Perfect Grump (Bad Chicago Bosses)

“I had to apologize,” I growl back. “I tried to do the right thing. Whatever that is with this.”

“Some apology. Every woman I know loves it when I apologize to her breasts,” Ward mutters.

“I didn’t do that, you jack—”

“You were in no way subtle,” Grandma says coldly.

Oh, great.

Here comes the famous family tag-team to remind me what an epic failure I am.

“Subtle about what? There was nothing to be subtle about. I apologized and asked how to make it up to her. I even took it like a champ when she insulted me to my face.”

“And did she tell you how?”

“No. She told me to get lost,” I say, shaking my head.

“Smart woman,” Ward says, polishing off his scotch.

“Do you not talk to her in the car? I can see how this might be rather awkward for her,” Grandma says.

“Grandma, all I do is talk. She just never says anything back. If I’d heard her voice, this never would’ve happened. That’s why I didn’t know she’s a woman.”

“Wait. She’s been driving you around for six weeks and you’ve never heard her voice?” Ward asks, giving his empty glass a death glare.

“Once or twice. Probably. The mistaken identity thing was so ingrained, I thought I was hearing things. I don’t know. My bad. Whatever. She’s very quiet. Don’t you think so?” I look up, knowing I look desperate and hating it.

Grandma lets out a hissing sigh.

“She’s very pleasant when you give her a chance to get a word in,” Ward says.

Yep, I’m fucking boned.

Reese must think I’m a walking ego trap.

Ward laughs bitterly. “You have a lot of nerve calling me uptight every chance you get. You’ve never talked to her. You’ve been talking at her for six damn weeks. She probably hates to see you coming. I bet it’s the worst part of her day.”

The worst? Is it? I wonder.

I don’t want her hating the thought of driving me.

It shouldn’t bother me so much, but it does.

“Oh, dear. Poor girl,” Grandma says. “I wonder if I should check on her. Then again, that might make it worse. Maybe we should just offer her a raise.” She shakes her head and pats my hand. “I thought you were supposed to be the diplomat. You can actually smile when you’re not in one of your moods. Not like Ward,” she adds under her breath.

I sigh. “I gabbed so much because I was hoping Halle would finally warm up and start talking back, I guess. That’s how I operate. And most people do, eventually. Hell, it’s weird being driven around by a stranger. He—” I almost say he, because I’ve thought of Halle as a college kid for so long. “She never did though.”

Fuck. Come to think of it, now I know why.

“Pray tell, what exactly did you say to her?” Ward asks.

I grit my teeth before admitting, “I may have offered to take Halle partying with me once or twice and offered to...help find him dates.”

“You fool,” Ward bites off. “That’s almost a relief.”

I glare at him.

“Relief? Why?”

“You were looking at her like tonight’s dinner, and now I don’t have to worry about being slapped with an HR complaint later for all the weeks you could’ve been digging your grave. There’s no chance anything will happen now.”

Have I mentioned how much I hate my brother’s dreary logic?

“I have to make it right,” I whisper.

My brother stares at me for too long. “When did you grow a conscience?”

“We have to see each other every single day, Ward. She works for me. I have to fix this, if only to make it less awkward.”

Grandma purses her lips. “I admire your intentions, Nicholas, but I don’t see how you can repair this one. Anything you say will make her feel worse. You’ve already apologized. If you keep bringing it up, you’re only going to make things more complicated. Just laugh it off and move on.”

I look at Ward, just like I used to when we were kids, and I wanted some brotherly advice. No idea why.

Grandma has spoken, and she has way more social grace than both of us combined. If she says there’s no hope, I have to choke it down and try not to shred my reputation.

“Sorry, little brother,” Ward says with another low chuckle. “My best advice is to man up and quit being so...you.”

“What does that mean?”

“You know, thinking the whole world revolves around you,” he says.

“I’m not self-absorbed. Why does everyone think that?”

“Dearest heart...you didn’t know your driver was a woman for six weeks,” Grandma says gently.

“You only let her speak once or twice in six weeks.” Ward shakes his head.

I scowl at them. “I’m glad my honest mistake is such a riot.”

Ward shrugs. “If the shoe were on the other foot, we both know you’d be rolling on the floor.”