Chapter 17: Fifth Avenue Fling: Chapter 17

Anyone who said “just wait until she’s a teenager” to me over the years, was right on the money.

I thought the “period talk” would be the hardest conversation to navigate, but that was only the beginning. With no blueprint to follow, every day is a wild ride of teenage emotions as I try to blindly fumble my way through the highs and lows.

Today’s emotion of the day is rage, and it’s directed at me, Daddy dearest.

Teagan eyes me with a glare that could cut through steel as I enter the kitchen after my workout. I try not to be too offended; being a father to a teenage daughter has thickened my hide much more than running a billion-dollar corporation.

Her hair is thankfully back to its natural color.

“Morning, beautiful.” I lean in to kiss her forehead, but she swivels in her stool away from me. I’m surprised to see her even out of her room at this time on a Saturday morning.

“Don’t talk to me. I still hate you.”

I exhale heavily in response. “I know, princess.” I wonder if this’ll last until she’s eighteen.

“Don’t call me princess.”

If she rolls her eyes any further back in her head, I’ll have to summon a priest for an exorcism.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me. They’ll get stuck like that.”

I place a cup beneath the coffee machine and make my morning espresso. “Since you’re grounded, why not use the day to practice the piece your cello teacher gave you? I’d love to hear it. The music competition is only three weeks away.”

“I’m supposed to be hanging with Becky today,” she fires back in contempt.

“And you would be if you hadn’t dyed your hair,” I point out calmly, knowing that for a twelve-year-old girl, having to be away from friends is the worst punishment imaginable. “You knew the rules and the consequences, yet you took the risk. You’re grounded for three more days.”

She skewers me with a look of wrath that the Mareks would be proud of. “It doesn’t even make sense! Why don’t you just end it now? Why do I have to be grounded for three more days?”

I down the shot of espresso. “Because I say so.”

I already explained to her why hair dye wasn’t suitable for anyone under sixteen. We sat down together and read articles about it. Though she wasn’t happy about it, she was smart enough not to want to damage her hair.

Now on to the next argument.

“But why three? Why does it have to be three?”

I’ve got nothing rational. “Because I decide the numbers.”

“That’s so unfair,” she wails, throwing her hands in the air.

“Life’s not always fair. Next time, you’ll think more carefully about the consequences.”

I join Teagan on a barstool at the island. We sit in one-sided angry silence as she stares down at her phone.

What would Harlow say if she were here? Would we be having these fights?

Have I been going at this all wrong? She’s still a child. I don’t want her dyeing her hair or wearing makeup. No daughter of mine is going to sexualize herself at twelve. When she turns thirty, then she can use cosmetics.

What would Clodagh say?

I clear my throat. “What are you looking at?”

Her eyes snap up to mine. “Why are you even asking since you probably already know? You have my passcode.”

I sigh. “I don’t look at your phone. I have it for security reasons, Teagan. You know there are risks inherent with growing up wealthy.”

“Sometimes I wish they would take me away,” she huffs.

“Less of the attitude. Listen, I know you’re mad about not meeting Becky, but how about I take you out for lunch?” I give her chin a playful flick and smile, offering my white flag of surrender. “It’ll be a reprieve from your grounding for the afternoon. We haven’t had a daddy-daughter date in a long time.”

“You can’t call it that anymore. I’m too old.”

“Princess, I’ll still be calling it that when you’re thirty.”

Her frown softens, and I can tell she wants to accept my offer but is too stubborn to say yes. “No,” she eventually replies. “It’s fine. I’d rather stay here.”

I can’t say the rejection doesn’t sting.

Footsteps sound from the hall.

Another reminder of how I’m fucking up. I jerked off in front of the nanny. I nearly kissed her the other night. What the hell was I thinking?

I look up to see Clodagh standing in the kitchen doorway. To say I’m not prepared for the sight of her is an understatement.

She’s wearing pale-blue yoga bottoms, a top that I’m not sure is a sports bra or a top, and a sleeveless hoodie over it. Her bottoms fit tightly around her gorgeous ass, making them look painted on. Her hair is tied in a high ponytail, making her already sharp cheekbones stand out even more. She looks so fresh and relaxed—the opposite of me.

It’s sexier than if she had walked in wearing lace lingerie and completely fucking distracting.

