Perfect Grump (Bad Chicago Bosses)

Whoa. Dangerous territory, even as heat whips through me, courtesy of those feral green eyes.

“In your dreams,” I spit.

“Every night, sweetheart,” he answers far too smoothly.

Ass.

Oh, but heat creeps into my face, my neck, my—no.

I laugh, brushing it off.

“Will you stop? You’re still my boss and I’m still your charity case.”

“Whatever you say, Miss Modesty,” he growls. His voice bristles with dark thorns, equal parts frustration and desire and a promise he could prick me in so many ways—and not like that stupid nickname I feel bad about.

I roll my eyes to keep up appearances.

“You’re distracting me. I need to finish dinner.” But when I turn back to the kitchen, I can see angry white water boiling over.

“Crap!” I mutter, racing to the stove to crank the heat down.

Nick chuckles. “Need help with your pasta water?”

“No, but we should probably get this over with. Let’s talk in here. FYI, before I went from being the fun part-time aunt to full-time mom, I never cooked. I was more of a salami on wheat kinda girl...or the Friday night taco kind.”

He follows me into the kitchen. “Give yourself some credit. You’re doing a decent job without much practice.”

“Puh-lease. I just overcooked boxed macaroni and our bedtime routine consists of me screaming ‘brush your teeth or no cookies forever!’”

“You would be a hardass over cookies,” he says with a snort, reaching into my fridge—completely uninvited—and pulling out a bottled cold brew coffee. “Do you mind?”

“Be my guest,” I say, throwing up a hand.

But seriously, how could I mind when he’s already inserted himself this deep in my life and done so much? I guess my hot, infuriating boss can steal drinks from my fridge anytime.

“Not time for bed. I want chicken nuggies.” Millie stands behind the baby gate, her narrow little eyes fixed on me.

A laugh tumbles out of me. “Oh, no, honey. I was just telling Nick how we go to bed. Go watch your cartoons.”

She sucks suspiciously at her juice box. “Okay.”

“I see you weren’t exaggerating about the bedtime routine.”

Why would I?

“How’s everything else? Sutton emailed me today to say he gave you an update,” Nick says, taking a pull of coffee as he gets to the point. “What’d he say?”

“You don’t already know?” I look at him, twisting my lips.

“Attorney-client privacy. It’s a thing. He’s your lawyer, not mine, even if he’s on my dime. Not for this.”

I stir the macaroni. “Well, the paralegal called and said there’s some evidence that maybe she did, um, it—” I purposely avoid the words moving drugs because I don’t want Millie to hear. “She did it out of duress. But they need her to back it up, and she’s not talking.”

“What evidence do they have?” he asks, his gaze focused, steely hot and slashing through me.

I fill him in on the medical exam.

“Damn. She’s not talking because she’s afraid of whoever hit her,” he says quietly.

“That’s what I thought, too. I’m going to go search her apartment again in case something got missed the first time,” I say, but the wind goes out of me.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, setting his coffee down and moving closer.

“None of this makes any sense,” I say, lowering my voice out of Millie’s range. “If I can find a hint of who the heck would want to hit Abby...at least I’d know where to start.”

“When are you going over? I’ll come with you.”

I turn away from him, mixing in the powdered cheese pack and moving the macaroni off the stove. “No, you’re not. That’s way too much to expect of my boss.”

“It’s nothing. I practically searched the place with you once, remember?”

I tense, unsure whether I’m good riled up or actually bothered by his proximity.

“This is a family issue...”

I want to leave it there. I want to tell him I’m grateful, but just stay out of it for once.

Ugh. This whole thing is awkward enough without involving my boss—who I have naughty dreams about I’m not sure I can keep blaming on the stress—in every little detail.

“It’s not a great neighborhood and someone’s fucked Abby over, Reese. You know that. Maybe at that very apartment. I don’t want you and Millie there alone.”

I stiffen, holding his jade-green hell-gaze. He’s not giving me a choice.

“Would you stop me? I’ve been there hundreds of times. Abby lived there alone with Millie for years,” I throw back.

“Yeah, and then someone beat her and landed her in jail on bullshit drug charges,” he growls quietly with too much truth. “Forgive me if I lay down the law and tell you I’m coming with for peace of mind.”

“You’re not forgiven,” I say.

“No? Here’s a thought. If you go and they decide to mess with the other Halle sister, what happens to Millie then? I’ll certainly do what I can to keep her safe for you, but I’ll probably go to jail for kidnapping. I’m not family.”