Chapter 9: Fifth Avenue Fling: Chapter 9

“The Mareks have folded,” Connor says from across the boardroom table, a triumphant gleam in his eye as he looks up from his laptop. “Their lawyer emailed five minutes ago.”

I recline in my chair, admiring the New York City skyline through the window. Seventy stories up, my private boardroom is the only place I can enjoy the sun these days. “I’m glad they found common sense.”

“I’ll give the contractors the nod to start demolition. With a fair wind, we’ll have the foundation of the casino built this side of Christmas.”

I nod my agreement. “Are we done?”

“Yup.” He rocks back in his chair as he rotates his shoulder. “Just in time for my massage. Are you sure you don’t fancy one? Maybe she can help you relax a bit, you know, take the stick out of your backside. You need it before you schmooze the mayor.”

Ignoring him, I open my laptop and click on the home security app.

My laptop screen lights up with a multi-screen view of all the rooms in my house. A soft Irish female lilt sounds through the laptop speakers. I search for which room she’s in.

“Which reminds me… are we bringing dates to this schmoozing dinner?”

It takes me a minute to register his question. Dinner with the mayor about the Brooklyn casino development. I’m hosting it so we can discuss openly what the old guy needs to cut the red tape on the design restrictions imposed by the council.

“That depends.” I glance up at Connor. “If you’re bringing someone who models for Playboy, then no.”

“You’d prefer me to bring someone in pearls and a cardigan?” he drawls.

“Someone who won’t paw you at the dinner table would be nice. The mayor is bringing his wife.”

“You’re asking a lot from a lady there.” He smirks and folds his arms over his chest. “And who are you bringing?”

“Maria Taylor.”

Connor hums in approval.

Meeting Maria was a surprising turn of events. For the first time in a long time, I might have found someone who could hold my interest. Ivy League-educated, and an absolute head turner.

“Nice. She’s a good match for you. Maybe you’ll consider something serious.”

“It’s business rather than pleasure this time. She’s friends with the mayor’s wife.” Although I have considered trying something serious with Maria. It’s been a long time since I had something more intimate than sex. Recently, I’ve been feeling like maybe it’s time to try again.

“Good call.” His brows draw together. “What’s that sound?”

“I’m checking on the new Mrs. Dalton,” I say grimly, maximizing the room with the movement.

My hand freezes over the mouse.

My bedroom.

Connor leans over and connects my laptop to the boardroom projector so Clodagh appears in full size on the screen.

I stiffen.

She’s in my bedroom, her back facing the camera. She’s in shorts so tiny they could pass for underwear and the same white tank top from this morning. Her red hair is tied up in a messy ponytail, and a sheen of sweat glistens on her back as she moves around my bed, adjusting the pillows.

Seeing her half-naked in my bedroom gets under my skin just as much as that feminine Irish brogue that makes every sentence sound musical.

“That’s the new Mrs. Dalton?”

“Yes,” I say, my voice low.

With her back to us, she flips through something on the bed, muttering to herself. Ah, the manual.

Connor leans forward to get a closer look. “Cute tattoos on her arm. Does she look as good from the front as behind?”

Yes. Better.

“You should pay for a streaming service. There’s plenty of premium nanny porn out there. Less chance of a lawsuit.”

“Shut it. She’s the hired help,” I bite out, not taking my eyes off Clodagh. “I don’t give a shit what she looks like. I’m paying her to look after my daughter and clean.” My jaw tightens. “She’s not right for the job.”

He chuckles, grabbing the screen remote from me. “Why haven’t you removed her then, like the last two? Oh wait, is it because it’s nice to have a pretty Irish lady fluff your pillows for you?”

I swallow my irritation, never taking my eyes off the screen. That is what I call an ass for spanking. “She’s not fired because Marcus convinced me to keep her while he looks for someone else.” I should have fired her just for stealing products from my hotel’s restroom.

Clodagh’s guttural lilt fills the room as Connor turns up the volume.

