“Sit.” I gesture to the barstool opposite me.
She looks like she would rather swallow her own tongue than eat dinner with me, but in silence, she digs out a small piece of pie, places it on a plate, and tentatively lowers herself on the opposite stool.
Her eyes widen as I take a large bite. “You’ve really excelled yourself. I don’t know how you found the time to cook up a storm between rifling through all my private belongings. And it’s only day one.”
She stiffens. “In my defense, the picture fell, and I was putting it back in place. I’m sorry for breaking your frame, though. Can we start over? Just tell me what you need from me.”
Believe me, you don’t want to know.
“Honesty, Clodagh.” I raise a brow. “I need honesty.”
“What if you don’t like what I have to say?”
“It takes a lot to faze me.”
“Okay.” She nods. “If I’m allowed to be honest, why is your bedside table off-limits when all you have in there are condoms?”
“You must not have found the hidden compartment for my knives.”
Her eyes widen. She sets her glass down.
“To reprimand disobedient nannies.”
“Oh. You tried to crack a joke.”
“I tried. Have you ever thought I might not want to subject my staff to my condoms?”
She smirks. “I know you have… lady friends. On Tuesdays.”
“Christ, let me guess, Mrs. Dalton’s instruction booklet?”
She laughs. “You haven’t read it?”
“Fuck,” I mutter, shoving another lump of pie into my mouth. “No, I haven’t.”
“She sure knows a lot about you.” She grins. “And now, so do I.”
“Good thing your lips are sealed by an NDA in that case.”
“I’m not sure you have anything to worry about, even without an NDA.”
My gaze drops to her lips as that distracting smile consumes her face. That smile is something else. “Why is that?”
“It wouldn’t make for the best expose. Billionaire Killian Quinn gets up at five o’clock, has his smoothie, then works all day.”
“Are you calling me boring, Clodagh?”
“No!” Pastry flakes fall onto her fat bottom lip, and she self-consciously brushes them off. She seems torn between trying to eat daintily and devouring the pie. “You’re just… not exactly a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants guy, according to the manual. There isn’t anything in there that sounds like it’s just for fun. Besides exercising. Like, what do you do to relax?”
“I fuck.” The words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them. Probably because she’s riling me up.
She chokes on a cough. “Tomorrow. Tuesday.”
Christ. Can I set this manual on fire? “Look, I can’t just do what I want whenever I want,” I say gruffly, irrationally irritated that she thinks I’m a boring old man. “Some day, when you have responsibilities, you’ll understand. Teagan is my priority.”
She scowls. “I do have responsibilities.”
I raise a brow, waiting for her to elaborate.
“Me. My manual might be shorter than yours, but it’s still being written.”
I chuckle at that and take a sip of water. I study her, recalling the image of her in the flimsy cotton T-shirt and shorts. “Where’s the ring gone?”
She shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “My nose ring? I hide it when you’re around. I didn’t realize you’d watch me through the cameras this afternoon.”
“I don’t care what you have pierced.” My eyes hold hers. “Just wear more clothes than you were wearing today when I’m around.”
Or we’ll both be in trouble.
Her cheeks flush red. “Most Irish houses don’t have air-conditioning. No need. My room in Queens was in an attic, and it didn’t have any. We got used to sweating. Stupidly, I forgot to turn on the A/C here. Now I know.”
My eyes wander for a second to the oversized bunny eyes before finding her face again. I can still see the image of Clodagh in my bedroom from earlier and the air around us suddenly feels charged. My grip on the glass tightens. “Now you know.”
We fall into silence as we eat. As she lifts the fork to her mouth and takes tiny bites, I find myself acutely aware of every movement she makes, wondering why I’m so riled.
Maybe it’s because my daughter despises me so much that she can’t bear the thought of eating dinner with me. Maybe it’s because Clodagh’s presence in my house gets under my skin in a way Mrs. Dalton’s didn’t. Maybe it’s because despite getting paid a fortune for a job she’s underqualified for, it’s clear Clodagh doesn’t want to dine with me.
Maybe a bit of all three.
I clear my throat. “Is all your family back in Ireland?”
Her fork pauses halfway to her mouth, as if she’s surprised by the question. “Yup. My three younger brothers, Mam, and Granny Deirdre.”
“Are you close to them?” My arm brushes hers as I reach for the pepper. It’s an innocent contact, but with the look she gives me, you’d think I gave her third-degree burns.
“Yes.” She nods. “I miss them. That’s why I wanted to make sure I stayed here legally so I could visit home when I want.”
Her sponsorship is based on this job. Marcus has been instructed to look for a replacement, but of course, Clodagh doesn’t know that.
I exhale heavily.
She shifts in her seat uncomfortably, as if reading my mind, and sets her fork down. Her eyes lock with mine. “Look, I know you don’t think very much of me, but I want you to give me a fair shot. I’m a hard worker. And… I really need this job.”
I hesitate. I don’t make promises I can’t keep. “This position was never going to be a permanent solution for you.”
She nods, her face falling, and I feel a twinge of guilt.
“Why are you so determined to live in New York City? You’re so far from your family.”
She smiles. “The same reason the Irish have been immigrating to the States for years. We believe in the promise of the American dream.” Her smile fades as quickly as it appeared as she looks down at her plate. “And sometimes we just need to get away.”
“What is it that you’re running from, Clodagh?”
“Nothing important.” She shakes her head, closing down.
Her eyes lift to mine. “Tell me, what was it like growing up in Manhattan? I can’t imagine what that must have been like as a child.”
“I didn’t. I grew up in Queens.”
Her mouth forms a little O.
“My parents were Irish,” I say, amused at her shock. “From Dublin. But I’ve been out of Queens for nearly two decades. I moved Mom, me, and my brother, Connor, to Manhattan years ago.”
“Wow,” she breathes. “I read you were self-made. Your mum must be so proud.”
I give a slight shrug. I’ve been in this game so long that Mom barely bats an eyelash when another hotel appears.
Clodagh fidgets with a lock of her hair, wanting to ask me something else but stopping herself. Whatever it is, she’s not brave enough to ask.
I finish the pie while she asks me about my upbringing in Queens. I keep the details limited, avoiding the shit parts that no one needs to hear, like what a deadbeat dad I had.
She has a fresh-off-the-boat innocence about her that’s endearing. Most people want to know how I earned my billionaire status. Clodagh’s more interested to know what growing up in the city was like. I chuckle as she screeches when I tell her I took the subway by myself at age ten.