Page 12 of Airhead

Katie stopped in her wimpy, sneaking away tracks. “Dad.”

“Look, he’s a good kid and he needs a win to get on the promotion board’s radar.”

Which was not her problem. It wasn’t. Life wasn’t fair. Why should she put any of her days-of-the-week panties in jeopardy for Frank’s promotional chances? There was only one answer. She shouldn’t.

Letting out a quick breath, she straightened her shoulders. Then she shot her dad the ‘who-me’ face that always worked for Connie, so it should work for Katie since they had pretty much the exact same face.

“I’m sure he’ll do a marvelous job without help from me, and the badge brigade will discover his genius in due time,” she said, using her dad’s nickname for an administrative process that he said was thirty-percent proving a person’s skill and seventy-percent ass kissing.

Her dad leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his cookie-built belly. “You’re probably right. You usually are, and I understand if you’d rather not help.” He let out an ‘I-get-it’ sigh. “I mean, a single woman like you around a guy like Hartigan? With his reputation when it comes to women? Who wants it?” He grimaced and shook his head. “Not me. I love you too much to see you get yourself involved with him, even if it’s just to plan a retirement party.”

Oh no. She knew this game. It worked on her brothers. Sometimes it worked on Connie. It was not gonna work on her, no matter how fake-understanding her dad looked right now.

“I wouldn’t,” she said, giving herself a mental high five for not taking the bait.

“Of course not,” her dad said.

She glared at the Tupperware container on his desk. “I brought the cookies for you because mom asked me to, not for him.”

“Exactly,” he said as he popped open the lid and took out a cookie.

She crossed her arms. “I am not someone who falls for guys like him.”

“Never thought you’d be any other way.” He pointed a half-eaten cookie at her. “My Katie Madigan is too smart for that kind of foolishness.”

He was good. Their mom used to tell all of the Madigan kids about what a catch their dad had been back in the day, and how he could charm a nun into a goodnight kiss. It was at times like this, when her resolve started to shake, that Katie believed it.

“Nice try, Dad, but I’m not gonna do it,” she said, wishing she sounded more sure of herself than she did. “Hartigan can plan Fitzy’s retirement by himself.”

Her dad popped the rest of the cookie into his mouth and had the audacity to look bashful. “Can’t blame an old man for wanting to win a bet.”

“What bet?” The question was out of her mouth before she could stop it.

Straightening up in his chair, her dad leaned forward. He pressed his forearms against the top of his desk and said in a near whisper, “Fitzy bet me you wouldn’t work with Hartigan. I said of course you would, because that man couldn’t intimidate you, or cause you a second of thinking about ‘what if.’”

Her gut clenched. “He doesn’t.”

“I know.” He nodded enthusiastically before relaxing back against his chair. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just let your mother know that our anniversary dinner will be delayed for a few paychecks.”

And there it was. Kill shot loaded. “Dad.”

“Pumpkin, it’s not a big deal.” He held up his hands in a placating manner and gave her an indulgent smile. “When you’ve been married as long as your mother and I have, you’ll understand that sometimes you have to put aside your own wants—like going to that fancy restaurant your mother’s had her heart set on paid for by my winnings—for your children.”

Kill shot fired.

Direct hit.

All of Katie’s breath left her lungs in one big whoosh. She’d been set up. She should never have answered her phone when her mom called. She should never have agreed to bring her dad the cookies. She should never have walked into his office when he said he needed a favor. None of that had happened without forethought and planning by both her parents. Oh yes, her mom’s fingerprints were all over this. They were as plentiful as the raisins in each oatmeal cookie. They’d set her up, together.

“You’re evil, you know that?” she asked with a surrendering sigh.

“Only when it’s for your own good,” her dad replied, with the cheer of a parent who knew he’d won.

“And how is working with Frank Hartigan for my own good?”

“Because.” He winked at her. “Your mother and I want grandchildren before we’re too old to play with them.”

Brain poisoned by the unwelcome idea of adorable, redheaded babies—at least seven of them—all of her thoughts scattered. The only thing going on between her ears was the sound of static. She went momentarily silent, but then pulled herself together as quickly as a woman who most definitely did not want at least seven mischievous redheaded kids could and stared down her dad.