Fifth Avenue Fling: A Grumpy Boss Romantic Comedy (Billionaires In Charge)
Fifth Avenue Fling: Chapter 27

A few days later

“Clodagh?” I shout as I enter the kitchen. I hear noise coming from upstairs.

Coming back from work unexpectedly is becoming a habit. I tell myself today’s trip is because I forgot my phone.

On the island counter are two bouquets, which weren’t here when I left for work this morning, and the cards are open.

Mildly curious, I grab one and read it.

Happy birthday, Clodagh, from Sam and the security team.

Hold up, it’s her birthday today? My jaw clenches. Why on earth didn’t she tell me?

I pick up the second card. When I see it’s from the Irish idiot who tried to kidnap her, my temperature rises further.

Why are all these men sending her flowers?

Why the hell did she tell everyone but me it was her birthday?

“Hi, Killian,” comes a soft Irish voice behind me.

I turn almost defensively. “Clodagh,” I say, gruffer than I meant to. “It’s your birthday today?”

“Yeah,” she mumbles, quickly pulling her hair up into a bun as she passes me to get to the sink.

I stand there stiffly, watching her load the dishwasher. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, heat creeping into my voice.

She pulls a weird face and shrugs. “I didn’t want to make it a big deal.”

My gaze moves toward the flowers on the counter. “But everyone else seems to know about it.”

She shrugs again, like she has no explanation for that.

“I don’t want you working today.”

She stops loading dishes for a moment and searches my face. “Killian, you’re supposed to say happy birthday. You sound kinda mad.”

“I’m…” I am mad.

I don’t say that.

She turns back to the dishes, and I stand there, wondering what the hell is wrong with me. I want to take her in my arms and tell her I’ll give her the world today.

“Happy birthday,” I eventually say, though my voice sounds strange. “What are you doing to celebrate?”

“Nothing glam,” she answers easily. “I’m going out for dinner at a cool place in Brooklyn that has rave reviews, then we’re heading over to the pub I used to work at in Queens. Funny how I’ve been missing it lately.”

“Go ahead and use the credit card for whatever you want. You deserve it.”

Her gaze meets mine for the first time since I questioned her about her birthday. “Sure. That’s very kind of you, Killian.”

Is it my imagination, or does she look hurt?

“Have a good time,” I say in a neutral tone, then I slip away upstairs to get my phone so I don’t have to witness the disappointment on her face anymore.

And maybe so she can’t see mine.

***

“Put the damn phone away, Teagan,” I grumble, pouring too much salt on my steak. I’ve trained myself not to say princess, although it’s slipped out a few times. “You know it’s not allowed at the dinner table.”

Teagan stares at me like I asked her to put needles in her eyes.

“Becky’s messaging me,” she wails. “I have to reply.”

I set the saltshaker aside and lean forward to take the phone away from her. “You see Becky every day. Seven hours a day. How can two thirteen-year-olds have so much to say to each other?”

She narrows her eyes at the audacity of the question.

I look to Connor for support, but he’s busy scrolling through his damn phone. He doesn’t care; he gets to be the cool uncle.

“When I was your age—”

“I didn’t even have a phone,” Teagan interjects, rolling her eyes as she mimics me in a gruff voice. “I know, Dad. You got a lump of coal for Christmas. Your emojis are so lame that you shouldn’t even be allowed to have one anyway.”

“You’re the only one privy to my emojis.” I shake my head and look at Connor. “Did we give Mom this much attitude when we were Teagan’s age?”

Connor chuckles as he piles more fries on his plate. “I did. I was the cheeky one.”

I turn back to Teagan. “I spoil you. You can have your phone back after dinner.”

“Ugh.” She stabs her steak with her fork. “Why are you so grumpy tonight?”

“I’m not grumpy.”

But maybe I am, a little bit.

I get a vision of Clodagh in her blue jeans and lace white top, leaving the house to go to dinner. It’s nine o’clock already; she’ll probably be done by now, on her way to the pub where she used to work—surrounded by horny young Irish football players.

Without thinking, I fire off a text: Do you need a ride home?

“That’s not fair!” Teagan screeches. “Uncle Connor, do you freaking see this? Dad’s using his phone!”

“Work stuff,” I mutter, eyes still on my phone screen. “I’m checking in with Clodagh.”

The tiny dots on the screen indicate that Clodagh is typing, then they disappear without a reply. My hackles rise.

