Her face falls. “Okay. Well… thank you anyway for coming to my rescue. You didn’t have to.”
“It shouldn’t have been me.” I sigh. “An inquiry will be launched to determine why the team was so slow to respond.”
“What?” Her eyes grow wide in horror. “Don’t fire anyone because of me!”
“It won’t be over you. They know their scope.”
“Well, I think they were quick. I swear they just appeared out of thin air.”
My mouth twitches slightly in amusement. “The security system detected unusual activity and alerted them.”
“I guess a drunken Irish man howling is a bit unusual on Fifth Avenue.” She shifts uncomfortably, looking contrite. “I almost feel sorry for Liam. He wasn’t expecting an army of bodyguards.”
“Then he’s a fool. I’m the thirteenth wealthiest man in the States. Of course I have security.”
“But it seems so safe in this part of New York.” Her brow furrows in confusion. “I didn’t think you’d need such heavy security.”
“Nowhere is safe. New York isn’t a fairy tale.” Harlow was like Clodagh-she believed the world was full of good people and didn’t understand why anyone would need protection. My chest tightens at the thought of something happening to Clodagh under my watch.
Not like that Irish idiot. A real threat.
I swallow another sip of the whisky, studying her. “So that’s the type of guy you’re interested in?”
She looks affronted. “Now I feel the need to defend my taste in men. He’s not always such a dumbass.” She pauses, rimming her fingers over the glass. “He was sweet in the beginning. He just turned a bit territorial after we…”
My brows rise. “I just stopped a guy from kidnapping you and carrying you down the street like a sack of potatoes in the middle of the night. I don’t think you’re in a position to defend your taste in men.”
She scowls. “I’d prefer not to be compared to a sack of potatoes, thanks very much. Was that supposed to be a racist joke? Believe me, I’ve heard all the potato jokes out there about the Irish.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “The Irish aren’t a race, Clodagh.”
“I do fit the stereotype, though,” she says, grinning. “I love potatoes. They should be eaten for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. There’s nothing better than butter flowing over all that creamy, fluffy heaven melting into your mouth. Everything else on the plate is just a side accessory.” She actually licks her lips.
Jesus Christ, she makes eating potatoes sound erotic.
“There’s not enough potatoes in your menu options.”
“You can add some.”
She gasps, feigning shock. “I’m allowed to make amendments to the manual?”
I’m beginning to begrudge Mrs. Dalton for being so thorough. “I’m not that stuck in my ways.”
Her smirk implies that she thinks the opposite is true. “Am I the worst nanny maid you’ve ever had?”
“Probably, but the past two didn’t last long enough for me to be sure.”
She nods. “You scared them away.”
“Must have.” I pause. “Do I scare you, Clodagh?”
I watch her weigh the response in her mind. “I find you intimidating. You make me a bit nervous.”
I don’t attempt to appease her and let her words hang in the air. “You were thankful for me scaring people away this evening.”
“Oh God,” she groans. “I’m so embarrassed. I promise you won’t have to scare anyone else off.” She pushes her lower lip between her teeth to suppress a smile. “Although you must have your fair share of crazed admirers.”
“Because I’m a billionaire?”
“No, because you’re… hmm…” She looks away quickly. “It’s obvious you have plenty of admirers. From the manual.”
“Guess the manual has me all figured out.”
She drains the last of the liquid from her glass, then gives me a coy grin that makes me want to bend her over my knee and show her exactly how I want to reprimand her for tonight. “I’m not sure anyone has you figured out, Mr. Quinn.”
I run an agitated hand across my jaw. If she keeps looking at me like that, I’m liable to break my own rule about no fraternizing with staff.
Instead, I hear myself say, “You have the widest smile I’ve ever seen.”
Her laughter rings out in the kitchen. “Is there a compliment in there somewhere?”
“You have a beautiful smile,” I correct. Her smile is the first thing I noticed about her.
Her eyes widen in surprise. “People say it’s too big for my face.”
“Those people are idiots.”
Stunned, she stammers out, “Thank you.” She looks so floored that I’ve complimented her that I have to wonder if she thinks I’m a monster.
I’m closer to being a saint after how much she’s tested me this week. In some ways, she’s all over the place. In other ways, she seems to have her head screwed on.
But Teagan is warming up to her quicker than the other nannies, and my daughter comes first.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks.
I must be frowning. “I can’t figure you out.”
“That’s funny coming from you. I’m an open book. What do you want to know?”
“Why did you really come to New York? Why did you leave your life in Ireland?”
She takes a breath, then smiles. “Maybe my life in Ireland wasn’t everything I wanted it to be.”
My curiosity is piqued. “Elaborate.”
Her gaze settles on the glass on the table. “I told you my business didn’t work out,” she finally starts. “I started it with my ex about a year ago. He had these grand plans about marketing strategies, renting a space, an online store… I got swept up in it, and I put my savings into it. Not billions, but enough to hurt me.” She smiles sadly.
“He had me dreaming big without understanding any of the details.” Her chest rises with a sigh.
“Then one day, the money was just… gone. Poof. Just like that. It just imploded in my face. Still, to this day, I don’t know how he spent it.” Her voice trails off into a bitter laugh. “I think he spent it on his new car.”
Her expression stirs something protective in me. I’d kill any bastard who tried to screw over Teagan.