Damaged Grump (Bad Chicago Bosses)

“Damn straight.” My dad jabs a thumb at Roland. “This guy gets it. Why didn’t you mention you’ve got a cool boss?”

Oh, Dad, you have no idea.

By the time we make it back to Dad’s townhouse, Roland has my father’s socks charmed off with small talk about the local music scene.

I practically have to drag Dad outside to separate them when it’s time to go. I get him settled on the sidewalk, and next thing I know he’s limping for the gate.

With a flustered sound I start after him, only to stop as Roland leans out the door, catching me by the wrist.

“Callie.”

I stop dead.

The energy running through me when he touches my skin is hellfire, undeniable and unexpected, and I stare at him with my breath lodged in my throat.

He stares back for a small eternity—then lets go with an apologetic sound.

“Hey,” he says gently. “Let me handle the legalese, okay? I’ll get all charges against Alvin dropped.”

My eyes widen and my stomach knots.

“Um, what? Is that even legal?”

“I’ll make sure it is. Completely aboveboard.” He offers me a small smile, a thoughtful one, but it feels so genuine my heart aches. “Your dad will be fine. I promise.”

“Well...thanks,” I say faintly because I don’t know what to even do with this.

All of it.

The giddy heat flushing my face.

The desire to throw myself into the car, into his arms.

Stop it, a voice shrieks in the back of my head.

So I swallow, step back, and put precious distance between us more for myself than for him. But I can’t stop myself from smiling.

“I mean it, Roland. I know it’s been a little weird since the trip, but thank you again. Sincerely.”

“Woman, give me all the weird shit in the world over seeing you sad,” he rumbles back, those blue eyes shining like merciful stars that can’t quite penetrate Chicago’s light pollution.

He only watches me with his eyes locked on like he can’t see anything else, the same gentle smile lingering on his lips.

Talk about torture.

Pushing sexy, growly Roland off me in Austin was almost impossible.

But shoving away Nice Roland? Pray for me.

I turn and run to catch up with Dad, desperately trying to remind myself where my responsibilities belong.

* * *

I feel like I could hibernate for a whole week.

Unfortunately, I have one night to catch up on sleep.

One night after this hectic morning, and an even crazier afternoon convincing Dad that what he needs right now is rest.

Definitely not acting on a ham-fisted urge to call up the old band and get back into the studio to prove that drunken jackass who set him off wrong.

It’s nice to see him fired up, I guess.

Just not for the wrong reasons.

And not when it’ll kill him if he actually brings the band together prematurely, only to fall flat on his face when the alcohol cuts his voice and his music out from under him.

I have to figure something out.

Seeing how much Dad wants to make real music might be something to work with.

Maybe that’s our goal.

To help him back on his feet so he can find his way home. Back to doing what he loves most.

Right now, though, I’m dead on my feet, sprawled in bed with my face half-buried in a pillow. The ice cream pint I grabbed for surviving today slowly melts in its container on my nightstand because I don’t have the energy to eat it.

I just want to sleep...

...but I can’t stop thinking about how fast Roland leaped into action to help.

No snarky comments.

No favors asked in return.

Not even a hint of guilt that he was trying to make one reckless kiss feel right.

He just did the right thing because it was there, and it makes me question myself about the sort of man I think he is.

No. Absolutely not.

If I start thinking he’s anything more than a book villain—if he’s anything like the kind, fun, classy beast who melted my lips off in Austin—I might start thinking he’s capable of the impossible.

Love.

Yeah, we’re not going there.

But I owe him an apology, and I’d might as well throw it out there before I pass out.

Dragging myself up to lean against the headboard, I prop my phone on one knee, my ice cream on the other, and stuff a few spoons of mint cookie ice cream into my mouth while I tap out a quick email.

To: Roland Osprey

From: Caroline Landry

Subject: About this afternoon.

Hi. I’m sorry my chaos spilled over into your life. So much for not crossing boundaries, huh? I pretty much obliterated anything professional, and I accept full responsibility.

You came through for us today, though, and I don’t know how to thank you. I’m super grateful. Hope the rest of your day was less stressful.

Take care,

Callie

That’s neutral enough, right?

Gratitude, a little humor, a message aiming at getting things rebalanced. The kind of truce we enjoyed before he kissed me like he was trying to turn my heart inside out.