Fifth Avenue Fling: A Grumpy Boss Romantic Comedy (Billionaires In Charge)
Fifth Avenue Fling: Chapter 21

Connor swings the door to my office open, grinning wide. “Miss me?”

He looks far too fresh to have spent three days in Vegas. Then again, at thirty-two, he’s got an advantage on me.

“I’m surprised the place didn’t go up in flames while you were away,” I say sarcastically, looking up from my screen. “Successful trip?”

He strolls in and rests a shoulder against the wall. “Expansion of The Regency Casino finally agreed. I thought we were going to have another situation with the building contractors. But way more importantly, I got to squeeze in watching the fight at the MGM. Best heavyweight title fight I’ve seen in decades.”

I nod in agreement. “I caught the last half streaming. Tyson’s a legend.”

“Big brother needs to get out more. All this streaming is turning you into a boring old man.”

“You may be on to something.” I stare at him deadpan. “I slept with my nanny. I slept with Clodagh.”

His eyes widen, and he breaks into annoying howls of laughter.

Frustrated, I slam my laptop shut. “Yes, yes, when you’re ready,” I snap. There’s no way I’ll accomplish anything now.

His laughter dies down to a chuckle. “She’s not your nanny. I have a disturbing image now.”

I heave a sigh. “You know what I mean. I fucked my employee. Clodagh. I’m that guy.” Is this what a midlife crisis looks like?

“Saturday night?”

I nod.

“I’m not surprised by the way you were so fired up. Don’t think Teagan didn’t notice either. She’s twelve, not stupid.”

Shit.

He tilts his head in an amused smirk. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why’d you fuck her?”

Connor asks some stupid questions for someone with a high IQ.

Because all I want to do is fuck her deep and hard every single day of my life, then cuddle her afterward, and it still won’t be enough.

“Why does any man fuck a woman?” I snap.

“Fair enough.” He shrugs. “Where?”

“In the house.” I’m a moron.

His brows lift.

“I know, I know,” I cut in before he can speak. “I don’t do it in the house when Teagan’s there. I broke my own rule. I followed Clodagh down to her studio and…” I slump in my leather wingback chair. “I got carried away. Now she’s barely making eye contact with me and tiptoeing around ever since.”

Guilt washes over me.

It’s been three days since Clodagh and I had sex, and the tension between us is so palpable you could slice it with a blade. She only speaks to me about chores in polite but terse tones.

I feel like shit. I went too far, all to satisfy my own selfish needs. I shouldn’t have followed her to her studio. I want her to feel safe and at ease in my home, and for the past few nights, she’s looked almost tormented.

This evening after work, I’m going to meet with Teagan’s ballet teacher to see if Clodagh’s instincts are correct. Maybe it’s for the best to create space between me and Clodagh.

His mouth twitches into a smirk. “So what happens now? Are you two in a ‘nanny with benefits’ relationship? She seems like a nice girl; you shouldn’t treat her badly.”

“I’m not trying to treat her badly. I’m trying to be professional,” I say, my chest growing tighter with each word. “She and Teagan are getting along better than the other nannies, so ideally, I don’t rock the status quo.”

“I think it’s safe to say the status quo has been rocked, Killian.”

“We’re both back to being professional. It was a mistake.”

“If you say so,” he says, still smirking.

I narrow my eyes on him, contemplating strangulation. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He folds his arms across his chest lazily. “If you run your hands through your hair any more, you’ll trigger premature balding.”

“I regret telling you now. Look, in eight weeks, Clodagh will be gone.” My jaw clenches at the realization. I imagine the house without her dulcet tones, her laughter, her scowls. Nothing left of her.

I shake my head, willing myself to get a grip. “Mrs. Dalton will be back, and that’s better for Teagan.”

He makes a humming sound but drops it.

“Don’t forget Teagan’s birthday dinner on Friday night. Then I have a teenybopper concert to attend. So don’t tell me I’m boring, buddy. We’re going to see…” I think for a moment. “Hayden Agu… fucking something or other.”

“Cayden. Even I know his name. I told you; you need to work harder at being a cool dad.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, well, next week it will be some other pop star dickhead.”

He smiles. “She’s growing up so quickly. It feels like just yesterday she was swooning over the ponies at the city farm. Now she’s swooning over a guy with a ponytail.”

“Don’t start,” I groan. “She’ll always be my little girl. And any swooning will be done under my watch.”

I sometimes stare at Teagan, and it feels surreal because I can’t believe she’s nearly thirteen. It seems like yesterday that she was four years old.

He pushes off the wall and readies himself to go. “It’s in my calendar. Dinner, I mean. If you think I’m joining you to see Cayden Aguilar, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I wave him off.

