Perfect Grump (Bad Chicago Bosses)

“Request declined. That’s why you have Ward.”

Fair enough.

“Just...get me whatever you get.”

He’s gone for a few minutes and comes back with two drinks, passing me a cup.

“It’s been a shitty morning. I know I got us off track earlier with my comment—”

Yeah, no kidding. But he’s also not wrong, and judging by the way he’s gazing at me, he knows it.

He also knows full well how much I like his teasing.

“I’d rather you not go see Frisk without me,” he says, his eyes shining with a dark warning.

I take the overcaffeinated latte he brought me. It’s stronger than I’m used to, but just sweet enough, and good.

“I know you’re trying to help—you always are—but I don’t think you should worry. He’s a horrible dad, a crappy boyfriend, and a huge idiot, but Will Frisk has never been dangerous. He’s just self-absorbed. He’s a fuckboy. Being dangerous requires too much effort on his part.”

“People who only care about themselves can do some ugly shit. I don’t want anything happening to you or Millie.”

“I know. But he’s not a threat.”

“You can’t know that. If he hasn’t been around much, you don’t know him well enough to say it’s impossible. You told me it’s out of character for Abby to hide drugs in her car seat, right?”

Turning over his gruff logic, I nod.

“Yeah. That’s the part that makes this whole thing hard to believe. Someone put her up to it.”

“And the medical report showed someone hit her the same night she was arrested?”

“Right,” I agree again.

“He called you, so he has your phone number. Did you ever give it to him?”

I pause, shaking my head.

“I don’t think so. It’s possible one of the numbers I called trying to reach him worked...I can’t remember when I was so frazzled the first few days after this happened. Maybe he got my number that way.”

Nick stays quiet until I meet his eyes again in the rearview mirror.

“Okay, so we don’t know how he has your number. But he knows for a fact your sister’s in jail—”

“He got an inquiry from Sutton’s office. I may have left it on a voicemail at some point too. Like I said, I’ve tried a lot of numbers. It’s probably nothing.”

“He says, but we don’t know,” Nick growls back. “So, someone hit Abby before she went to jail, and whoever it was has her so terrified she won’t even talk to her own attorney. This guy shows up out of nowhere. We’re not sure how much he knows or where he got your number. He didn’t want to see his kid when she was home with her mom, but now that mom’s out of the picture, he wants to see her? Which would require also seeing her young, shortstack, single aunt?”

“That’s a lot,” I say. “And you’re pressing your luck calling me shortstack, mister.”

His smirk feels like a heat ray.

“A lot of facts, you mean. Call me crazy, but let’s be cautious,” he says, taking a long pull from his coffee.

Well, damn. He has a point.

“When you put it like that—”

“I need to be honest. I did a background check on him. You’re judging him a bit too kindly.”

“You did?”

He holds up a hand.

“Don’t get mad. I had to know who we were dealing with if he showed up, sooner or later. The background report listed a range of charges from petty theft to a couple DWIs. I’m not even sure how this man still has a license. You’d be making a mistake meeting this guy anywhere that isn’t public without muscle to back you up.”

My heart skips a beat. If it were anyone but Frisk, and for any reason but Millie, it might be creepy. But I’m a little touched that he cares that much.

“And let me guess—you’re the muscle?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.

He gives me a lopsided grin that makes me give up a smile.

“Lucky you,” he says.

“I wouldn’t meet anywhere that wasn’t public anyway. I don’t like him.”

He shoves his sleeve up and flexes his arm.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. I can handle this jackass and Roland Birdshit with one arm tied behind my back,” he says in this exaggerated strongman accent.

I laugh. “Okay, Quick Nick. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

16

Frisky Business (Nick)

Later that afternoon, I look through the window of Grandma’s old office.

Tiffany sits on a sofa across from Millie’s loft bed. Millie snores beside her, curled up like a bear cub, despite having a three-thousand-dollar bed only a few feet away.

Sunlight from the massive windows behind the crisscrossing vines illuminates them both.

This kid and her nanny are a universe apart from my shit, thank God.

While I’m being speared by Osprey, Millie drifts through what I hope are sweet dreams. Can money at least buy that?

I miss the carefree days of childhood—before my parents had their outing on a yacht and made the family name infamous—and I’m damn glad this little girl with her bouncy curls has a chance at holding on to what I lost an eternity ago.