“Where is Clodagh?” Connor asks. He knows we’ve been… we’ve been what? Fucking?

“It’s her birthday.” I reach to open a new beer, annoyed that Clodagh is ignoring me. Then I remind myself that she isn’t working today. She isn’t on the clock and isn’t obligated to answer me.

Still, manners are for fucking free.

“She’s in Queens.”

“Uh-huh.” Connor stares at me with that knowing smirk of his.

“What?” I snap.

His brow arches. “Maybe you should check in on her, make sure she’s okay?”

Connor’s right: I should go check on her. “The Irish idiot that ambushed her at the house might be there.”

He’ll try to hit on her for sure.

I should go.

Except… this is a ridiculous idea. Clodagh’s a grown woman. What am I going to do, pop in unannounced at her birthday party to make sure she’s okay?

“Send one of your security team if you’re really that worried,” Connor says casually with a hint of amusement. “She and Sam seem to be close.”

My entire body goes tense.

He grins helpfully, and I feel a sudden urge to wipe it off his face.

Fuck that. I can’t sit here all night on edge.

Finishing the beer in one gulp, I stand. “Teagan, do you mind looking after your uncle Connor while I pop out?”

“She’s way too cool for you, Dad,” she drawls. “She’s not interested.”

Alarmed, I look at Connor. Teagan knows something’s going on between Clodagh and me? Could my daughter be perceptive enough to tell?

He raises a brow at me in silence.

I swallow hard, my heart thumping in my chest as I look at my daughter. This is exactly the disaster I didn’t want to arise.

“Clodagh and I are just… buddies,” I tell her cautiously, feeling shit for lying to my own child. “I want to make sure she has a nice birthday.”

My little girl lets out an eye-rolling smirk. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. She’s still too cool for you.”

My chest tightens as I stand there, gripping the back of the chair tightly. I shoot Connor a fleeting look of panic.

The last thing I want is for Teagan to know something’s going on between Clodagh and me, the young woman who lives in our home and is supposed to be caring for my daughter. It feels like an act of betrayal to her. Maybe I want her to think of me as a dad only, not as a man or a letdown.

I study her face, feeling more flustered than I have in a long time. Should I deny it?

“You need to get her something,” Teagan says.

“What?”

“Jeez, Dad, you’re clueless.” She rolls her eyes again with exaggerated exasperation. “It’s her birthday.”

Christ. She doesn’t seem particularly bothered by it at all.

Connor smirks at me. “Tiffany’s is open late tonight.”

My face contorts into an awkward smile as I meet his eyes. He gives me an encouraging look in return.

“Okay.” I give a curt nod, focusing on Teagan. “I’ll see you later.”

“Good luck!” she calls after me as I leave. “You’ll need it.”

***

Ninety minutes later, I’m walking into an Irish pub in Queens for the first time in years and am instantly deafened.

The Auld Dog – it brings back unsettling memories of O’Shea’s, the pub where I had a fight before Harlow died. The first pub I ever owned. The pub that started my business. It’s like opening a time capsule—all the sights, smells, and sounds bring me back to that horrible night.

The smell of stale beer hangs thick in the air. Drunken laughter drowns out the Irish band in the corner. An old man stumbles forward, trying to clumsily imitate a jig while his pals cheer him on. He teeters and then tumbles into a nearby table, knocking over a tray of beers that shatters on impact. No one seems to care.

“Fuck ye…” another old guy shouts beside me. “Are you young Joe Byrne?” Christ. Literally Christ. He’s wearing a priest’s collar.

“No, Father,” I reply curtly.

I shake my head in disbelief. It’s been a while since I’ve been in a pub like this.

“It’s Clodagh’s boss from Manhattan.”

I glance behind me to see one of the ladies from yoga brassily touching my back. I give her a reserved smile before scanning the room.

“Are you coming back to yoga, honey?”

“Maybe,” I murmur distractedly. I don’t have time for this. I’m here for one reason only.

And there she is.

My stomach churns with the force of seeing her. My heart races, and my palms feel clammy. It’s terrifying.

I watch her grab the arm of a guy who looks vaguely familiar; one of the football players. Jealousy surges through me as he touches her lower back. He says something to her that must be hilarious because she tosses her head back and flashes him her wide smile that should only be directed at me.

She’s glowing.

She’s happy.

I want to pull her away from the guy and everybody else and keep her all to myself.

As if sensing my heavy gaze, she turns.

And her jaw hits the floor.