Perfect Grump (Bad Chicago Bosses)

Good answer.

“People with office jobs need chiropractors, too. That’s why any employee who ever puts in a request for a standing desk gets one at Brandt Ideas. I suppose there’s no way around the butt-in-chair part when you’re a driver, though. Are you sure you don’t want to try out something else? You could be doing your health a favor.”

Her face tightens, deep in thought, and of course my eyes get stuck to those ripe strawberry-pink lips.

“When I was younger, I wanted to be a truck driver. No lie, I wanted it so much I was ready to skip college to get my commercial license and hit the road,” she says slowly.

“You, behind an eighteen-wheel rig?” I know I’m about to get shit for saying it again, but it just falls out. I’m that surprised.

Fortunately, she just glares and then shakes her head and continues.

“It didn’t turn out that way. I decided to hit the books and got my start in passenger driving. Somewhere along the way, I decided I didn’t want to be on the road for long stretches or wind up sleeping in a different parking lot every night. But one thing stayed the same—driving destresses me. I like chauffeuring because I meet new people, new challenges, and every day’s a new experience. I even liked driving weddings and parties for my old place despite the sucky pay. If I’m taking people around for huge life events, then I’m part of their excitement.”

I’m still floored, trying to picture this shortstack woman as a truck driver. One thing’s for sure, she’s got the grit for it.

“Tell me one thing. What caused this obsession with being behind the wheel?” I ask.

“...I don’t know. I always liked cars. The day I turned sixteen, I pooled money with my sister, Abby. We bought a clunker to share using every dime we could scrape together. I took the driving test and had my license the same day. Soon enough, I was spending too much on gas, so that summer I applied for a job as a delivery driver for this bakery. A couple years later, that led me to a law firm courier gig where I got paid by the mile. When I figured out I could get paid by mileage, I started looking into full time gigs. Freight seemed like a natural fit until I started to realize how much I’d be away from my family, always at the mercy of the road. With you—with Brandt Ideas, I mean—I’m always in town if my sister needs me.”

“Good. So, we’ll never have to hire a new driver?”

“If you play your cards right, not anytime soon.” She gives me this smile that’s too fucking adorable for life.

We’re out of the hotel now, and the valet brings the sleek black Lincoln around. Reese walks to the back passenger side door and grabs the handle.

“What are you doing?” I whisper slowly, my brow pulling down.

For a second, I stand there, perplexed. She hasn’t done this for me since her first week on the job, and even when I thought she was Batman-Halle, I told her to knock it off.

“Opening the door for you,” she says, blinking. “What does it look like?”

I place my hand flat against the door. “Don’t ever open this door for me again. You’re my driver, not my butler.”

“But it’s my job.” Pale-blue eyes framed by long dark lashes stare up at me in surprise.

“Consider it more of my casual sexism,” I quip, unsmiling. “Or maybe I just fucking loathe being waited on hand and foot.”

Her eyes soften. Her chin tilts up as she shrugs. I don’t think she wants me to see the warmth in her smile, but I do.

“You’re the boss,” she murmurs.

Goddamn this woman.

I’m lost in her warm eyes for God only knows how long.

Again, my gaze mutinies, landing on her lips. I stare until my mouth aches for her like someone sprinkled ghost pepper flakes on my lips.

Then I pinch myself through my pocket, severing the trance.

Miss Halle jerks her head down and darts around the car so fast I know she felt it, too.

She was caught in the moment, that weird forbidden spark between us, lashing out to ignite if we’d only give insanity a chance.

Careful, you idiot, a sardonic voice growls in the back of my mind.

She’s already in the driver’s seat when I slide in the car.

What were we talking about before my brain got stuck on wanting to devour her? I need to make this normal.

I’ve already fucked up enough of her short tenure with us.

“So, you’re here for life?” I ask again, knowing I’m repeating myself.

“I don’t know about forever,” she says after a long pause. “Eventually, if it’s ever in the cards, I want my own luxury limo service. I’ve been working as a driver for years and networked my butt off everywhere I’ve been. I have a lot of ideas. I think I could elevate the luxury ride experience, and make it as special and relaxing for my clients as it is for me.”