Perfect Grump (Bad Chicago Bosses)

An hour later, I stagger in and sit at a round table, sandwiched between Grandma and Ward.

I take a bite of the best salami pizza ever when a pixie at the table in front of us stands. I’ve never seen her before.

Caramel-dark hair, chopped into short curls just below her ears.

The black silk of her dress trails behind her, hugging a grippable ass that makes my palm ache. She damn near floats.

I can’t see her face from here, but from the way the dress outlines her hourglass shape—obvious even with the denim jacket hanging over it—I want to.

“You home?” Ward waves a hand in front of my face, two fingers together, threatening to flick me between the eyes. “Wake up.”

I shake my head. Why wouldn’t I be okay?

That’s when I realize my pizza stopped at my lips. I took a bite and never moved my hand after I got distracted by the mystery woman.

“Who’s she?” I ask, dropping the slice on my plate like it’s turned into cardboard.

Ward follows my eyes with an annoyed look, then meets my gaze with a quipped brow.

Grandma’s eyes trail to the table in front of us. She slaps my knee under the table.

“First of all, stop gawking,” she whispers. “You can’t be serious. You see that lovely young woman every day and you don’t recognize her? You have her number, Nicholas. You used it tonight.” I blink at her as she pushes a hand across her face. “God help me, I’m starting to believe The Chicago Tea.”

I roll my eyes. “Never believe a sewage pipe that gives fake news a bad name. Now, who is she?”

“I believe it because you see her every day and have to ask. Although, I agree her work attire doesn’t entirely suit her.”

Who? Doesn’t suit who?

I feel like I’m in a psychological thriller or something.

“Yeah, no. If I’d seen that sweet dream, I’d remember.” No question about it. I’d probably put in my two weeks’ notice so I could lure her to my bed, guilt-free. Hell, it doesn’t even have to be a bed.

A quickie in the coat closet, the elevator, or the back of a car would do me just fine.

“She drives you around every day, you dolt,” Ward snaps.

I hear the words, but they don’t compute.

Is this some sick joke? But they look so serious.

Fuck, maybe I should see a shrink.

Because I’m pretty sure all I’ve ever had driving me around is that mute, Halle.

“No way. You’re wrong, Ward. Since when did we hire two drivers?” And how do I get in the back of this one’s car? Why am I always stuck with Halle the superspy while this beauty queen hauls my brother around?

“We have one driver, dear.” Grandma sighs, pulling at a strand of her silver hair.

“What? I don’t—I—she’s never driven me, okay? I’ve just had Halle carting me around for over a month,” I growl.

Hell, Grandma probably arranged for him so she wouldn’t have to worry about me causing an incident with Miss Mysterio and HR.

Grandma and Ward both stare at me like I’ve sprouted a twin head.

“What?” I snap off. “Guys, you’re freaking me out. Just tell me how I get her to pick me up. It’s not fair that I’m stuck with Halle. If there’s another driver, I should know her.”

Ward cracks first. He actually laughs—a full-throated belly chuckle. Rare for a man who could stand in for a sleep-deprived grizzly bear.

“Sadly for her, that woman drives you, too,” he says, shaking off his smile.

I roll my head from side to side.

“Brother, you’re so full of crap. I think I’d remember—”

“Nicholas,” Grandma starts, cutting in.

“Don’t. Let him figure it out,” Ward says. “I’m having too much fun.”

“And if he never does?” Grandma whispers, alarm in her voice.

“One less thing to worry about.” Ward shrugs.

So, this is a prank. Maybe they’ve decided to make me the evening entertainment.

How are they having a whole conversation without me, pretending I’ve always known this alternate reality where a girl like her drives a schlub like me?

“Figure what out?” I snarl, exasperated. “If this is some performance art, I’m not having fun. I’m hardly in the mood for—”

It hits me like a falling brick to the skull.

I stop mid-sentence.

Hold the fucking phone.

Grandma’s shocked out of her skin that I don’t recognize her. Ward said I’ve been driven by the same woman. Grandma chastised me for using her number without knowing her name. But outside of Ward, the only text I sent tonight was to—

Holy fucking Halle, Batman.

“She’s Halle?” The words creak out of my mouth like my tongue rusted over, so quietly I can’t believe they hear me.

“One and the same.” Grandma laughs and nods, struggling not to tumble into a whole conniption fit of laughter.

It’s official. I’ve made the worst impression in the known universe on our driver.