Damaged Grump (Bad Chicago Bosses)

She’s as sharp in her sixties as most women are in their energetic twenties, her severe mouth set in a thoughtful line as she clacks away at her laptop. She’s been my executive assistant ever since I took over Osprey Media, and she’s learned to anticipate my needs so thoroughly that I don’t even have to whisper to have her attention.

Before I can say anything, she looks up, her eyes steely and sharp past her wireframe glasses. “Will you be needing the day’s revenue report, or the prospectus for the nationwide billboard campaign?”

“Neither,” I answer, propping my elbows up and steepling my fingers. “Give me a report on the team transition at Just Vibing.” That’s Vibing for short, the newest acquisition in my media network. I catch myself starting to smile and stop cold. “Specifically, I’d like to know more about the new chief editor. Including her name, if you could refresh my memory. I left the new hire paperwork to the executive team and the former owner.”

Her mouth creases in disapproval.

“That girl you terrorized at the airport, you mean?”

Shit. Wanda doesn’t miss much.

“Come now. ‘Terrorized’ is a little too harsh, don’t you think?”

“Not from the exchange I heard. Honestly, Mr. Osprey, if I wasn’t coordinating with the flight team for on-board accommodations...”

I sigh.

“...you would have made me behave like a gentleman. Yes, I’m well aware. Thanks, mother,” I bite off sarcastically. This time I do smile, even if the weight of it feels like it’s dragging my face down. “I have a reputation to uphold, you know.”

“And I know how terrible said reputation is,” she throws back. “Sometimes I think you delight in your bad boy act.”

“Sometimes?” I raise an eyebrow.

Her eye roll is affectionate as ever. She pretends to disapprove of my antics, but it’s not hard to tell that underneath that iron core she has some small soft spot for my wicked ways.

To her, rather than the formidable head of Osprey Media and bane of the rich and famous, I’m simply a wayward boy acting out.

Who the hell knows, she may be right.

Regardless, she gives me another keen look now.

“You’ll be happy to hear I’ve already done your homework. Her name is Caroline Landry, but I think she prefers to go by Callie. Before I say another word, I want your word that you don’t intend to have her fired.”

I stare blankly.

“I’m wounded, Wanda,” I lie. I lean back in my chair, drumming my fingertips between my knuckles. “Relax. I have no inkling of handing Miss Landry a pink slip. Let’s just say I have other plans for her and that mouth.”

“Must you say it that way?” she asks, frowning.

“Yes.”

“Despicable.” Again, that motherly eye roll that could’ve shamed my real mom a thousand times over.

Still, there’s a touch more amusement.

“Fine. I’ll have her resume and background check sent over. Was there anything else you needed before—”

A soft chiming noise cuts her off.

“Attention, folks, this is your captain speaking,” a friendly male voice drifting out of the jet’s intercom system says.

“—that,” she finishes.

“We’re about to make our final descent into O’Hare, and I’ll have to ask you to turn off all electronic devices and buckle your seat belts. This may not be commercial, but your phones still interfere with these expensive instrument boards,” the pilot says with a chuckle.

Wanda rolls her eyes with a little mutter.

“God. Why do they always try to be comedians no matter how well you pay them?”

She starts to close her laptop, but I stop her, glimpsing a photo spread on one corner of her screen.

“Well, well,” I murmur. “Is that the Brandt wedding?”

“Both of them, yes,” she answers and raps my fingers lightly before snapping the laptop lid shut with a disapproving look. “It’s been over a year since Nicholas and that driver tied the knot and they’re still the talk of the town. Our fashion and style team threw together a lovely spread detailing designers and styles from both Ward and Nicholas’ nuptial shoots.”

“Excellent. Make it a front page feature, an interior spread perhaps. We’ll have the Brandts setting couture trends for the next decade. It’s the least they can do since they’re no longer single and off the market.” I pause, frowning. “Actually, send it to me first. I’ll mark my changes and send it back to Ian myself.”

I reach for my tablet, thinking ahead to a few composition notes, but Wanda’s sigh stops me.

“After the flight lands, boss,” she says pointedly.

I offer her a dry smile.

“Don’t feel like living dangerously today?”

Her only answer is a sharp look that says she finds me far less charming than I find myself.

Whatever. I behave myself—for now—and settle in to wait for our flight to land.

By the time we’re on the tarmac and down the stairs, I’ve already got my tablet up.

My editorial team trots along in my wake, only Wanda keeping pace. I work while I walk, tapping through photos and layout mock-ups as we make our way through the terminal to my waiting car.