Damaged Grump (Bad Chicago Bosses)

Regardless, I can’t deny my relief at seeing her safe.

She simply needed time with her father.

There’s my answer.

I should go.

“Mr. Osprey?” Dominick says, watching me in the rearview mirror as I see Callie and her dad disappear into the house. “Would you like me to bring us closer?”

“Sorry,” I mutter, leaning my elbow against the window and resting my chin on my knuckles. “Just give me a few minutes.”

“Of course, sir.”

Why the hell am I lingering?

I’m not sure what I’m thinking at all.

It’s the first time in a long time where my mind feels empty of potential headlines, advertiser reports, investor demands, legal defenses, and even the obsession with burying Haydn alive.

I know what I’m doing, as much as it pains me to admit it.

I’m stalling.

Waiting.

When Callie emerges alone from the townhouse half an hour later, I don’t hesitate before I throw open my door, ignoring the cut off call of my name from Dominick as I step onto the sidewalk and slam the door shut behind me.

I catch up to her at the Chicago Transit stop halfway down the block, just as she settles on the bench with her phone, her head bowed and her expression focused.

I make myself walk over slowly, halting just outside the plexiglass bus shelter.

“Callie.”

She sucks in a breath, lifting her head sharply.

Her eyes are as round as silver rings as she stares at me, confused—and flinches back a little.

“Roland?”

“Yes,” I fling back.

Very smooth, Osprey.

Her brows knit together.

“...why are you here?” Then she scowls. “Why do you know where I live?”

“Personnel files,” I answer lamely. What has she done to my brain?

“So not stalking, but only on a technicality. Cool,” she says acidly. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Just stay away from my—”

“You think I’d hurt your father?” I cut in. It shouldn’t be so important that she knows I never would, but fuck me, it is. “I recognized Alvin. What happened to him was despicable. None of our people ever ran features on him, I assure you. I’m not here for him.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Dammit, Callie—” I snarl, pausing to rake my fingers through my hair, looking away, trying to force back the explosive temper that this rush of emotion bleeds into. This woman drives me insane. “You haven’t answered a single text or email since your interview last night. You’ve been in touch with unnamed sources who could be dangerous. Also, it’s very possible that a pissed off Easterly Ribbon told her unhinged fuckwit of a boyfriend that you’re hot on his trail. Why do you think I’m here?”

“I...” Her voice falters.

I watch her eyes lower as she nibbles at that delectable lower lip, cutting me open in the worst way.

I sigh. “Look, I didn’t mean that to come out so—”

“Harsh? Yes, you fucking are,” she hisses back. “And I didn’t think about that, but yeah...I’m fine. Not everything is about you, Osprey. My father was sick. That’s the only trouble I’ve had since I got home.”

There’s something heavy in her voice when she says sick.

A hesitation, a hitch, like pain from a thorn that catches her words and shreds them.

She’s hurting.

And here I am barging into her life like a bear covered in bees.

Guilt knifes my stomach.

I sigh again, closing my eyes.

“Callie,” I say, my temper deflated into chagrin. “If you need a day off, it’s fine. You’re an exemplary employee and you’re allowed to put your life first in a crisis.”

“No,” she bites off. “It’s whatever. I can balance work and life—both jobs, I mean. I don’t need pity, favors, or anything else from you, thank you. I’m on my way in now and I have plenty to catch up on. So if you want to do me a favor, just don’t do anything.”

Now I know what it’s like turning into a pillar of salt.

Fuck.

I’ve never felt like this, completely at a loss for what to do, how to make this right.

She won’t even look at me.

Her face is guarded, her expression fixed and her eyes somewhere else.

“At least let me drop you off at your office,” I say. “You’ll get there faster. I’m sure your team’s waiting.”

She doesn’t answer.

She just stuffs her phone in her purse, standing and tucking it under her arm.

I turn to lead her to the Rolls Royce and open the door for her before my driver can.

Once she’s in, I slip in behind her and tell Dominick we’re heading back to Just Vibing.

The silence between us feels like a fucking funeral as the car lurches through Chicago traffic.

I give her the distance she’s demanding with every ounce of her soul.

It’s the least I can do for the epic rhino shit I’ve taken on her morning.

Hell, maybe I need space, too. There’s this unfamiliar chaos rolling through me.

I don’t know why I’m acting like a demented ape, but I can’t let it continue.