My phone beeps. I frown, seeing the sender. “Maria.” It’s another lovey-dovey message. “She’s got the wrong impression of me. I sent her flowers, and she’s acting like I proposed. I don’t know where this has come from.”

“A million guys would kill to be in your shoes.” He shakes his head and opens the door wider. “Is she still coming to dinner with the mayor to grease the slimeball up?”

“Yeah, she’s friends with his wife. Should be a good dynamic between them.”

I stare at the message.

It’s just a pity my ugly dead heart doesn’t feel a smidge of excitement about that.

***

I rap my knuckles on Teagan’s door and push it open, not expecting her to be awake at seven o’clock. I take a seat on the edge of the bed, and the lump beneath the covers stirs.

“Good morning, princess.” I lift the covers from her face.

“Uh.” Eyes closed, she screws up her face as if in pain.

“Time to get up, birthday girl.”

She finally opens her eyes, smiling sleepily. “Morning, Dad.”

“Happy birthday. A big thirteen today.” God, I almost sound choked up. I pull her into a hug. “You’re growing up so fast. But you’re still my little girl,” I say into her hair, then lean back to kiss her forehead. “Even when you’re fifty and looking after me.”

“Ew. I can’t wait, Dad.”

Stretching out, she sits up in bed. Her face and features are becoming more and more like a young woman’s, and it almost scares me. She’s the same height as Clodagh. “I wish your mother could see you,” I say with a sad smile. “She’s still with us every day, you know. She’s watching over you.”

“I know.”

“You know I love you more than anything in the world, right? It doesn’t matter how old you are.”

“Dad.” She groans. “I can’t handle you like this.”

“I’ll have you know I’m a very cool dad.”

I receive my first eye roll of the day. “Sometimes. You’re not as bad as Becky’s dad. He does awful silent farts and thinks no one notices.”

“Glad to hear the bar’s so low.” I chuckle. “Your roller skates and photo printer are downstairs.” At thirteen, I have to ask her what she wants because there’s not a hope in hell I’ll get it right. “But this is something extra I wanted to get you. It matches your beautiful eyes.”

She takes the necklace with her name engraved in blue stones. “It’s beautiful, Dad. Thank you.”

As she wraps her arms around me, I scoop her up for a bear hug. There’s no better feeling in the world.

“Are you excited about meeting the floppy-haired pop star kiddo tonight?”

“Stop calling him that.” She huffs. “He’s like the best singer ever.” Her eyes glaze dreamily. “This is going to be the best night of my life.”

Christ. No pressure. The floppy-haired popstar better be nice to my daughter. He’s getting enough money from me.

“We have dinner with Gran and Connor first. Make sure your friend Becky is ready by six o’clock.”

She nods. “Should I invite Clodagh?”

I frown. “It’s a family dinner. Your grandma will be there.” I pause for a moment, swallowing hard. “Do you want to invite Clodagh?”

She shrugs. “She said the restaurant was on her bucket list. She seemed really jealous when I told her I was going for my birthday. She’s kinda okay.” Coming from my daughter, that’s a massive compliment.

I should be thankful Clodagh and Teagan get along. “Invite her if that’s what you want. I want you to be happy.” I pause. “There’s something else I want to talk to you about.”

Her eyes widen, and I can see the wheels turning in her head, wondering if she did something wrong. “What is it? Am I in trouble?”

“No, I am,” I say. “I’m sorry for not listening to you. I met with your ballet teacher last night. It turns out, she knows me and has an issue with me.”

Her teacher’s husband once worked for me and got fired. Had I known that, I wouldn’t have sent her there. Since she still uses her maiden name professionally, I didn’t make the connection.

“Does she have something against me?” Her big, worried eyes break my heart. I’m a terrible father; everything I do impacts my baby girl.

“Princess, it’s me. It’s all me, not you at all. We’ll get you into a different class.”

And I have Clodagh to thank for bringing my mistake to my attention.

I kiss my daughter’s head and stand from the bed. “I’ll meet you for breakfast in twenty, okay?”

***

I walk into the kitchen to find Teagan and Clodagh talking loudly.

“You two seem happy,” I interrupt, eyeing the pancake stack with cream and fruit, topped with a lopsided candle. “What’s this?”

“Clodagh made a birthday breakfast,” Teagan chips in cheerily before Clodagh can answer.

I lock eyes with her as I take a seat at the kitchen island beside Teagan.

“She doesn’t have to eat it all,” she says quietly. “I know it’s a bit naughty for breakfast.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.”

“Check this out, Dad. Clodagh made it for me.” Teagan pushes a wooden box in my direction. Inside it are tubes and bottles of hair products.

I turn it around, trailing my fingers over the Celtic design. “You made this?” I ask slowly, pausing to look at Clodagh. She even engraved Teagan’s name on it. Did she do this in her studio?

