Fifth Avenue Fling: A Grumpy Boss Romantic Comedy (Billionaires In Charge)
Fifth Avenue Fling: Chapter 16

Send a bouquet to Maria Taylor. Florist on Fifth.

I stare at the text message from Killian with a strange pang of annoyance, practically hearing his gravelly voice say the words in my head.

He was especially distant this morning, talking to me in a businesslike way. Like he wanted me to understand that yesterday’s bathroom interlude meant nothing. It’s not like I expected us to ride off into the sunset together in a horse-drawn carriage through Central Park.

What should I write? I message back.

I’m certain that Maria Taylor was the woman I saw him with in the hotel. She was dark-haired, maybe Latino, and had legs for days. An absolute stunner. A perfect match looks-wise for him.

I bet she’s touched his massive cock.

I get a mental image of the woman from the hotel chirpily saying, “It’s super hot here, so I’m going to get more comfortable,” while he masturbates.

Ugh.

Am I jealous?

Why am I torturing myself? I feel a cold sore coming on from the stress.

My phone buzzes with a notification.

Killian: My name? Use your initiative.

Jerk. He could have given me some context. Is it her birthday? Is he apologizing for something? I didn’t take him for a romantic. Then again, it’s not very romantic when you get a bouquet from your love interest’s nanny maid. I wonder how many rich guys actually send their own gifts.

I’ve never even gotten flowers from a guy before.

I dial Sam’s number. I was only half bluffing when I said Sam and I should date. He’s a great guy. A part of me wanted to see if Killian would be jealous. That way, I would know if this weird sexual tension between us is real or imagined.

My attempt failed miserably.

Sam answers on the third ring. “Clodagh,” he says warmly. There’s traffic in the background, so he must be outside.

“Hey, Sam. I need some help. I’m sending Maria Taylor flowers from Killian. Can you message me her address?”

“Sure thing, I’ll do it after the call.” He sounds a little out of breath, like he’s walking.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No, I’m just leaving Teagan’s school after my shift.” A siren goes off in the background.

“You have to wait outside the school?”

He laughs a little. “When you say it like that, it sounds worse than it is. But yeah, a few of us take shifts while Teagan is in school.”

Jeez. What a strange life.

“Er, so Killian didn’t give me any context, so I don’t know what to write on the card. Are they in a relationship?” I ask casually.

“They’ve been out a few times.” Sam pauses for a moment. “Mr. Quinn isn’t really the type for serious relationships. Although he does seem to be quite taken with Miss Taylor, so who knows. Just keep it vague.”

The irritating jealousy in my chest sharpens.

“Yeah, he doesn’t seem like the hearts-and-flowers type of guy.” I laugh lightly. I wonder if Maria gets to experience Killian’s softer side. “Thanks, Sam. Call in when you drop Teagan off from ballet.” Seeing Sam will be a nice distraction. Compared to Killian, he’s like a ray of sunshine.

“Sure thing,” he drawls. “Remember, we’ll be thirty minutes late this evening. She has the monthly showcase.”

“The what?”

“Once a month, there’s a showcase; the parents and others get to sit in and watch.”

“Oh.” Teagan never mentioned it this morning, but she’s not exactly a morning person. “Is it a big deal?”

“Not sure, sorry, Clodagh. That’s as far as my knowledge goes. I wait outside and make sure no one tries to assassinate her.”

I chuckle a little, thinking he’s joking, then realize he isn’t. “Wow. Another day at the office, huh? Is the threat of danger really that high?”

The line grows silent for a few moments. “He won’t take another risk.”

I ponder whether or not it’s a good idea to enter this conversation but plunge onward anyway. “This is about Teagan’s mum, right?”

“Yeah. It’s known about… but Mr. Quinn doesn’t like to talk about it.” Sam sounds wary. “I gotta go. I’ll chat to you later, Clodagh.”

“Hey, Sam?” I say quickly. “Wait up. Does Killian, I mean Mr. Quinn, go to the showcase?” Seriously, is Sam not allowed to call him Killian after five years? “You said parents attend?”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” he says slowly, sounding surprised at the question. “You’d have to ask him.” He clears his throat. “But I wouldn’t advise you to.”

