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.”
“Right on time.” My eyes dip to the distracting bunny. Is she aware that the bunny’s eyeballs align with her breasts? She looks even younger than twenty-four. I need her to wear that big, old, floral skirt again, like she did when she first arrived.
Dropping my tie on the table, I ask my daughter, “How was school, princess?”
Teagan doesn’t look up from her phone. “Fine.”
“When I’m talking to you, Teagan, I expect you to look at me.”
She drags her gaze up. Fuck’s sake. We’ve gone around in circles about the black smudge she insists on smearing over her eyes. She’s too young for all this shit on her face.
I don’t have the patience for the fight tonight.
“The security team told me you didn’t go to cello this afternoon. What’s wrong?”
She shrugs. “I had a sore head.” My daughter is a terrible liar.
I feel her head. “Is it still sore?”
She leans away from me. “I’m fine, Dad; stop fussing.”
“Okay then. What did you learn today? Did anything fun happen?”
“The usual,” she says without looking up.
I take the phone from her hand. She glares at me and tuts.
Another night of having a conversation with myself. “Where are your manners, Teagan?”
She wants to roll her eyes but knows better. “This morning, I did geography and learned that we’re slowly killing ourselves and heading for extinction. This afternoon, we did an hour of religious studies. Is that enough, Dad?”
“Less of the attitude,” I say sharply, trying to rein in my annoyance. “I’m taking an interest in your day.”
“I hung out with Becky at break time. Her mom’s letting her get highlights in her hair.”
She gives me the stink-eye, and I sigh. Not this again. “Well, Becky’s hair probably isn’t as beautiful as yours.”
She huffs out air. “Can I have my phone back, please?”
I resist the urge to fire the damn device across the room and ban her from using electronics until she’s thirty. “No, princess. Thirty minutes a day, we agreed.”
“How do you know I’ve used my minutes?” she wails.
Exhaling, I lean my forearms on the counter, rubbing my forehead.
“Uh… shall I serve?” Clodagh asks tentatively.
I give her a nod as I undo the first few buttons on my shirt. She looks away quickly.
“I’m having mine in my TV room.” Teagan grabs her plate. “Thanks, Clodagh.”
My jaw tenses. “I want us to eat dinner together, Teagan.”
She lifts her chin defiantly and tries to brush past me. “I want to talk to Becky.”
“Well, isn’t that a fucking surprise,” I snap, then immediately regret it. “Teagan,” I call after her, but she’s gone.
I let her walk off because I’m too tired for another fight tonight. Sadness washes over me. How is it that my employees skitter around me nervously, but my own daughter is brazen enough to turn her back on me?
When I turn, Clodagh looks like someone shoved a lemon in her mouth and demand she suck. I don’t need judgment in my own home from a girl who’s never been a parent. “Do you have something to say?” I snap.
Her eyes widen, and she looks mildly put out. “No, Mr. Quinn. Uh, are you having your dinner in the dining room or…”
“Here’s fine.” I watch her awkwardly fumble with a knife and fork. “Before morning would be nice.”
She forcefully sets the plate down in front of me and does a little bow. “Yes, Sir. You’re a big guy, so I gave you an extra-large serving.”
My eyes narrow on her. If I wanted a second snarky teenager, I would have adopted one.
She leans over the island counter so the bunny stares me right in the eyes. Is she trying to fuck with me?
I’m about to tell her she’s already walking a fine line after her snooping act today when the contents of my plate catch my attention. Impressive.
But of course, it’s impressive; I hire Michelin-star chefs in my restaurants.
“You’re quite the chef.”
Her face heats. “I try.”
I don’t know whether to put her across my knee for lying to me or give her a pay raise for having the balls to bluff me.
“Impressive woman.” I smirk. “This must have taken you hours.”
The pink in her cheeks stirs something unhelpful inside me.
“Uh-huh.” She beams, all sweetness and light. “Yeah. It took a wee while, alright.”
I lift a fork and trace along the faint remains of the restaurant pig logo imprinted on the pie. “Join me for dinner.”
“No, I’ll leave you in peace-“