Perfect Grump (Bad Chicago Bosses)

“That was a low blow.” I glare at him.

“Low, but true.” He shrugs. “And necessary. I’d rather bruise your pride than see you with real bruises or worse any day, woman.”

Oh. My. God.

It sucks just how on-point he can be when he cares.

“Whatever, let’s say you tag along. Maybe you can bribe the drug dealer with a fat wad of bills and a VIP pass to Jorge the Brazilian’s night club!” I spit back.

He peels away, showing his teeth in a grimace.

“I deserved that, I suppose. I’m just some pretty boy who can’t hold my own, huh? Only good for using my money to save a woman I care about?”

Oh, no.

He sounds so...so broken. I hit back below the belt because he started it, but I already regret it.

“Were you listening? I didn’t say pretty this time.” It comes out limp, rather than caustic.

That’s me trying to crack a joke and failing. Miserably.

“You have before,” he grinds out, his tone too serious.

With an exasperated rumble, Nick approaches, shoving his sleeve up to show off his tattoo.

“Take a good look, Miss Halle. This is who I was, once upon a time. I may have spent a couple years in a submarine off Russian waters, rather than charging into ambushes, but I know a thing or two about how asses get kicked. Got it?”

Speechless.

For what’s probably a whole thirty seconds, all I can do is stop, stare, admire, and regret every bitter word leaking out of me tonight.

“I guess I always wondered where the muscle came from,” I admit.

His smirk comes back. “Not from pushing blueprints around my desk. I still do military-grade workouts three times a week.”

The stove beeps. I open the oven and pull out the nuggets.

“Are you staying for dinner?”

He cocks his head, looking over the feast. “You got barbecue sauce? I never pass up nuggets. Now tell me when we’re planning to go to your sister’s place.”

It’s hard to breathe through my laughter. When I look up, he’s back to being Mr. Congeniality, a sly smile hanging below lidded, warm eyes.

“Just because you know how butts are kicked doesn’t mean I need you to kick any for me,” I tell him, trying to be serious again.

“You said it yourself—you’re overwhelmed.”

No denying that. I also need to watch what I say around this new, improved, and armed-with-endless-banter Nick Brandt.

“Being overwhelmed doesn’t mean I need my bossman to fight my battles. Has anyone ever told you you’re kinda pushy?”

“Only you, darling.”

Darling? I hate how it rolls off his tongue. I hate how it reminds me of his stolen kiss even more.

“Don’t call me that,” I hiss in the world’s meekest protest.

He shrugs. “It’s your rodeo and you’ve got the final say. Just tell me when I’m coming with you,” he says, making me do a double take.

“I’ll think about it. Maybe.”

“Perfect. Maybe I’ll think about what I should call you, darling.” Those green eyes shine with mischief.

“That’s harassment,” I warn, holding up a finger.

“Actually, I think the word you’re looking for is blackmail.”

Don’t flipping smile.

How many times can this man kill me in one night?

* * *

It’s been a few days, but I study Abby closely when she slides into the flimsy chair behind the glass across from me.

Her eyes are still dark, but no longer deep dark halos. Her skin was definitely bruised, and it’s starting to heal.

She looks panicked today, grabbing at the phone before I even pick up the receiver on my side of the glass.

“What’s wrong—” I barely get the question out before she interrupts.

“Millie? He didn’t take her, did he?”

“Relax. We still can’t find the jackass. Nick hired a nanny to help make sure she’s safe and sound during the day.”

She takes a deep, rattling breath and blows it into the phone. Her lips turn up at the corners even as her shoulders sag with relief.

“Watch out, sis. You almost smiled,” I tease.

“Bossypants is after you, I swear. Maybe I’ll be out in time for the wedding...”

I shake my head violently.

“No way. He just couldn’t afford to lose his driver to a four-year-old,” I lie.

“Okay. Because rich people drivers in Chicago are so hard to come by. I’m glad it worked out for you, though. I was really worried about what would happen to you having Millie full time...”

“The nanny was his idea—” I stop myself.

Ugh. Why am I telling her this?

“Yep. Because he’s in love with you,” she teases with a smile.

Whatever. At least my joke of a love life takes the brutal edge off this.

“Nick Brandt loves himself first and last. Maybe his grandma’s in there somewhere.” That’s not fair, though, and I add begrudgingly, “He’s been amazing with Millie, I’ll admit.”

Abby raises an eyebrow. “The Windy City’s richest bachelor digs my four-year-old?”

I nod. “He built her a bed with a slide. She plays in Beatrice’s office while I’m at work. Yesterday, when I came to pick her up, he had her on his shoulder and was showing her the buildings the firm’s designed over the years.”