She nods shyly. “It’s just a little token. Nothing fancy. It’s made with a kind of wood we call ‘Irish mahogany’ coz it’s used in a lot of furniture at home.”

“It’s beautiful,” I say quietly, my voice thick with emotion.

Something twists in my stomach as I slowly turn the beautifully crafted gift over in my hands. I’m a horrible fucking man.

“Be careful, Dad. Those are the products Clodagh uses in her hair,” Teagan announces proudly, looking shyly at Clodagh. “So I’ll be able to do my hair like hers.”

“That’s great,” I say, trying to keep the emotion out of my voice. I set the box down and reach for a pancake, my heart swelling with joy from seeing Teagan so happy. “Just use a tiny amount first to make sure that you don’t have an allergic reaction. You don’t need to use stuff like this at your age.”

“You have no clue about hair, Dad!” she tells me, outraged, and then turns toward Clodagh. “Dad said you can come with us to dinner tonight if you want. Are you coming?”

“Uh.” Clodagh’s eyes turn into saucers. “I don’t want to impose on you guys.”

“I insist,” I say after clearing my throat awkwardly.

She stares at me for a while, trying to decide whether I’m sincere. Eventually, she nods and murmurs, “Okay.”

“Awesome!” Teagan squeals excitedly.

“Can I get a minute with you?” I ask Clodagh, inclining my head toward the patio.

Despite her apprehension, she follows me outside.

“It’s fine, Killian,” she starts before I have a chance to speak. “If you don’t want me at dinner, I won’t come. I can tell Teagan I’m not feeling well, so she won’t be upset.”

“No, that’s not it. I want you to come. Look, I went to see Teagan’s ballet teacher, and I need to apologize to you.” I smile wryly. “It turns out I fired her husband. Things got nasty. She clearly has a chip on her shoulder and is taking it out on Teagan. I’ve moved Teagan to another class and filed a complaint against her teacher.”

“Oh.” She seems taken aback. “Cool. Glad I could help.” She pauses, chewing on one side of her lip. “Anyway, if you don’t mind…” She looks at me with caution. “So, uh… if it’s okay with you, can I give you some more advice?”

My brows lift. “Go ahead.”

“I get I’m no Nanny McPhee, but just hear me out, okay?”

My lips twitch.

“Maybe you should ditch the whole ‘princess’ thing if she doesn’t like it.” She looks up at me. “It’s like you’re dismissing her as her own person if you ignore what she wants. You want her to listen to you…” She gives a little shrug. “But it works both ways.”

“Come on,” I scoff. “I…” I rub the back of my neck, agitated. I what? I want to call her princess because I like it? Because I don’t want her to grow up and leave me?

I inhale, releasing the breath slowly. “You make a valid point.”

She barely disguises her surprise behind a guarded smile. “Is there anything else, Killian?”

Yes. I want to take you in my arms and never let you go. “No. You know, you don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“You don’t give me enough credit either.”

Her face tightens, and the guilt strangles me. I want to say so much, but nothing comes out.

“I’m sorry,” I say in a low tone, hoping to show how serious I am. “I’ll do better.”

She nods, and I watch her walk toward the patio door. “And I do want you to come to dinner,” I say to her back.

She turns, and I see a genuine smile, one I haven’t seen in days. Suddenly, I feel breathless, as if I’ve just been punched in the chest.

***

Three hours later.

“I thought you’d want to see this.” I stare at the smiling photo of Harlow on the tombstone. “It’s got Teagan’s name in Irish on it. You would get her something like this. You always bought more thoughtful presents than me.” I chuckle. “I just throw money at a problem.”

“It’s beautiful,” she answers me. “I love it.”

“Clodagh made it. She’s got talent. She could make a go of it if she had some business mentorship. I’ve been thinking about offering her help.”

Harlow remains silent.

I guess I shouldn’t tell her about someone I was intimate with.

I put Clodagh’s present under my coat as spits of rain come down.

“She’s thirteen, Harlow,” I whisper. “She’s growing up too quickly. Soon, she’ll want to leave me too.”

“You can’t keep babying her, Killian,” she scolds me. “You have to let her make her own mistakes. She needs more freedom now.”

Inhaling deeply, I close my eyes. Even the pretend voice of Harlow makes me feel guilty.

The fucking guilt never goes away.

The guilt of failing to protect Harlow.

The guilt of being a shit father.

Now I have the guilt of crossing the line with Clodagh.

The guilt of feeling something I shouldn’t.

I don’t believe in ghosts. The souls of the dead do not rise from the grave to take care of their loved ones.

Harlow lives only in Teagan’s and my imaginations. Harlow is now nothing more than my eternal guilt.

The humming of the lawnmower is the only thing that breaks the silence as I walk away.