My hands tighten around the laptop.

His brows lift. “Northern Irish?”

“Close. Donegal.”

“Damn.” His voice is a low groan. “They sound angry even when they’re not. She can say whatever she wants. I might not understand it all, but I’ll still listen.”

My jaw locks tighter as she launches into a tirade of curses that would make a galley of sailors proud.

Connor’s eyes widen as he chuckles. “Did she just call you a motherfucker?”

“Yes, I believe she did,” I say through gritted teeth. And as pissed off as I am, hearing the woman insult me in her thick accent rouses something in my chest that rarely surfaces anymore.

Adrenaline.

“Fantastic.” Connor swings back in his chair, tipping on the two back legs. I hope he loses his balance. “Are you going to let her get away with that? I’m happy to help if she needs to be disciplined.”

“Pipe down,” I growl at the smart-ass, snatching the remote from him.

I’m about to kick him out of the boardroom when Clodagh turns with the manual in her hand and faces the camera, oblivious to the fact we’re watching her.

Her cheeks are flushed. Her brows are pulled together in a frown as she wipes sweat off her forehead. Silver glistens on her button nose. I squint, zooming in with the remote… what is that?

A silver ring in the shape of a horseshoe pierces her septum. She must take it out whenever I’m around.

Ridiculous. If Teagan got one of those, I’d hit the fucking roof.

I stiffen as my eyes scan down all five-foot-nothing of her body.

She has the visible tan lines of a tourist who doesn’t understand how strong the New York sun can get.

She’s not wearing a bra. Her chest glistens as beads of sweat disappear into creamy curves. Peaked nipples poke through her flimsy vest top exposing small, firm breasts that my hands would engulf. Arousal stirs unhelpfully inside me.

She’s tiny. A man like me would crush her.

I run my hand over my jaw agitatedly. I have two views of her now, one on the widescreen and one filling my laptop screen.

Connor lets out a low whistle, eyes fixed on the widescreen. “Nice. This is what she wears to clean your house?”

That wasn’t in the fucking manual. When I said there was no dress code, I didn’t mean it literally. I’ll have to update it to say she needs to wear that hideous floral skirt.

My hands grip the remote tighter as Clodagh bends down to start the vacuum cleaner, giving us an eyeful of breasts.

Connor grins conspiratorially. “Funny how Marcus chose someone who would have been your type ten years ago. Pity she’s too young for you.”

“Hardly,” I growl. “She looks like an overgrown teenager with a bullring through her nose. And by the sounds of how much she talks to herself, she’s fucking crazy.”

“Uh-huh.” He smirks, pissing me off even further.

I might be getting aroused over the nanny, but attractive little redheads are a dime a dozen in Manhattan, and if I wanted one, I could pick one that was a tad more refined without shitting on my own doorstep.

“She’s not even qualified as a nanny. And she appears to have zero experience as a domestic assistant.” I pause, letting my eyes roam all over her body. “She’s a trained carpenter.”

“A carpenter? That’s cool. I don’t know any female carpenters.”

I have to agree with him; given a few more years and the proper guidance, Clodagh could have a decent little business.

We watch as she runs the vacuum back and forth across the carpet. It makes a grinding noise, like something is stuck in it.

No… no …

I exhale sharply as the vacuum smashes into the bedside table, knocking over the picture of Teagan and me.

Connor barks out a laugh, apparently believing the situation is more humorous than it is. “Maybe keep your valuables up high.”

Cursing loudly, she stops the vacuum with a kick and bends down to lift the picture, giving us a full view of her ass.

“Remind me why we’re spying on your hot young cleaner? I could watch her all day, but even I have morals sometimes.”

“I’m checking to ensure she can follow simple instructions and behave herself. I don’t trust her yet.” I clench my jaw.

As she puts the photo back, the nightstand drawer nudges open an inch. Indecision flickers across her face.

“Don’t fucking do it,” I snarl at the camera as her hand hovers over it.

