With every minute that goes by, I get angrier, and they get drunker.
Every laugh, every stolen glance, and flirty smile makes me want to pour the wine over their heads.
With the caterers gone and dinner done, I’m alone in the kitchen, watching the party through the double doors.
Fuck. Maria is waving me over again.
Why doesn’t she allow me to pour her a large glass of wine like a normal person rather than top her up with a trickle every five minutes? Because she wants to look like a dainty wee bird in front of Killian, that’s why.
I march back to the dining area with two bottles of wine and make my way to Maria as two conversations compete loudly across the table.
NDA? I wouldn’t fucking wish these conversations on anyone; they’re so dull.
Every time I come over to fill Maria’s glass, she’s sitting closer to Killian. Soon enough, she’ll be on his lap.
She’s an advanced flirt, never missing an opportunity to ‘accidentally’ brush up against his arm. She knows she’s high value and is going for the money shot.
And Killian lets her. He’s barely looked at me except to give orders for drinks.
Tears prick my eyes, but I keep them in check.
Maria leans over to Killian, saying something to make him smile.
I stiffly lean over to pour more wine into Maria’s glass as she touches Killian’s hand.
She smiles at me gracefully, probably for Killian’s benefit. She crosses and uncrosses her legs under the table, and I know her leg has touched his.
I want to scream.
I want to vanish from the scene.
I hate him.
I absolutely hate him.
My hair grazes Killian’s shoulders as I lean over to top up his glass.
He tilts his head in my direction, almost touching his lips to my jaw.
“Thanks, Clodagh,” he says, locking eyes with me. “You’re doing a great job. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Clock off in thirty, okay?” He pauses. “I won’t need you anymore.”
I stare back at him silently. No, you won’t. You’ve made that loud and clear.
I knew he was cold-hearted and ruthless, but I didn’t think he would go to this level.
He said we were a mistake, yet I’m not allowed to date anyone else under his roof while he can parade someone in front of my nose.
The whiplash is brutal.
“I think some of the staff have a little crush, Killian,” Maria says in a voice that carries. “You should be careful. Of course, it’s completely understandable.”
Killian’s brows form a deep frown as he takes her in. He doesn’t like this comment one bit.
I don’t see how he responds, because Mayor Moron calls me over. Summons me with his fingers.
“Be a doll and bring me another scotch.” He squeezes my hand creepily with his sweaty one.
Gross. He’s drunk now; I can see it in his glazed eyes. He’s managed to get crumbs all over the floor.
“Any chance of a pint of the black stuff?” he slurs, thinking he’s funny.
“We don’t have Guinness,” I snap. But I’ll give you a black eye if you want instead.
I drop to my knees to clean the crumbs off the floor and lock eyes with Killian.
The only way I’ll get through this evening is if I turn into a husk of a human, void of the ability to feel.
I leave the dining area and head to the main bathroom on the ground floor, trying to pull myself together.
Maybe I’ll take a bottle of wine down to my studio. That way, I’ll forget about Killian and Maria having sex a few floors above me.
Minutes later, I walk out of the bathroom and collide with a chest.
“Hello, angel,” the mayor says in a voice that makes my neck hairs stand on edge.
He takes a step closer, his eyes sweeping up my body.
I bluntly move away from him, but he puts his arm up across my stomach to stop me.
What the fuck is happening?
“Excuse me.” I forcefully try to pull his arm away.
“Killian said he has an Irish present for me.” He smirks, pressing his hand to my hip. “I didn’t expect it to be so lovely.”
I freeze, feeling bile rise in my throat.
“Get off me, you sleazy old bastard,” I screech, pushing his hand away. My legs are shaking, my arms are trembling, and my pulse is pounding.
He chuckles. He has the audacity to chuckle as if this isn’t the first time he’s been called that.
“I like the fighting Irish spirit,” he drawls behind me as he walks into the bathroom. “This isn’t over, doll.”
With shaky legs, I sprint down the stairs to the lounge.
“Clodagh,” Killian calls after me as I’m about to escape into the kitchen. “Can you open another bottle of red, please? Then call it a night.”
“Yes, sir,” I say in a very loud, strange-sounding voice, causing a few of them to give me a second glance. The room is a blur; I can barely see people. “It would be my pleasure.” My voice betrays me at the end and comes out wobbly.
I hiss another “sir” at Killian.
His eyes widen, and his glare changes to something perplexed.
I storm into the kitchen and pull the cork out of a bottle of red with such force the wine nearly sprays everywhere.
An Irish present?
How dare he.
How dare he think he can pass me around to his colleagues?
He can go to hell.
I march into the dining area and head straight to Killian.
I’m beyond caring about my visa.
“This is the last time I’ll serve you and your fucking sleazy buddies,” I say with such saccharine sweetness that Killian looks confused.
The entire room goes dead. The only sound is the ticking of the large clock on the wall.
He’s about to talk when I see fucking red.
In one smooth motion, I tip the bottle of wine all over his lap.
It’s like I’ve detonated a bomb in the room.
Sharp gasps.
Silence.
The wrath of Killian Quinn cutting through me.
I set the bottle down on the table with a thud, turn on my heel, and stride out of the room.