“Good morning,” she chirps enthusiastically, her eyes twinkling. She’s likely glad that Saturday has arrived so she can escape my presence for a while.

“Morning,” I reply, my throat tight.

Teagan huffs a “morning” without looking up.

My eyes lock with Clodagh’s, and a pink flush of heat travels across her cheeks. Under the bravado, she’s flustered.

That night, I almost lost it. I almost pulled her down on top of me on the couch and showed her exactly what I wanted to do to her.

Ever since the disastrous incident in the bathroom, I’ve been fighting to keep my arousal under control. Just thinking about it has my adrenaline spiked again.

I need to fuck soon. Having sex with someone else is the only way to quell my strange fantasies about my bad nanny.

Clodagh breaks eye contact first, turning to Teagan instead. “Oh, it looks like your hair is back to normal!”

“About fucking time,” I grumble, ruffling a strand of my daughter’s hair.

“See?” Teagan glares at me before turning back to Clodagh. “Doesn’t that mean I shouldn’t be grounded anymore?”

“I’m Switzerland in this argument.” Clodagh shakes her head, smirking. “I’m not that dumb. Killian, I just wanted to check that you don’t need me today?”

I raise a brow at her question. “You don’t work Saturdays.”

“Great.” Her wide smile hits me right in the stomach. “I have to go teach my yoga class in Queens. Have a great day.”

“Do I pay you that little you need to work a side job?”

“No.” She smirks. “I can definitely handle myself on your salary.”

“So why do you do it?”

She looks at me quizzically, then her lips turn into a mocking half smile. “Isn’t it obvious, Killian? I like it. They just throw me some tips. I put a sign up at the bar, and it got a bit of interest.” She looks between Teagan and me. “What are you two up to today?”

“I’m stuck inside this prison because I’m not allowed to decide anything in my life,” Teagan pipes up.

Clodagh smiles sympathetically in return. “At least it’s a nice prison.”

“One of the team will drive you to Queens and pick you up again,” I tell her.

“Oh no, it’s fine.” She waves a hand dismissively. “I’ll take the subway.”

“Nonsense.” I reach for my phone, annoyed that she’s refusing my offer of a ride. “I’ll call one of the team.” Although the way I catch Sam and the others eyeing up Clodagh, I feel like I want to drive her myself.

“It’s fine, really,” she says more firmly. “I like the subway.”

“You like the subway?” Teagan looks up, disgusted. “But it’s supposed to be dirty and crowded. I would never go on the subway.”

Clodagh’s mouth falls open. “What? You mean you’ve never been on the subway?”

Teagan’s face scrunches up. “Nope.”

“Seriously?” Clodagh laughs. “Oh my God, it’s the only way I get around. I consider it a tourist attraction. It was top of my New York bucket list.”

“Eww.” Teagan wrinkles her nose. “You can be so weird sometimes, Clodagh.”

“Manners.” I shoot Teagan a warning look. “Just because you don’t use the subway doesn’t mean you can make rude comments about people who do.”

Clodagh’s hands come up to pull her hair into a tighter ponytail. “We don’t have subway systems where I’m from in Ireland. I’d be lucky if the bus came on time. I like riding the New York subway and being surrounded by so many strangers. It makes me feel like I’m a part of something bigger.” She shrugs. “Anything new is exciting in my book.”

“Anything?” I raise a brow skeptically. “I’m not sure that theory holds up.”

She rolls her eyes and swings the backpack onto her shoulders, pushing out her chest as she does so. I try not to notice. “Well, you won’t know if you don’t try. You sound just like the grumpy footballers in my yoga class. They always thought yoga was a waste of time.” She smiles. “Now the whole team comes every Saturday religiously.”

“The whole football team?” Teagan asks with a hint of interest.

“Yup.” Clodagh nods. “It’s funny how it started out as an activity for a few ladies, but now consists of mostly young Irish footballers.”

“Oh.” Teagan looks even more intrigued.

Clodagh pauses to glance at me before addressing my daughter. “Do you want to come, Teagan?”

“No,” I answer for her. “She’s grounded.”

“Ugh,” Teagan shrieks, slamming her phone on the table. “You’re not letting me work out? That is so wack.”

I narrow my eyes on my daughter. Work out? Bullshit. If the yoga class wasn’t full of football players, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.

