Page 42 of Fifth Avenue Fling

“Maybe it’s because you’re Irish.” Her eyes narrow. “I bet you’re only here to come on to my dad.”

My eyes bulge out of my head. Where didthatcome from? “Excuse me?”

“Oh, please. He can’t even go to the supermarket without women hitting on him. It’s probably the only reason you applied.”

“Firstly,” I snap, putting my hand on my hips. “I doubt very much your dad goes to the supermarket, andsecondly, I can barelytalkto him.” I snort indignantly. I’m not having a teenybopper make out that I’m a gold digger. “Coming on to your dad is the last thing on earth I’d do. I want to keep this job. That’s very judgmental, considering you’ve just met me.”

She eyes me skeptically for a long beat. “Whatever.”

“Look,” I say more calmly. “I want you to give me the chance I deserve. Let’s get to know each other. When school breaks in a few weeks, we’ll be spending more time together.”

“Why are you bothering? You won’t have to talk to me in a few months.”

I frown. “How do you make friends with that attitude?”

She glares back at me. “I have enough friends.”

“At twelve?” I put my hands on my hips. Now it’s my turn to do a dramatic eye roll. “Listen, when you’re my age, you won’t be friends with half the people you are today. If you’re lucky, you’ll collect new people along the way.”

Her upbringing seems so alien to mine. I’m starting to think growing up in a multimillion-dollar townhouse isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Most of the rooms I cleaned today were guest bedrooms. Teagan’s bedroom is on a separate floor from her father’s. I get the impression I’m not the only one living like a stranger in the house.

“What if we end up getting on really well and staying in contact?” I ask, softening my tone.

“Doubtful.” She comes up beside me and grabs a bottled water from the fridge.

She’s not giving me an inch.

I let out a defeated sigh. “Is thereanyway I can convince you not to tell your dad what you heard me say? Or that I cursed?”

“I’m notten. And Dad curses all the time.” She smiles with an evil glint in her eye, accentuated by the eyeliner. “It’ll be more fun to see what finally gets you fired.”

“I haven’t even been in this job a day, so I’m not sure where your lack of confidence comes from,” I huff. “But you’re right; I’m more than capable of getting the sack all by myself, so if you could not hurry it along, that would be great.”

“Sorry, not sorry,” she sneers.

“There’s no need to be so snarky,” I snap. “Jesus.Give me a break.”

To my surprise, she looks mildly contrite. I groan, scanning the kitchen ceiling. “Your dad’s probably listening right now.”

“Probably.”

At least I’ve got Teagan talking. It’s a start.

“Truth, why are you really bunking off music?”

She snorts. “Why? Do you think you’ll get points with my dad if you snitch?”

“I won’t snitch if you don’t.” I grin. “Believe me, I’m in more trouble with your dad than you are.”

She rolls her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitch. “I play the cello. It’s fucking wack.”

Wack is a bad thing, I assume.

“Fair enough. I don’t blame you. Oh, and language. Watch your language,” I say halfheartedly. It feels hypocritical to tell her off when I cursed at her age. “I bet your dad wouldn’t let you talk like that.”

Another shrug. “He’s so freaking salty all the time. It doesn’t matter what I say.”

Christ, I need a teenager translation guide at this rate.

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