“Butt cleavage,” I explain. “It’s where you show some of your ass like you would breasts. Like a half moon.”
“Right,” Sam splutters. “Yeah, the mayor might have a heart attack.”
“As if anyone’s going to be looking at me, anyway. But if that’s his wish, then it’s only right I hit the designer shops.”
“Do you want some company?”
I eye him skeptically. “Are you serious? You want to come shopping?”
“I like spending time with you, but…” He smirks. “An afternoon in Bloomingdale’s isn’t my idea of a good time.”
“Tell me about it. I like the idea of shopping. Then, after ten minutes, I want to get the hell out. I’ll just flash Killian’s credit card and ask someone to pick something that suits me. I want to spend the rest of the afternoon working on some new furniture designs.” I sigh guiltily.
It’s time to get my life plan in order.
This life is temporary.
My chest tightens. Two months from now, I’ll no longer work for Killian. The au pair agency is searching for another family, but they could be based anywhere in the state.
I need to work out how to stay in New York and do what I love.
“What should I wear to make an impression in front of a mayor? I’m aiming for a First Lady-style look.” Like the woman from the hotel. Has he seen her since? He hasn’t had any Tuesday sex transactions since I moved in.
God, if he did, I don’t know if I could handle it. What if he has sex a few floors above me?
Could he be so cruel?
The pangs of jealousy are back.
Sam looks me up and down and winks. “Doesn’t matter what you wear, you’ll look gorgeous.”
“Yeah, right,” I scoff. “But thanks for the ego boost. So give me the lowdown. Who’ll be at this?”
“Tonight? Connor and his date. His other business partner, JP, short for John Paul. You probably haven’t met him yet; he lives in Vegas and runs the office there. If you think Killian is ruthless, JP is on an entirely different level. Try to steer clear of him. He’s the wolf in Quinn & Wolfe.” He thinks for a moment. “Mayor Williams and his wife. Counselor Menendez and his wife.”
I shrug; these names mean nothing to me. I’ve no idea about state politics.
We veer around the pond toward the park entrance.
“Oh, and Killian, of course, and Maria.”
I stop dead on the pavement. “Maria?”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” I want to vomit. “Just a stone in my shoe.” I pretend to fix it, then carry on walking.
“Maria Taylor, his date,” Sam continues casually, oblivious to how he is twisting a knife into my heart. “She’s friends with the mayor’s wife.”
“Right,” I say slowly. “So things are heating up between them? Is she his girlfriend?”
He shrugs. “Maybe. Who knows with Killian?”
“Did he vet her?” That seems to be his go-to operation for bringing people into his inner circle.
Sam chuckles. “Nah, he doesn’t vet his own girlfriends.”
Double standards.
Sam grins at me, not knowing how much he has kicked me in the guts.
I force a smile back because why wouldn’t I? It would be weird to be upset about my boss’ maybe-girlfriend.
Killian Quinn is a jerk. Days after sleeping with me, he’s going to parade another woman in front of me. In the house.
“Has he slept with her?” I blurt out.
“I don’t know.” He frowns. “That’s not info the security team is privy to.”
“There are cameras in his bedroom. He spied on me one day.”
“He turns them off before bedtime.” He gives me an odd look, the corner of his mouth twitching. “He wouldn’t let us watch him get intimate with someone.”
“Sam, I have to go,” I say with a fake smile. “I’ll see you later.”
He looks confused. “Let me walk you-”
“It’s fine.” I wave him off and sprint away, leaving a perplexed Sam in my wake.
My phone vibrates as I make it out of the park.
What the hell does he want now? I’m not supposed to be working this afternoon. I pull it out of my bag.
Central Park Alfred: Let me show you the sights of Brooklyn. Next week? Name a date.
Yes, Alfred, that definitely fucking works for me.
My anger bubbles in the pit of my stomach. Killian can go to hell.
You were mine as soon as I came inside you. As long as you live beneath my roof, no one else can have you.
Killian Quinn will learn I’m not his possession.
Starting with tonight.
***
As I clack my way up the stairs from my studio in my high heels, I hear voices, and the dread bubbling in my stomach since I left Sam rises to the surface. Fifteen minutes was all I had to get ready for dinner since I’d let the caterers in.
Taking a deep breath, I walk into the lounge.
Killian leans against the fireplace in a dark-blue suit with one hand tucked into his trousers and the other against the fireplace. Underneath, he’s wearing a vest.
His presence puts my already tense nerves on edge further.
In an instant, I forget all of my social skills and just gape at him. Killian Quinn in running gear is sexy as fuck. Killian Quinn in a three-piece suit is downright showstopping.
I’m equally depressed and flustered.
I don’t miss the double take he gives me. Bingo. Except I can’t figure out whether he’s angry or horny. Maybe the two are interchangeable.
I snap out of my lust daze and regard him coolly.
Connor sits in the armchair with a glam six-foot Amazonian model casually perched on his armrest.
Maria isn’t here.
Maybe she’s not coming.
“Clodagh.” Connor stands up to greet me, giving me an appreciative once-over. “You look stunning. Are you joining us for dinner?”
My cheeks burn. I’ve overdone it. “No, I’m serving the drinks.”
Connor winks. “Looks like everyone will be getting frequent top-ups then.”
A nervous giggle escapes me, sounding unusually high-pitched due to the bodycon underwear crushing my organs. I should have learned my lesson at the restaurant, but beauty is pain.
“There was no need for you to dress up.”
I turn in the direction of the low husky drawl that induces the pesky flutters and glare at him. “You told me to look presentable. Do I not look presentable enough for you?”
His blue eyes blaze with heat. “I told you to dress accordingly.”
I consider whether to kick him in the nuts or run down the stairs crying.
Connor looks at Killian with a frown.
Killian’s eyes slowly travel up my body, starting from my toes and finishing at my head. “Yes, Clodagh,” he says slowly. “You look presentable. You look… very nice.”
I’m flattered. “Charmer of the century,” I mutter under my breath.
I saunter past him in my green Chanel dress. Okay, I may have gone overboard. In fact, the effort I put in just to serve drinks is downright outrageous. I look like I’m auditioning for a starlight role in a Hollywood blockbuster, if I say so myself. I even removed my nose ring to look ladylike for the old mayor frump.