Clodagh barely hides a smirk.

“Besides,” I say to my scowling daughter. “You’re not imposing on Clodagh’s day. She doesn’t want to see us on the weekends.”

“Not at all,” Clodagh says warmly. “I don’t mind.”

“I’ve always wanted to try yoga.” Teagan pouts. “And I need to get out of the house. I’m going insane.”

“I’m not stupid, Teagan,” I warn her. “It’s got more to do with the fact that football players will be there. I already said I’d take you out to lunch.”

“But I would rather do yoga,” she sniffs, giving me her best doe-eyed look. “Pleaaaase, Daddy? I’ll have the security guys with me.”

I know when I’m being played. “If you think you’re talking to any football players, you have another thing coming.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fat chance with Sam and co. watching.”

Clodagh laughs. “You know this is just a small Gaelic football team in Queens, right? It’s not NFL. And our version of football isn’t the same as yours.”

“I know. I went to a match with Dad and Uncle Connor once.”

I look at Clodagh. It’s not fair to put this on her.

Her eyes meet mine. “You can also come if you want, Killian,” she says softly.

“Great,” Teagan mutters. “Dad will call me princess in front of everyone.”

I’m about to respond, but then, against my better judgment, I find myself nodding. Despite Teagan’s protests.

Harlow would go.

If watching a yoga session is how I get to spend time with my daughter, then so be it. Even if she’s reluctant to spend it with me. And perhaps it would be nice to have a reason to visit Queens other than visiting Harlow’s grave.

“All right,” I reply.

Clodagh looks so shocked I worry she’s going to faint.

“Under one condition,” I say. “I’ll drive.”

Clodagh frowns. “But the subway is faster.”

“You’ve never been in a Ferrari, have you?”

“Okay, I have a condition of my own.”

My brows lift. “Go on.”

“It’s Saturday, so everything is off the record, and nothing I do will get me sacked.”

“I’m going to regret this, but you have a deal.”

***

We park just outside the entrance to the park in Queens.

“That was amazing!” Clodagh laughs as I open the car door for her and Teagan. “I suppose a Ferrari is sometimes better than the subway.”

“I’m starting to think you’ve never been in a car before, from how you were screaming,” I grumble.

The three of us head to the park, where a group of older ladies and a girl Clodagh’s age are milling around. They’re all wearing sportswear.

“Morning, ladies,” Clodagh greets them and runs over to hug the girl in her twenties.

What the fuck am I doing here?

The girl whispers something to Clodagh, and they both look my way.

Teagan fidgets next to me nervously; I place my hand on her lower back in reassurance.

“Hello, Mr. Quinn,” Clodagh’s friend says reverently. “I’m Orla, Clodagh’s best friend.”

The sound of her Irish brogue does nothing for me compared to Clodagh’s; thank fuck. If all Irish women had that effect on me, I’d never set foot in an Irish pub again. I’m convinced Clodagh uses hypnotism on me with hers.

“Killian,” I reply.

“And this is Teagan,” Clodagh says, drawing her into the group of women.

We exchange pleasantries with Orla and the ladies. More women in their sixties come over until a circle of about ten are around me.

“Where are the football players?” Teagan mutters beside me.

I shoot her a stern glance.

“Who is this strapping young man?” one of the women asks, unabashedly undressing me with her eyes. Her American accent holds the slightest trace of an Irish lilt.

I chuckle a little. It’s been a while since anyone called me young.

“This is my boss, Killian, and his daughter Teagan,” Clodagh tells them. Now I have the attention of all the ladies. More join them. Their accents are a mixture of American, Irish, and a few others.

Clodagh grins. “Our new boy, Killian, is a little shy, so make him feel welcome, girls.”

The women swarm around Teagan, asking her questions and telling her how pretty she is.

As for me, I’m being pawed and stroked. A hand on my back drifts dangerously close to my rear end.

“It’s Clodagh’s rich boss from Manhattan,” one of them whispers loudly.

Another hand reaches out to stroke my arm. “He’s very muscly.”

Someone runs their fingers through my hair, and I hear a gentle purr at my back.

“He’s not wearing a ring.”

Another hand nudges me on my lower back.

For fuck’s sake, is this how women feel in a strip club? I didn’t think Yoga with Clodagh would be so depraved.