“Do the other parents go?”

“I see others go in. I’m mainly checking for threats, so I don’t keep tabs.”

So no one turns up for Teagan.

The more time I spend with Teagan, the harder my heart aches for her. Underneath the moodiness is a vulnerable little girl. She has an amazing education, she lives in a luxurious mansion in the poshest part of New York, from the pictures on the walls, she’s traveled all over the world with her father, and she has more electronics than Japan.

But I wouldn’t want her life at her age. She seems to spend more time with security guards than with her own family.

I know Killian tries. He gets home every night and looks exhausted but still tries to spend time with Teagan.

“I’m going to come with you to ballet,” I tell Sam. “Can you collect me on the way?”

Maybe I’m not doing the right thing. Who knows how Teagan will react when I turn up, but I’ll feel guilty if I don’t at least try.

“Of course.” Sam sounds chuffed. “I’d love the company.”

I hang up and call the florist and ask them to send their most pretentious bouquet to Maria Taylor.

Use your initiative.

I’ll show him initiative.

“What’s the message?” she asks me.

I grin. “To my babe,” I say slowly. “From your dreamboat, Killian. Then add ten kisses and ten hugs.”

Technically, I’m doing as he told me.

***

Sam heads back outside to sit in the car while I’m led into the viewing gallery of the ballet studio.

I’m nervous as hell. Is this a stupid idea? What if Teagan doesn’t want me here? I didn’t tell her I was coming.

I expect a school gym like the one where I used to play netball but find myself in a large intimidating studio with mirrors on all the walls and bright lights reflecting off them. The viewing gallery above the stage is packed.

It takes me a moment to register which dancer Teagan is. They all look alike with their blue leotards and soft satin shoes as they point and flex on their tiptoes, warming up. With the mirrors around the studio walls, it looks like there are twice as many of them.

At least the food coloring has faded to a dull red.

Some chatter, looking relaxed. Others stand in statuesque poses, deep in concentration.

Teagan looks nervous. She’s alone as she stretches, arching her body and reaching her arms to the ceiling. She doesn’t even look up at the viewing gallery.

From the crowd in the viewing gallery, it seems everyone’s parents are here except for Teagan’s. There are even some kids.

I squeeze into the only vacant seat left in the second row behind all the parents chatting.

This seems like a bigger deal than Sam thought. Does Killian realize?

“Places, ladies!” the teacher barks. All the girls fall into line.

Just as the music begins, Teagan looks up and sees me. Her eyes widen in surprise, then her mouth forms a confused frown. Oh no, she doesn’t look pleased.

I wave down nervously.

Then slowly, she nods and smiles. Her lips quirk up into a crooked smile, her face torn between two emotions.

It’s a start.

She takes a deep breath and steps forward as the music changes. From my limited knowledge, I think it’s from Swan Lake, although I’ve never seen a ballet before.

Their feet fly across the floor in a continuous flurry of twirls and leaps. I feel absurdly proud.

And sad. Killian should be here to watch his daughter.

“Teagan Quinn!” the teacher says sharply. “Please try to keep up. Less ego, more focus.”

Less ego? That was unnecessary. She didn’t need to call her out so abrasively. Would she treat her the same if Killian were here?

Teagan’s face burns with shame as she stumbles, falling slightly out of sync with the other dancers.

She tries to regain her composure, but the bitchy teacher barks another passive-aggressive command, and she struggles to find her footing.

Some of the other girls get reprimanded, but it’s in a much softer tone. With Teagan, there’s an undercurrent of something stronger.

What is this woman’s problem? She’s watching Teagan, ready to pounce on any mistake.

The teacher snaps at her again, and I resist the urge to yell for her to stop. This is really uncomfortable to watch. It’s like she doesn’t want Teagan to do well.

Flustered, Teagan nods and tries to follow her instruction, but the bitch isn’t helping her; she’s putting her on edge.

I glance up at some of the other parents, wondering if I’m being paranoid. They’re smiling, in their own bubble, captivated solely by their kid’s performances.

