Perfect Grump (Bad Chicago Bosses)

When I finally pull up in front of his palatial building, I’ve never been so happy to see the ornate, brightly lit door.

He opens the passenger door. “Good night, Reese—”

“Miss Halle,” I say sharply.

“Good night, Miss Halle. I’m sorry for—for everything.”

“Whatever. You’re not supposed to mention it again,” I remind him.

There he goes.

The biggest Prince Charming mirage of my life.

As soon as his door closes like a vault slamming shut, I punch my foot on the gas and stab the car into the night.

6

Things Change (Nick)

Six Months Later

Words of wisdom from the Philosophy of Nick Brandt I swear I’ll write someday: change is the only constant, and it is an ass kicker.

I slurp my coffee. Today’s the big day. The stress couldn’t be higher.

I’m having a goddamned baby, and the entire family’s gathered round to see it.

We’re launching the brand-new interior design spin-off, Brandt Dreams, and I’ll be running it. I’m meeting my new team later today.

Speaking of change...one look around tells me how many asses it’s booted lately.

My own brother has changed so much since becoming a married man. It doesn’t matter that it started out as a sham marriage to Paige Holly, our once-assistant, to win us the biggest deal of our lives with the Winthrope hotel line.

My idea, thank you very much, even if Ward and Paige both acted like they wanted to throw something at my head when they first heard it.

Then there was Grandma’s heart issue, forcing her into retirement.

Mettles were tested. Pants lit on fire. Ward finally grew up in the space of a few frantic months, and so did I.

It’s miraculous everything worked out in the end.

Grandma’s last design found a place on the Chicago skyline fit for her legacy, Ward got married, Paige found happiness, and we all got a massive payday.

We’ve technically been running Brandt Ideas together as co-CEO Senior Partners ever since, but Ward took the initiative. Moving over to Brandt Dreams feels like a relief, a chance to prove I can handle as much as my brother.

At the same time, Brandt Ideas will always be home. I grew up here. My family lives here. Alongside so many memories, good and bad, they make my necktie feel too tight.

I sigh as the shiny black town car pulls up to the curb.

Remember what I said about change?

With Reese Halle, it’s been a ten-legged man at an ass-kicking contest ever since the day I put her heart through a woodchipper.

“How are you today?” I venture as I slide in and look at the back of my chauffeur’s head.

“Fine. And you, Mr. Brandt?” she says in the same short, professional, and utterly lifeless manner I’ve come to expect.

Fuck me.

It never ends.

Every time I see her, I remember how I screwed everything to hell.

It’s been six months.

Six months getting rides from a driver who’d love to fling me out into rush-hour traffic.

Six months crushed by guilt.

Six months remembering that night, when she looked at me too beautifully, when she tasted too right, when I had a chance to inhale her.

Six months living like a monk—a playboy without play—jerking off and coming in my hand every night to a woman who hates my guts.

You’d think she’d get over it, but she has no plans to. She meant it when she whispered those three stabbing words.

I hate you.

Every time I see her, I think of the way she looked at me, like I wasn’t worthy of polishing her shoes. Much less signing her paychecks, the newly appointed king of high dickishness until the universe shrivels up.

I know. I fucking know I deserved it. That’s the worst part.

I don’t know why I try the words burning at the tip of my tongue. Chalk it up to monthly torture, I guess.

“If I’d known things would turn out the way they did,” I say quietly, “I never would’ve taken you that night, Miss Halle.”

“And if I knew you’d keep bringing it up, I’d have resigned the next morning. Where to?”

“The Brandt Dreams office,” I say miserably.

“Yes, sir.”

Sir. Fuck. Every time she calls me that, it guts me from the neck down.

My finger hovers over the button to raise the privacy screen. But it’s been six months.

Six months of special agony.

We have to get back to normal sometime, don’t we?

Lifting my finger off the button, I search for an opening to make conversation with the snapping turtle at the steering wheel.

My eyes flick to the passenger seat. Excitement flicks through me when I spot the huge pink teddy bear riding shotgun beside her.

“Big date tonight?” I ask slowly.

Her eyes snap to the rearview mirror, pale-blue witchfire tuned to hate. “None of your business, but no.”

I hold my hand up.

“I meant with your niece. The bear’s for her, right? Don’t be so defensive.”

Reese relaxes and actually smiles, temporarily somewhere else.

“Millie’s on a unicorn kick right now. We’re going to read The Nuff and make unicorn macaroni. I probably should’ve found a unicorn instead of a bear, but no luck. This thing is bigger than Millie, and it’s her favorite color, so I hope she likes it. She’ll be such a cutie, dragging it around.”