Perfect Grump (Bad Chicago Bosses)

“Look, if anyone else had the same shit happen, I’d give them time off. Over and done. I’m sure Susan will agree.” Although, to be fair, I might not give another employee my personal credit card.

“Then talking to her shouldn’t be an issue. Nick, what the fuck? What is it you’re not telling me? What happened to Reese?”

The phone dings for a third damn time.

“And who keeps texting you?” he asks before I can answer.

“I don’t know. I’m too busy gabbing with you and haven’t looked. What wouldn’t I be telling you, Ward?”

He’s quiet for a minute.

“I’m not sure. If there’s something going on with you and Reese...it’s not okay but we can work it out. Paige and I met at the office, too. I get it. You spend twenty to forty hours a week with a woman, it happens. It’s not a big deal unless you hide it and make it a big deal.”

My breath stops.

“What the hell? You think I’m dancing around some office fling?” The phone feels like it’s about to implode in my hand.

“Why not? You request a lot of rides for odd reasons like midday coffee runs when there’s an espresso bar downstairs. And this is the first time you’ve ever mentioned an employee’s plight before, even when we’ve had people out on medical leave.”

Whatever, I’m busted. It isn’t like he thinks.

This isn’t Nick the office clown thinking with his dick. This is Nick the fool thinking too much with his annoying as hell heart.

“If I’m ever with someone when the doctor calls to say they need a quadruple bypass, I promise I’ll mention it, Ward,” I bite off.

“That’s it then? You were just there when she got bad news, so it hit you like the softie you are?” His tone tells me he’s hiding real concern behind his acid sarcasm.

“Bingo. Should I call a service for tomorrow, or what? Or should I leave that to Susan to figure out too?”

“Call her. I think she has a service for temp staffing, whenever we’re missing key personnel. If Reese needs more than a day or two, we might be able to keep the same person.” There are times when I appreciate Ward’s obsessive attention to detail.

“Okay. I’ll talk to her. I need to see who’s blowing my phone up. Later.”

“Wait. Will you at least tell me what’s up with—”

“No. I told her I’d keep it under wraps,” I say, cutting him off. “You know how Reese is. She loves her privacy. She felt bad enough about me stepping in, and the last thing she’d ever want is the whole senior leadership butting in with offers to help. We’ve got this,” I say.

“You’re starting to scare the hell out of me with these social skills. What gives?” He pauses, waiting for an answer that never comes. “Bad joke. Sorry. Goodnight, little brother.”

The call drops.

I clench my jaw, hating when he calls me that. Desperate to pull my mind off it, I clear the screen and look at my messages.

Four missed texts. All from a screaming asshole.

Still no comment, Mr. Brandt? I have twice as many credible claims that you and a certain model-actress-old flame made an X-rated video together. I may even have that video in my possession.

There’s no way in hell Roland Birdshit has a copy—Carmen can’t be that vindictive or self-destructive.

My eyes read the next text through an angry red blur across my vision.

At least tell me this—are the rumors that you and Carmen Seraphina still sizzle true?

Not only no, but hell no.

Too bad any response will just keep Osprey on my ass, though, so it’s better not to say anything.

She says you’re getting back together soon, his next message reads.

Like hell we are. I’d need a lobotomy first.

I’m in this deep, so I read his last message.

I’ve told you before, I’m a fair man. I’m trying to do you a favor by giving you a chance to comment before I approve anything fit to print. If you don’t answer me in a timely manner, however, I’ll have no choice but to run with what I have.

“Run yourself to death, fuckhead,” I spit at the screen.

I wish I could decide if I’m more pissed at Osprey or my own reflection.

This is my life, and no matter what I do today, I’m still paying for yesterday’s sins.

Now I get why Reese was so shocked when I stepped in to help.

I also get why every employee we have goes straight to Ward with company problems and only talks to me as a last resort. While Ward buried the trauma of growing up a Brandt behind an armadillo personality, I escaped with mindless pleasure.

That’s why, years ago, I got drunk on a white sand beach with a woman I’ve known my whole life—a woman who always brought out my worst—and I made a video that I’ll pay for until the day I die.