“I’m not in a compromising position,” I argue back. Why is he saying all this stuff? “It’s fine.”

He looks away from me and down at his hands. “You won’t need to worry. You’ll have an apartment, visa, eventually a green card, and the same allowance as you have here for as long as you need.” He smiles sadly. “You’ll have time to pursue your carpentry career again.”

My eyes widen. I want to get up and shake him by the shoulders. “I’m not after a sugar daddy, Killian. Do you not get how this sounds? Bloody icky.”

He stares at me with the same coldness he had when we first met. “It won’t be like that. You and I won’t see each other anymore.”

My breath stalls in my lungs as the reality of his words hits me. “Are you breaking up with me or firing me?”

He shifts uneasily in his seat, and I have my answer.

Stinging tears prick my eyes. “Oh my God. Both.”

I’m such a fool. He doesn’t know the stupid fantasies going on in my head. How foolish of me to think that we had some kind of future together, that he was mine, that we could be something more.

For weeks, I’ve been living in this stupid rosy bubble as I bounce around New York, fulfilling my bucket list and spinning dreams of a future shared with Killian.

“Is this about Alfred?” I ask, my voice barely staying level. “I stopped messaging him as soon as we became exclusive. I—”

“No,” he cuts in sharply.

I search his eyes, looking for the truth. None of this makes sense. This past week, he was opening up to me. I know I saw emotion in his eyes.

“It’s about him confronting me, right? You’re spooked because you think you put me in danger. I don’t care, Killian. I’m fine. I—”

“It’s not that, Clodagh.”

His gaze is so icy that I believe him. I saw what my heart wanted to see because I was falling in love with him. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“So it really was temporary.” I laugh bitterly. “The sex was just a side perk of the job.”

“I never promised you a future.”

I stare at him, waiting for some type, any type, of emotion. Begging for a sign to show he’s affected by what he’s doing. How can he sit here watching me, so stoic and detached, as my heart shatters?

His jaw tightens; it’s the only sign of emotion visible on his cold face. “A replacement starts in three days.”

I grip the edge of my seat for support. It would have been less painful if he had slapped me across the face. A horrible vision comes to mind of another girl in her twenties moving in, rubbing arms with Killian in the morning, sharing dinner, sharing a bed.

“Why are you really ending this, Killian?”

“It’s not good for either of us. I can’t give you what you need. What you deserve. You’ll thank me in time.”

“Sounds like a line,” I sneer. How many times has he said this before? I jump up from the seat. I can’t bear another minute of this agony. “Fine. I’ll go home and pack my things and be out of your way. You can stuff your visa, your apartment, your allowance, and your bloody blue eyes, and your…” I draw in a sharp breath. “Your fancy tartare restaurants up your arsehole!” I shriek. I don’t want the American Dream that way.

His eyes glint as he stands abruptly. “Clodagh—”

“Don’t get up.” This time, it’s my turn to cut him off. I give him a look that I hope is as cold as his. “I’ll show myself out.”

Feeling faint, I march toward the door and flip him the bird before slamming the door behind me.

My exit is met with a loud crash from the other side of the room, like a fist hitting a desk.

***

Due to my zombie-like state, it takes me an extra hour or so to get home.

Home.

What the hell am I talking about? Killian’s Fifth Avenue townhouse isn’t my home.

Where the fuck did it all go wrong? When did I let my feelings get involved? I ignored the expiration date I knew we had and blew this fling up to be something more in my head.

Killian never truly cared about me.

Sure, he wanted me to feel protected. He wanted to show me New York. He wanted my company and body, but he didn’t want to be with me.

That’s where I went wrong.

I stand in front of the retina scanner at the door of the townhouse, wondering if it can detect my identity past the mess of red eyes.

Sam is picking me up in an hour to take me—air quotes—“anywhere I want to go.” Anywhere so long as I’m gone by the time Killian is back from work.

I have some decisions to make now. Last minute, the only option that the dodgy au pair crew has is nannying for a family with triplets, a teen just out of the correction center, and two Rottweilers. I would have doggy daycare duties as well as nannying.

It sounds bloody awful.

Just as I’m about to call Orla again, a number flashes on my phone.

Shit. Teagan.

Do I answer it? I’ll be gone by the time she’s back.

“Hi, Teagan,” I answer with false cheeriness.

“It’s Dad’s fault, right?” she cries.

I pause. The less I say now, the better. “He decided it wasn’t for the best.”

“What? Did something happen between you two? No cap! You hear?”

I smile for the first time since I entered Killian’s office. Teagan makes me laugh. No cap means tell me the truth, apparently. How the hell does Siri understand teenagers?

I can’t tell her the truth because I don’t know it myself. Killian was distant and ambiguous, so I don’t truly understand why he fired me.

I’m looking for a grand explanation that will make me feel better. Maybe he was worried about Teagan. Perhaps he felt responsible for Alfred’s behavior or was uncomfortable with our age gap. Anything to make me feel better. But the reality is, he probably just got bored with me or had always planned for this to be a short-term thing.

“I’ve no idea. He said…” What bullshit did he use? “We didn’t fit. It’s probably best if you talk to your dad.”

“That is so stupid,” she wails, and my heart breaks a little more at the fact that Teagan cares.

“How did you know so quickly?” I ask tentatively. “Did your dad tell you?”

“Yeah.” I hear her sigh down the phone. “He called me. He wanted to make sure that he was the first to tell me. I think he felt bad.”

“I’m sorry. We can still stay in contact, though.”

She hums unhappily. “What are you going to do now?”

Fuck if I know.

“I’ll be grand,” I tell her because this is the perfect moment to apply the useless word.

***

One week later

“Flight BA4703 to Belfast is now boarding at gate 10,” the American flight attendant announces over the intercom. “Please have your boarding pass and passport ready.”

The waiting area becomes a flurry of activity as people stand and rush to the gate, juggling duty-free bags and luggage.

In front of me, a line forms. The other passengers look relaxed. Normal. Too content to be leaving. The lucky ones are going on holidays.

They don’t look like they’re leaving their hearts behind in New York.

On the outside, I’m sitting, staring at nothing, not eating the egg-and-cheese sandwich I’m holding because I haven’t had an appetite in a week. A frozen statue in this sea of hurry.

On the inside, I’m drowning in pain. Consumed with so much of it that I’ve tricked my body into a daze so I don’t break down in public.

I leave behind Orla, the Quinns, and all my hopes for a new life here in New York.

And my heart.

Goodbye, New York.