She does it. She brazenly opens my damn drawer. Just another few inches, but it’s enough.

I swipe the speaker button. “Why are you looking in an off-limits area?”

Screaming pierces the boardroom’s speakers.

Connor and I wince as she turns in all directions to identify the source of the voice. It’s surround sound.

She shuts the drawer with such force the picture falls off the nightstand again, and this time, I hear the frame smash.

“What the hell?” she screeches, her panicked green eyes darting around the room.

Connor raises a brow, amused. “You have off-limits zones in your house?”

“It’s good to set boundaries. As clearly demonstrated here, people can’t be trusted.”

Especially not a woman with an ass like that.

She runs to the door to check if anyone is on the other side, then comes back to the center of the room and inhales a deep breath. “It’s the home security system,” she says softly. “He’s programmed it to trigger in an off-limits zone.”

“No, Clodagh.” My voice echoes through the bedroom. “It’s your boss.”

She freezes, looking like she’s about to jump out of her skin. I’d laugh along with Connor if I wasn’t so angry.

She turns to face the bedroom door again to see if I’m there. When I don’t appear, she reverts to looking wildly in the air for cameras. She can’t figure out where my voice is coming from because it’s coming from all four corners of the ceiling.

“She’s starting to look a little crazy now,” Connor says.

“She can hear you. The speaker is on.”

“Q-Quinn?” she whispers loudly in her distinctive lilt. “Mr. Quinn?”

“Day one on the job, and you’re already ignoring my rules.”

She draws in a sharp breath. “Are you watching me through cameras?”

“Yes.” I do my best to ignore the way her chest heaves with every breath. “Explain why you feel the need to open my nightstand.”

The crimson blush on her cheeks darkens. “I’m sorry. I was just making sure you weren’t a serial killer.”

“In my nightstand?”

“You can learn a lot about people by what they have in their bedside cabinets.” She looks at the ceiling for approval, as if this is an acceptable reason for invading my privacy.

“I won’t do it again,” she adds, panic taking over her voice. She glances down as if suddenly realizing she’s in little more than underwear and wipes sweat away from her chest.

Fuck, woman, stop that.

Connor chuckles beside me, looking inexplicably pleased with himself for no damn reason.

“Do you have somewhere you need to be?” I snap, waving my hand at him to get out.

“No,” Connor and Clodagh answer simultaneously.

“Not you, Clodagh,” I say forcefully, turning my attention back to the screen. “Stay put.”

She stands on the spot like an army cadet with her arms stiff by her sides. It looks like she’s stopped breathing.

“Absolutely not,” Connor drawls, slouching one arm over his chair. “I have nowhere better to be than here.”

Sighing in frustration, I mute the security app. “Fine. If you insist on staying, this will be over in less than five.”

I press the speakerphone again. “Security will be there in fifteen minutes. You have thirty to pack up your things.”

She laughs shakily. “That was for the person in the room, right?”

“It’s quite obvious that it was directed at you. Clodagh.”

“W-What?” Her hands rise to smack her mouth. “Mr. Quinn, please.” She flaps her arms around in the air. “Sir. No. I’ll never do anything like this again. You vetted me. Don’t you think I should do my own due diligence?” She pauses to catch her breath. “It would almost be irresponsible of me not to. That’s all I was doing, but my vetting’s complete now.”

Her brazenness is almost admirable.

Connor snort-laughs, and I fire another glare at him.

“I can’t have someone in my house who I don’t trust,” I say coolly. If Clodagh thinks this is the first time a pretty face has tried to win me over and been disappointed, she’s in for a nasty surprise. “You’re under the same roof as my daughter.”

That’s my bottom line.

Her face turns an unhealthy shade of white.

“You’re being a bit harsh,” Connor says casually.

“I agree with him,” Clodagh pipes up, making Connor smile.

