Page 43 of Fifth Avenue Fling

“Did that hurt?” she asks, taking a step toward me. I frown for a second, not understanding what she’s talking about.

My hand flies to the nose ring right through my septum. Damn, I thought I had taken it out. I covered the tattoos but forgot about the ring.

“Yes.” I smile. “Massively.They use a needle rather than a gun.As soon as the needle went in, I screamed my head off.”

“My dad would hit the roof if I got that done. What age did you get it?”

“Seventeen.”

Her jaw drops slightly, then she quickly hides her surprise. I remember it’s not cool to show a reaction other than indifference at her age. “Is your hair color real?”

“Yeah,” I say with a smile. “Like yours.”

Her face falls. “It’s nothing like mine. Yours is smooth.”

“Oh, I’ve been there.” Finally, an in with Teagan. “I just learned to tame it after years of trying. I used to get teased relentlessly for having frizzy hair. I can help you with yours if you want? I have good hair products that will take the frizz out.”

“Perhaps.” She sniffs. “I hate mine. And Dad won’t let me do anything about it.”

“When I was younger, my mam didn’t want me to dye my hair either, but I was so desperate to change it that I used food coloring. She went ballistic. But it worked! For about three days, my head was neon red. Not good.” I laugh, remembering. “But different.”

A trace of amusement crosses her face. “That’s so stupid.”

“What can I say? You live and learn.”

I’m distracted by my phone buzzing in my bag. I take it out, and there’s a message from an unknown number.

How are you settling in? Is Killian the ogre you thought he would be? Marcus.

Worse, actually,I refrain from texting back.I’d prefer to lodge with the Addams family.

Now I get why he needed someone desperate. It’s not even the end of day one, and my nerves are shot.

ELEVEN

Killian

When I come home from work, astonishingly, the fire-engine redhead hasn’t burned the house down. I hear voices as I head toward the kitchen. Laughter. Female laughter mixed in with the deeper tones of a male.

Sam and Clodagh rest against the island counter, their forearms almost touching. It’s a nice surprise to see Teagan plopped on a barstool, engaging in conversation rather than retreating to her room.

Sam says something, and both girls laugh. Clodagh’s laughter is loud, too loud; her warm abrasive tones dominate the kitchen, and I wonder what Sam said that’s so amusing.

My hackles instantly rise. My security staff doesn’t need distractions. This is how people get hurt.

“Hi,” I call out, more as a warning than a greeting, walking to my daughter. “Princess.” I pull Teagan in for a kiss on her forehead.

Clodagh’s laughter dies in her throat. “Mr. Quinn.”

“Boss,” Sam says quickly, standing up straight. “I was checking if Clodagh needed anything. What with it being her first day.”

“Get back to work, Sam,” I say abruptly. “Last time I checked the schedule, you were on duty.”

My sharp tone startles him, but he nods, giving me a quiet, “Yes, sir,” as he leaves.

Not before Clodagh flashes that megawatt smile at him that pisses me off for no explicable reason. Thank fuck she’s wearing more clothing than she was this afternoon. Now she’s in jeans and a short tight T-shirt with a ridiculous cartoon bunny and sleeves in an attempt to hide her tattoos. On her stomach, a sliver of skin peeks out. Her auburn-red hair is in a messy bun on top of her head.

Her smile slips into something more measured as she moves toward the oven. “Dinner’s ready.”

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