Perfect Grump (Bad Chicago Bosses)

I blink back tears the best I can and swerve into the parking garage. I can’t drive like this.

When I left after visiting Abby yesterday, I thought Nick might break my heart because he hadn’t really changed.

I was so stupid and so incredibly wrong.

He broke my heart because he changed, and he’s convinced he can’t overcome his past.

He’s torn me apart because he can’t stand hurting anyone.

The monstrous irony eats me alive one sad pelting teardrop at a time.

28

One Last Chance (Nick)

I line up four shot glasses on a folding chair in front of the couch and overfill each one with cheap tequila. I bring the first glass to my lips and throw it down my gullet. This stuff tastes like ass, but it was the only thing available when I got off the plane.

I knew breaking my addiction to Reese Halle would be torture.

Shot number two. Down the hatch.

Fuck, that burns.

I jerk back, coughing like an angry goose into my elbow.

I’ve resigned from Brandt Ideas. My reputation is shattered—or it will be the second the media hit pieces start landing, if they haven’t already.

I’ve lost my career, my life, and the woman I love is probably shoving needles into the Nick-sized voodoo doll I used to imagine she had. Only, now I bet it’s real.

A magic needle through the throat and gut might explain why I’m subjecting myself to this bullshit.

Why I’m this desperate to torch her out of my head.

She’ll thank me one day. She has to. Whenever she finally realizes she’s better off without me.

My phone pings just as I’m looking at turpentine-shot number three with a sneer.

I’ve spent days avoiding a flurry of calls from Ward, Grandma, and Paige before I hopped the flight to Florida. How long can I run?

Steeling myself, I unlock the screen.

Will you at least tell someone you’re alive, jackass? You’re going to put Grandma in the hospital again. Before I have a chance to respond, Ward sends another message. Also, I’m hiring a PI to find you if you don’t respond. Everyone wants to know you’re safe, and I don’t know how else to keep Grandma from worrying.

I’m considering what to say when my phone flashes and a ringtone drums through my head. My heart jumps.

Maybe it’s her. But why would it be Reese?

I shot her right through the chest. If I didn’t slough off my soul that day, this stuff should do it for me.

I take the third shot and burst into another coughing fit.

Jesus Christ. My eyes flick back to the screen.

Not Reese.

Roland damn Birdshit. Haven’t I given him enough?

But I’m just drunk and angry enough to hear him gloat as I punch the green icon.

“What?” I bite off.

“Any last words?”

I hold the phone between my ear and shoulder, refilling my shot glasses.

“You’ve got the dirt. I have nothing left to say. I’m done worrying myself sick with the court of public opinion. I’ve quit life and walked away. Nothing left to lose. Do your worst, Birdshit,” I snarl into the phone.

“Happy to see you taking this like a mature, responsible man for once rather than whining how unfair it is, purely because you’re rich with abs.” He pauses before that venom voice returns. “It almost makes me want to show you mercy. Almost.”

Even my laugh burns my throat after drinking rocket fuel.

“A little late for mercy, no?”

“I’m not a total asshole, Nicholas, rumors to the contrary. A strange part of me admires your courage— implicating yourself in Miss Seraphina’s drug bust to get this mess cleaned up once and for all. Believe it or not, I don’t take pleasure in publishing the stories I do. I’m here to report the truth—”

“Forgive me if I fail to see why my sex life needs reporting.”

“You’re a billionaire and a member of a powerful family who can change an entire skyline. Your actions, sobriety, and mental state matter. Plus, your relationships could curry favor,” Osprey says.

Damn. He sounds like Ward. Great wealth brings great responsibility, and all that jazz.

I stare into the shot glass with my stomach turning over.

I tried to be responsible, but money was never good enough.

The only thing that ever made me man up—that made me take a wrecking ball to the face that’s still killing me now—was her.

“Whatever,” I spit. “You done batting me around before you chew me up and shit me out, or what?”

“No. I’m calling to inform you I’ve decided to pivot the story as an exposè on Miss Seraphina.” The jackass goes quiet. “Considering our history, I do enjoy putting the fear of God in you.”

You couldn’t have told me that before I quit my job, dumped the love of my life, and moved to Florida?

Fuck it. Another shot.

“To be clear, I’ve had the infamous sex tape for weeks, ever since she sent it over,” he continues slowly. “I’m the one who told Miss Seraphina the file was corrupted. Somehow, I had a feeling you might prove yourself worthy of more than a personal humiliation. I also held off as a personal courtesy to your dearest grandmother and—why are you coughing?”