“Please,” she begs. The emerald eyes hit the right spot to stare directly into the camera. “I need to trust you too. I binge-watched that Netflix series last week on serial killers, and I freaked myself out. For all I know, the last domestic assistant might be dead in the attic. I listen to a lot of true crime, so I wanted to do a few checks.” She chews her bottom lip. “What with moving in with a strange man and all.”

“Stop talking.” I jab the mute button again. “Do I look like a fucking serial killer?” I mutter to Connor.

He shrugs. “C’mon, man. The girl’s on the verge of tears. Cut her some slack. I get why a young woman would be scared of living with you.” His lips twitch. “Like living with a homicidal maniac.”

I roll my eyes in disgust.

On the screen, Clodagh adjusts her shorts self-consciously, her weight shifting from foot to foot.

“I’m the vulnerable one here.” Her voice fills the boardroom. Apparently, now she knows where the camera is because those piercing green eyes stare unwaveringly at me. I’ve never seen a shade like it before. Are they contact lenses? The swallow action in her throat is visible on the screen. “Moving into a strange man’s house.”

I jab the speaker button again to tell her she’s wasting my time when she should be packing, but Connor puts his hand over mine.

“Don’t be rash.”

“Fuck off. I don’t need distractions or drama in my own home.”

His brow arches. “What drama has she caused?”

“I thought you only checked the cameras by exception,” Clodagh continues softly, dragging my gaze back to her. “I didn’t realize you’d be watching me.”

My lips press into a thin line. Is she telling me off?

“A new nanny is an exception,” I bite back gruffly through the speaker.

She nods dramatically. “Okay, fair point. But please, give me one more chance. Please? I wasn’t trying to steal anything.” She pauses, pouting. “I just wanted to make sure you’re a good guy.”

Connor snorts. “She’s in for a disappointment.”

I turn my head, bemused.

“Are you still there?” Clodagh pipes up over the speaker. She nibbles on her lips like she’s trying to chew them off. “Wherever you are.” She waves both hands in the air, laughing nervously. “Am I looking in the right direction? This is really unnerving.”

“Killian.” Connor leans over and jabs the mute option, his expression turning serious. “Give the girl a second chance. What is she, like twenty?”

“Twenty-four,” I correct, nostrils flaring. “Almost twenty-five.”

“Come on, loosen up a little. Do you really think cleaners don’t poke around in bedside cabinets? Get a lock if you’re that concerned. Besides, you don’t have any other options right now. You’d have to vet someone else.” He shrugs, still holding the mute button. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

I shift my focus from Connor back to Clodagh.

Swallowing thickly, I watch her rub the back of her neck. I watch her chest heave with shallow breaths. I watch her green eyes burn with the adrenaline and fear of knowing that my next words will decide her fate in America.

“Please, Mr. Quinn.” Her soft lilt carries surprising steel.

Don’t beg me. It didn’t work for the Mareks, and it won’t work for—

Damn.

Acting on impulse, I jab the speaker button. “No more fuckups. I don’t do second chances, Miss Kelly.”

The breath whooshes out of her. She collapses on my bed with such force it makes her small breasts jiggle. “Thank you, Mr. Quinn. I won’t let you down. Again.”

An irritating spark of emotion ignites inside me when I see that megawatt smile. It’s a smile money can’t buy, and surgery can’t fake.

So now I’m a soft touch.

“Fantastic,” Connor booms, clapping his hands together. “I can’t wait to meet you, Clodagh.”

“Me too,” she calls out, confused.

“Show’s over.” Connor pushes to stand and slaps me on the back forcefully. “Try not to bury yourself inside the nanny.”

“Jesus,” I hiss, glaring at his back as he leaves. He meant for her to hear that.

“Uh, Mr. Quinn?” Clodagh asks in a quiet voice after a long beat. “Do you need anything else? If not, I’ll get back to work.”

I realize I’ve been staring at her. “No. Did you read the instructions for Monday evenings?”

She nods. “I’ll have dinner ready at seven o’clock for both of you. Is option four from the menu list okay this evening? Salmon and roasted vegetables?”