But the more I watch Teagan’s face, the more I know I’m not imagining this.

She winces a little as she does a single spin and lands awkwardly. She’s lost her mojo.

My heart aches for her. I want to run down and hug her. It takes me back to a teacher who made me feel like that. She thought I was being obstructive, but she never took the time to figure out that I wasn’t lazy; I just found reading difficult.

As the last notes of the music fade away and the girls return to their starting positions, I let out a huge whoop. Way too loudly. There’s a civilized round of applause from the rest of the crowd. From the disapproving looks I get from parents, whooping like I’m at a concert is not the done thing here.

The slight smile from Teagan is worth it.

***

“I can’t believe Dad’s making the nannies come to watch the ballet now,” she grumbles when she sees me in the studio reception waiting for her.

“He’s not.” I take one of her gym bags from her. “Sam told me about it.”

“Oh.” Her brow furrows, and I fear I may have made a mistake.

I open the double doors to the street where Sam and the other security guy are waiting in the not-at-all-obvious SUV with blacked-out windows across the street.

“Do you mind me coming to watch you?” I ask hesitantly as we stand at the pedestrian crossing. “I heard spectators were allowed today, and I wanted to see you perform.”

Her frown deepens. “Not spectators. Family.”

Damn. I have messed up.

I slow my pace as we cross the street so I can look at her. “I’m sorry if I stepped out of line.”

“No, it’s fine.” She gives a slight shrug, her voice quiet. “You just caught me by surprise, that’s all. You didn’t need to come.”

“I wanted to.” I smile. “You were great! Your dad must be so proud of you.”

The way she defensively shrugs crushes me inside. Has Killian ever gone to one of these? He would have noticed the weird vibe between her and her teacher if he had.

I don’t understand the man.

“Is your teacher always like that?” I ask, wondering how I should word this. “She seemed a bit hard on you. Maybe she was having an off day?”

“No, she’s always like that.” She scowls as we weave through the crowd of people. “She’s a bitch. She hates me.”

“Have you told your dad?”

“He just brushes it off. He says we don’t always get along with everyone in life.” She smiles sarcastically. “She’s the best in New York, so why would he send me to anyone else?”

“Because if she’s making you unhappy, then it doesn’t matter if she’s the best in the world. Has he ever met her?”

“No.”

I hesitate, unsure what to say. “He hasn’t come to watch you?”

“Nope. He’ll never watch me.”

“Why not?” I press cautiously.

Her face tightens. “Because Mom was a professional ballet dancer. He wants me to keep up the tradition but says it hurts him too much to watch.”

We arrive at the car, so I can’t press her any further. “Sorry about your mum. I saw the picture on your bedroom wall of her.”

“It’s okay. I don’t remember her.”

“Wait.” I put my hand over hers to stop her from opening the door.

Her eyes narrow at me suspiciously.

“Look, I know I’m not as motherly as Mrs. Dalton, but if you need to talk, I’m here.” I smile, trying to lighten the mood. “And I can definitely take that teacher down in a fight if you need me to.”

“It’s okay.” She rolls her eyes dramatically, but at least she’s smiling. “I’ll be thirteen next week, and then, hopefully, I’ll move into a different class.”

“You’re a Gemini, just like me!”

“Do you actually believe in that stupid shit?”

“Only the good parts,” I say as I climb into the back seat next to her.

The guys in front nod at us.

“What are you going to do for your birthday?” I ask.

“Dad’s taking me to see Cayden Aguilar. We’re going to the concert, then we get to meet him afterward.”

I pause my fight with the seat belt and look at her, astonished. “The Cayden Aguilar? The singer? Are you freaking serious?”

He’s the biggest pop star in the world right now. Every teen has posters of him plastered all over their walls.

A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Yeah. Him.”

The guys chuckle in the front seat, clearly accustomed to this lifestyle.

“What about you?” Teagan asks. “What are your birthday plans?”

I blink, still in shock, as Sam pulls out. “There’s no way I can top that. I’ll probably just hang out at the pub.”