Clodagh can barely contain her smirk.

“Is he single, Clodagh?” one of them asks her without even looking at me. “If you don’t want him, my Kelly’s getting divorced.”

“Is he in the military?” asks another throaty voice behind me.

“Oh God.” Teagan groans beside me. “This is gross.”

Jesus Christ. I’m being attacked by a gaggle of insatiable sex-hungry women.

“I’m right here,” I grumble. “I’ve got working ears.”

“Leave him be, ladies.” Clodagh smirks at me. “Mr. Quinn scares easily. Ah, here come the guys.”

I turn to see a group of brawny men stroll over, wearing Irish football jerseys. They look like they’re in their twenties.

I feel the excitement ooze from Teagan.

“I’m watching you,” I warn her.

She rolls her eyes in disgust and scuttles away from me, ashamed of being seen with her embarrassing dad in public.

“Hi, guys,” Clodagh says to the group of men.

Looks like Clodagh has a lot of guys under her spell. They surround her, asking her how she is and telling her she looks great.

“How’s the new gig, Clodagh?” one of them asks in a thick Irish accent. “Orla was saying your man’s a right anal—”

“La, la, la!” Clodagh shrills. “This is my boss, Killian!”

The younger guys glance at me warily.

Clodagh clears her throat and claps her hands together. “Alrighty then, let’s get started.”

I stand to the side as the rest of the group unrolls their mats on the grass. Clodagh places her pink mat at the front.

“Teagan, this one is yours.” She hands her a mat. “Put it down beside Marg there.”

To my daughter’s delight, some of the guys peel their tops off. God, give me strength.

“This mat is yours, Killian.” Clodagh holds out a mat, smiling at me.

My brows lift. “I’m not participating.” I jut my chin to a bench. “I’ll watch from over there.”

“Nonsense,” a woman barks beside me.

The rest of them voice their objections loudly.

Clodagh walks to a patch of grass beside one of the women and sets the mat down. When she bends down, I have a perfect view of her chest disappearing into the tiny sports top.

“You need the benefits of yoga more than anyone.” She smiles innocently. “Sir.”

I clench my jaw. “No chance.”

“It’s only yoga, Killian. I’m not asking you to stick your head in a fire. Break from the manual for a change.”

I grunt back at her. Her comments piss me off. I look at my daughter rolling her eyes at me and the football players eyeing me smugly, and for some inexplicable reason, I want to prove to Clodagh that I’m not the uptight guy she thinks.

The women cheer and Teagan groans as I make my way to the yoga mat and take off my T-shirt in an unashamed act of peacocking. My body was built strong even if I didn’t lift weights; I got my well-built frame from my useless father’s genes.

Clodagh’s eyes go wide as she stares at my chest. “Great! Hop on your mat, and let’s get started.”

I smirk at how flustered she is.

She flops down on her ass in a cross-legged pose, her knees touching the grass. I don’t know what the technical term is, but damn, it’s sexy.

My thighs are tight from running, and my knees are nowhere near touching the grass. Maybe I have an inflexible Dad bod.

“Is this your first time at yoga, sweetheart?” queries the woman next to me, who looks to be in her seventies.

Sweetheart? I quirk my lips at her. “It is.”

“You have a wonderful teacher.” She beams and gives me a wink.

“Today, we’re going to give you a really deep stretch,” Clodagh says in a loud, soothing voice. “I know you guys had a match last night, and some of you work in high-stress environments.” She catches my gaze and smiles. “I want all your worries and stress to melt away.”

She takes us into stretches. We’re supposed to have our eyes closed. I watch her chest hitch up and down as she takes long, deep breaths, ordering us to do the same. Her lips form a perfect O as she breathes in and out.

Without warning, her eyes open and catch me watching her.

Blushing, she continues, “Okay, let’s do a nice deep straddle stretch.”

She opens her legs until they’re almost in a complete split.

Fuck.

“Open your thighs as far as you feel comfortable. Place your hands in front of you and give me a nice circle with your hips.”

She glances around the group as she circles her hips.

I’m entering dangerous territory. I wasn’t expecting yoga to be so sexual.

“Keep your back flat. Open your chest,” she instructs us. “Ugh. I am so tight today. How are you guys?”

Fuck.

You’re killing me, Clodagh.