“Sure. Actually, no.” Might as well make her sweat. “Teagan likes a nice huntsman pie. Here’s your chance to redeem yourself. Mrs. Dalton makes a superb version.”

“A huntsman… Great.” Her smile falters for a moment, but she quickly recovers. “Consider it done.”

She pushes her hair behind her ear and grabs the laundry basket. The idea of her handling my underwear seems too intimate.

“Mr. Quinn… will you be watching me any more today? Because it might make me feel a little paranoid.”

“No.” My jaw tightens. “It may surprise you that I have to work, considering I’m the CEO.”

She laughs, holding the laundry basket. “Fair enough. Uh, anything else?”

“That’s all for now.” I pause. “There’s A/C, you know? I’ll show you how to use it when I get home.”

Or maybe I won’t.

I hit the mute button.

“Bye!” Clodagh shouts. Her eyes dart around the room guardedly, wondering if she’s still being watched.

My finger hovers over the app button to close it just as my phone rings.

“Yes.” I put Mandy on speaker.

“Alfred Marek was in reception, demanding to speak to you. Security escorted him outside, but he’s hanging around the building.” She pauses. “I thought you should know.”

“The son?”

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“About forty-five minutes. Should we call the police? Technically, he’s not doing anything illegal. He’s just watching the building.”

“He’s waiting for me.” I sigh, scrubbing my face with my hand. I don’t have time for this shit. It sounds like Junior didn’t take his dad’s decision well. “Call the police. I don’t want him harassing any of the staff. I’ll talk to them if you need me to.”

“Right away, sir.” She dials off, and I turn back to the screen to where Clodagh is cleaning.

I have somewhere to be… but…

I hit the zoom button, zooming… zooming… zooming until Clodagh’s face covers the screen.

Heat courses through my veins. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, wondering why I’m entertaining the thought of bending my disobedient nanny over my knee for not paying heed to the man of the house.

This is fucked up.

Mrs. Dalton’s daughter needs to recover ASAP.

***

Go lasadh solas na bhFlaitheas ar d’uaigh.

May the light of heaven shine on your grave.

I stare at the Irish blessing and photo of Harlow on her tombstone, stuck in time.

Smiling, carefree and excited about what the world had to offer her. Excited that she was a mother.

Except I took all that from you, Harlow.

I took your hopes and dreams and your future.

You had so many dreams.

To be a mother to our beautiful daughter.

To prove that the kid from the wrong side of Queens was worthy of the New York Ballet.

To retire in a small village on the coast of Ireland, with your children around you.

I took it all from you.

I’m sorry I failed you.

I’m sorry I failed Teagan.

Time heals all wounds. Isn’t that right, Harlow?

Wrong.

Teagan’s nearly thirteen, Harlow. A teenager. I can’t believe our little girl is growing up so quickly.

I don’t know why I’m telling you, you’d never forget that. I’m taking her to see some pop star with floppy hair for her birthday, but knowing Teagan, she’ll have gone off him and be madly in love with some other runt.

She’s still wearing makeup, covering up her beautiful face, but when I say anything about it, we fight. I need you more than ever. It was easier when I was checking the closet for monsters. Now I need to check that she hasn’t hidden her phone under the bedsheets so she doesn’t spend all night on it.

We have another replacement for Mrs. Dalton. My nannies wouldn’t run away if you were here. My nannies wouldn’t be needed if you were here. Not that I’m allowed to call her a nanny. Teagan says she’s too old.

I think you’d like this one, although she seems like a loose cannon. She’s testing my patience. You were always more forgiving than I am.

I need you to talk back.

But of course, she doesn’t, because the dead leave you alone with your own tortured thoughts.

I lay the fresh flowers on the grave. Visiting Harlow’s grave is the only time I visit Queens. Sometimes with Teagan, often alone.

No one knows about my spontaneous midday trips here. I need to come, but it’s too painful to stay.

“Bye, Harlow,” I say quietly. I clench my jaw and walk back to my driver.