Perfect Grump (Bad Chicago Bosses)

“Quick...that’s it,” I say, snapping my fingers.

“What’s it?” Paige blinks at me.

“Millie, we call him Quick Nick now, okay?” I smile. Because there’s no denying how quick he’s come running to my rescue.

“Quick Nick! It rhymes.” Millie smiles at me, looking up from her project.

“Lucky girl. You found one after all,” Paige says.

“Yeah, if you’re going to denigrate your boss, you can’t do it in front of a kid who repeats everything like a little parrot.”

Paige picks up bags of clay and hands me half of them.

“You start here, and I’ll start at the back of the room.”

“Got it.”

Once each chair has a bag of clay, paper towel, and paper plate, I grab Millie and we leave. On the way back to the car, I keep turning over the new Nick-name.

And yes, my blood heats when I imagine whether or not it’s true in the bedroom.

With all the rumors, all the scandals, all the salacious hints about him...I’m guessing that’s a big fat no.

I wish I could stop there.

Because by the time I’m behind the wheel again with Millie in her car seat, I’m worried.

What if Quick Nick lives up to his name in other ways?

What if he’s already pouncing on my heart, bringing me down like a rabbit in a tiger’s grasp?

14

Make Yourself At Home (Nick)

My coffee table is covered in photos.

I sit on the floor over an album I’m arranging. The internet is only a fun place to keep photos if no one knows who you are. Otherwise, you’re cannon fodder for every superficial shithead on Earth who wants to fling their two cents at your life.

Been there. Done that. No fucking thanks.

With the pictures that matter, I’m old-school.

Photography—whether it’s taking pictures or staring back at them—has always lowered my blood pressure, and I’ve neglected my little hobby for too long. It’s obvious from how old some of the pictures are.

There’s a photo of me with Ward, both of us wearing Santa hats in front of a tall Christmas tree decked out like a neon-gold dream. He just started middle school and I’m still finishing elementary.

Grandpa stands behind him, giving the camera that life-loving smile I miss, and I’m in Grandma’s lap.

Our parents? Nowhere to be found.

As usual.

When I come across an even older picture, I smile. It was a stand-off with Ward in Maui, at our grandparents’ place. We’re already soaked from hurling water balloons at each other.

I remember winning that day. I could dodge the balloon bombs faster and Ward’s aim sucked.

Then there’s a picture of us in our dress uniforms. He was almost out of the military then, and I was following in his footsteps.

That’s my life, following Ward’s lead.

I shake my head and try not to dwell on it.

I pick up another photo that makes me stop.

Graduation day.

I was out of the service for just over a year, finishing a double degree in business and architecture. I had so many credits from classes in the Navy, I went through it like lightning.

I tuck it back in the album and grab another.

A picture from the “fake date” Reese and I went on, seconds before we kissed.

Shit. I forgot I ever printed this off my cloud storage.

Its elegance is enhanced by the black and white filter. Though the classy look has nothing to do with the scene, and everything to do with her.

She’s so gorgeous it makes me throb, and she looks too comfortable with my arms around her—right before Carmen blew everything to kingdom come.

For a moment, we were smiling, entranced, our lips thrumming with a violent magnetism as they connected.

She melted so sweet for me, her whimpers like wine, my hands trailing to cup her ass.

I know she felt the same spark I did.

Like our date was real. Like lust would overwhelm us. Like for just one night, we were a true couple.

And maybe we would’ve been, if the bitch who won’t take no for an answer hadn’t lost her mind.

Pain daggers through me. I knew what might happen the instant I showed up with Reese.

If I cared, if I was man enough to guard her heart, I never should’ve subjected her to it.

The joys of being Nick fucking Brandt.

The past never dies. There’s never any shortage of brand-new ways to detonate my life. Always with collateral damage.

The intercom chimes, ripping me from my thoughts.

“Mr. Brandt?” a gruff voice asks.

“Yeah?” I say.

“There’s a Reese Halle here. She’s asking to be buzzed up.”

Why would Reese be here?

“Send her up,” I tell the front desk.

Damn. I hope Reese hasn’t had any new disasters.

When I hear the knock, I fly over, damn near ripping it off its hinges.

Reese shifts Millie to her side and bites her lip. “Hi. I’m not sure if it’s okay to show up here out of the blue like this—”

“It’s fine. Come inside.” Deep down, I’m glad as hell she’s here.