Damaged Grump (Bad Chicago Bosses)

With the Easterly Ribbon interview coming up tonight—late, thanks to keeping a nineteen-year-old starlet’s hours—it must have something to do with that.

Still, I’m coming down with goosebumps as I turn my impending meeting with Roland Osprey over again in my mind.

He’s the kind of man who works like the devil himself.

You don’t realize you’re being corrupted when he drags you down into the pit, inch by inch, every last concession pulling you farther away from what you thought was your lifeline—until suddenly you’re on the edge of a slippery slope with a hard, long tumble on the way.

Note that I’m only talking about work ethics, of course.

Nothing else.

There’s nothing else whatsoever on my mind as I arrive at The Tea’s headquarters just a few minutes before seven and find the entire floor conspicuously empty.

In the short time I’ve been here, I’ve watched the staff pull all-nighters many times, only to rev themselves up on coffee and dive into a fresh day on no sleep.

I might have certain feelings about the work they do, but they’re the most dedicated workhorses I’ve ever seen. Even when it’s not crunch time, there’s always someone staying late to catch up, get ahead, refine a scoop, or reignite old scandals.

So to find the main floor dark and silent is just...odd.

It chills me to know that Osprey and I are the only ones here.

Especially when I see that one side of those tall floor-to-ceiling double doors is cracked open, waiting for me to walk through.

Drifting through the opening, I can just barely hear Peggy Lee.

Singing how she knows a little bit about a lot of things, but not enough about you.

Only it feels like she’s singing to me.

Yeah.

No.

I need to push those thoughts out of my head, but her low, sultry voice draws me in like a winding thread. Her song leads me through the rows of computer desks and worktables, moving to the rhythm, jaunty and melancholy.

I stop outside his door with my heart pounding in my ears.

I know I’m here for work. I know.

I take a slow breath, squaring my shoulders.

Let’s get this done and get the hell out of here. Maybe I’ll go spend the evening with Dad, noodling around with his guitar in his studio and thinking about anything but panther man.

Thoughts of my dad sober me, giving me courage. I rap lightly on the door before pushing it open, without waiting for an answer.

“Mr. Osprey?”

I take a step inside—then stop short.

I’ve been in this office half a dozen times now, but this...

This freaking moment.

There’s nothing but the tall, elegant shadow he makes, cast against the broad window with his hands tucked into his slacks. Beyond him, the city sinks into night, a hint of gold fire lingering on the far horizon. It makes the buildings gleam along their edges, slick and bright, while overhead the inky sky burns with stars the city reflects back in spears of hot light.

Standing against that backdrop, surrounded by his luxe office and overpowering scent, it’s hard to stay standing.

Because Roland Osprey radiates absolute power.

Master of his domain, looking out over his kingdom.

I can’t explain why it makes me shiver.

Why it tickles the fine hairs on the back of my arms.

Maybe it’s like stepping on a lion’s turf and knowing you’re at the mercy of a majestic predator that might let you slip by—or devour you in one bite.

I definitely feel like a gazelle as Roland looks over his shoulder, watching me.

The deep shadows of the room fight with the city glow, illuminating him in stark contrasts, all angles and secrets.

His lips are a barely-glimpsed mystery past the crisp press of his vest and button-down shirt, his shoulder half obscuring his face.

Is there something different about him right now?

Wait. It’s the hair.

For once, his hair is mussed, loosened from its neat side part to drift across his brow, making him look wilder.

More dangerous.

Dangerous enough to make my heart skip a beat.

And that’s just enough to make me rebellious.

He doesn’t say anything at first.

I don’t wait for him to invite me inside; I just stride forward, piercing the thick air between us with my own body as I cross the massive room and settle on the edge of his desk.

As much as he likes everything arranged exactly to his tastes, it didn’t take me long to figure out that it annoys the hell out of him when I do that.

I’d kinda like to annoy him right now.

Anger makes him human.

Relatable.

Not this fallen angel drawing me in with a dark magnetism no normal man should ever possess.

But he doesn’t react tonight.

He’s impassive as stone.

And there’s something trembling inside me as he slowly turns to face me. His sheer strength is heightened as he prowls away from the window, closing the distance between us on slow, measured strides.

Good God, I can feel him walking.