Sam’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, and he winks.

Teagan’s face says she thinks that’s a crap plan, but she quietly says, “You should ask Dad to give you the day off.”

I grin at her. “Listen, lady, I don’t care if I’m scrubbing your toilet bowls on my birthday. I’m just happy to be in New York.”

***

The moment Killian steps through the door from work, I can tell he’s in no mood for talking. He grunts in acknowledgment before taking off his tie and undoing a few buttons.

“I need to talk to you,” I say quickly. “I went to Teagan’s ballet show tonight.”

His brow lifts. “Why?”

Why? What is it with this family questioning me? “To support her. A lot of the other parents go.” I forge on while I’m still feeling brave. “You should go sometime.”

The angry flash in his eyes is my warning that I should shut up. But I have to say this, or I won’t feel settled, and now is as good a time as any with Teagan upstairs in her room.

“Do you know she isn’t getting along with her teacher?” I ask.

“Her teacher is the best in New York,” he says curtly, opening the fridge. “She pushes her hard. Teagan’s going to complain.”

“No, I think it’s more than that. The teacher seems irrationally sharp with her. Much more than the other kids. I think you should do something. Maybe even move her to another class.”

He slams the fridge door shut. “Teagan’s nearly thirteen; she needs to learn to respect authority.”

“I think you should ask Teagan what she wants. Right now, she’s not enjoying ballet. She seems to only be doing it because you want her to.”

He steps closer, his gaze darkening with each step as he corners me against the sink. My throat tightens as if a lump is lodged there. I’m on very shaky ground here.

We’re dangerously close; it feels like #huntsmanpiegate all over again. His eyes never leave my face as he lowers his head to mine.

“Did I ask for your opinion on parenting my daughter?” His voice is low. I would almost prefer it if he shouted at me. “You’ve been living here for a week, and now you’re telling me how to raise my child?”

“You weren’t there,” I say quietly. “You can’t possibly know if what I’m saying is correct.”

Ignoring his glare, I take my phone out of my pocket and scroll to where I’ve taken pictures of Teagan at ballet.

By the way he looks at the phone, you’d think I showed him pictures of animal cruelty.

“Mind your own damn business, Clodagh,” he growls through clenched teeth, jerking away from me.

To my horror, tears prick my eyes. I won’t eat with this arrogant man tonight. I grab my plate and skitter past him, out of the kitchen and down the stairs to my studio.

He doesn’t come after me.

***

Just as I slip into my pajama shorts and vest top, there’s a knock on the studio door.

Bracing myself for round two, I open the door to Killian.

He looks me up and down warily. “Can you be here at eight o’clock next Tuesday night?” He pauses. “I need you to stay with Teagan. I’m going into the ballet school to talk to the teacher.”

“Sure,” I reply, suppressing a smile.

He gives me a slight nod before walking away.

It’s the closest I’ll get to an apology.

***

It’s midnight before I realize I don’t have my phone. I have to set my alarm, but I left it upstairs when I ran off in a rush.

I creep upstairs without turning the lights on to find a large figure on the sofa.

Killian.

Naked except for shorts.

His thick bicep spills over the side of the couch, and the other rests on his bare, toned stomach. His legs are spread apart, one extended over the edge of the couch. There’s no question he’s a beautiful man. Sleeping, he looks almost vulnerable. Boyish.

Is he dreaming?

He lets out a loud, grunty snore, and I clap my hand over my mouth to stifle my giggle.

What if he sleeps here all night and doesn’t get up in time in the morning? Should I wake him? Probably not; he’ll only yell at me.

Ever so gently, I pull the blanket bunched up at his feet up over his legs and stomach.

When I look up, he’s awake and staring right at me.

I freeze. “Sorry, I—”

Abruptly, his hand comes up to my cheek, almost as if forgetting himself.

The heat from his touch radiates into my skin, and I forget how to breathe.

He goes entirely still, neither of us saying a word. An inner battle plays out on his face as he contemplates what to do next.

Kiss me.

Then he drops his hand from my cheek. “Go to bed, Clodagh.”