Blood flows south without my permission to my thickening dick.

Jesus, not here.

Not in front of my daughter.

Some of the group answers her with seemingly innocent responses.

I didn’t realize Yoga with Clodagh would provide the perfect conditions for unwanted public arousal. Which makes me a fool, considering I’ve been jerking off to her online videos.

Thank God Teagan chose to stay far away from me. She already thinks of me as an embarrassing dad. This would make her disown me, and I wouldn’t blame her.

We begin the first position, standing in a close-legged pose with our feet touching.

“Keep your back straight and go down into a chair pose.”

I blink. Where the fuck do I put my balls? Am I supposed to tuck them between my legs? They’re already starting to ache from my depraved thoughts.

I let out an involuntary groan, and Clodagh glances at me.

“Killian, you can separate your legs a few inches if you feel discomfort.”

She smiles at me, all sweet and innocent. “Good,” she purrs. “Well done, Killian.”

No one fucking tells me well done.

The sorceress contorts her body into positions that make it impossible for me not to become aroused.

Did she plan this?

Clenching my jaw, I swallow hard to keep control. Is yoga supposed to make your fucking balls ache like this? They’ve enough fuel in them to fly a plane.

“Now we’ll go into the bridge pose,” she says, the picture of tranquility. The opposite of me.

As Clodagh demonstrates the pose by lying on her back and thrusting her groin in the air, I realize that the bridge pose isn’t the best for hiding my massive erection.

Dammit. At least with down dog or whatever it’s called, I could hide it.

“This is a great Kegel exercise,” the woman beside me helpfully explains with a wink.

I mutter expletives under my breath. I’m conditioned to think of sex in these scenarios.

I glance at the men, but the women are in the way. I can’t be the only pervert here.

Clodagh lowers herself to the ground and then leaps up.

“Keep going,” she calls out as she circles the group.

She stops to adjust one of the footballer’s feet. He grins back, delighted with the attention.

I attempt to hide my rock-solid erection.

Why is she on the move?

“I’m going to sit this one out.” I glare at her as she approaches me. It’s her fault for getting me all worked up.

“Are you sure?” She arches an eyebrow at me. “You look pretty tense, Mr. Quinn. This stretch is perfect for stiff men.”

My jaw clenches. “I’m sure.”

“Relax, sir,” she whispers in my ear before returning to her position at the front.

“All right, now it’s time for the cat-cow stretch,” she explains as she slips down into a four-legged position on the floor.

Oh, fuck me.

***

At the end of the session, I watch from a distance from the bench. Trying to pry Clodagh out from her harem of athletes and seniors will be challenging. She has them all eating out of the palm of her hand. I swear I saw one of them sniff her hair when she whipped it from the ponytail.

I can just about hear their conversations. Clodagh has her arm around Teagan, and both of them are being bombarded with incessant questions by the women.

Clodagh’s laughter carries across the park, loud and contagious. Three women have tried to marry her off to their sons or grandsons so far. Mischief and happiness shine in her eyes.

It makes me feel like a moody old bastard.

The sight of Teagan so happy is almost bittersweet.

Queens has a real community feel away from the Manhattan skyscraper jungle, especially among the Irish. Teagan deserves this life, but I failed to provide it for her. Would she have been better off if I had been a tradesman living in Queens?

Community.

This is what Marek talked about. This is what Harlow wanted for Teagan. What I’ve failed to give her.

When Clodagh spots me waiting at the bench, she excuses herself and comes over.

I stand. “You ready to go?”

The wind ruffles her red hair, and she swipes it from her face. “I’m probably staying in Queens today.”

“I was going to suggest I take us out to lunch, and Orla could come along too.”

“Sorry, Killian. That’s really sweet, but…” She glances back at the crowd.

My hand flexes around the car keys. “No worries. Got your phone on you?”

“Yup, and I have a football team watching out for me.” She grins. “I’ll be fine.”

That’s what I’m worried about.

I grunt in agreement, but I really want to sweep her up, put her over my shoulder, and take her back to my Ferrari. “Call me if you need anything. Do you have the credit card with you?”

She rolls her eyes, just like my teenage daughter. “Yes, Daddy.”

Now I’m well and truly fucked.

I drive back to Manhattan with Teagan, wondering why I feel so unsettled.