Page 128 of Fifth Avenue Fling

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

“Becky’s messaging me,” she wails. “Ihaveto 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.”

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