Damaged Grump (Bad Chicago Bosses)

“And what about the suit?”

“Put our top legal staff at Just Vibing’s disposal. They’ll be fine.”

Frank’s next sigh is long, aggrieved. “Why do you sound cheerful about this?”

“Because. I love it when a plan comes together, Frank,” I say, my grin widening.

“Wait... Are you quoting The A-Team?” he asks dubiously.

“Am I?”

“...you’re impossible,” he says with a snort.

He’s damn right I am.

We spend a few more minutes ironing out the details and logistics and backup plans before I hang up the call and drop my phone on my desk. There’s an energy whistling through me that feels almost sexual, but with a vicious edge like a razor.

I sense vulnerability—weakness—and maybe a touch of fear.

The idea of having Vance Haydn on the ropes after all these years, after what he did to Barrett, entices every bloodthirsty sense I have.

There’s no hole deep enough for a man like him.

No cell, no grave fit to hold his rotten bones.

Oh, but I’ll find one.

Then I’ll bury him alive in it.

I’ve got to get my head on straight. Get myself under control.

I’ve got a meeting with the heads of all Osprey Media subsidiaries in about twenty minutes, and I’ll have to discuss that lawsuit with Callie. No doubt she’s unhappy, but I want to reassure her without giving my hand away.

Sometimes I feel like thinking about that girl summons her.

The second I look up, there’s a light tap on the double doors of my office—and they slip open without even waiting for a response.

Callie throws the doors open and leans in the doorway, a vision cast in red.

No monochromes with color accents today; her sleeveless dress is a vivid devil-red, the skirt flaring in stiff ripples from a narrow waist. Her heels match the same red hue, her eyes accented with crimson wings and her mouth—

Goddamn.

Her mouth.

It’s a wet, fresh-plucked strawberry, painted in a shimmering magenta-tinted red, and it boils my blood a thousand degrees.

I can’t unsee my cock in her mouth.

I can’t help noticing how hot she is, no matter how often I’ve told myself we’re not surging into forbidden territory ever again.

My eyes rebel, lingering on her lips like starved wolves—there’s definitely some fixation happening here, and I’m starting to think she’s provoking it deliberately—before I drag my gaze to hers.

“You’re early,” I snarl, steepling my fingers.

Her lips curve knowingly.

She is baiting me, the brat.

Why?

“I like to be punctual,” she taunts.

“Bull. You like annoying me into an early grave,” I fire back.

“That too.” Callie pushes away from the doors, letting them swing shut behind her, her heels clicking softly against the floor in measured rhythm as she draws closer. She braces her hands on my desk, leaning and watching me with lethal amusement glinting in her eyes. “Feeling irritated yet, Mr. Osprey?”

Oh, fuck.

I hold her eyes hostage, everything dark and sexual and awful simmering in my blood.

“I’m feeling something, all right,” I growl coolly.

There’s silence between us, but it’s not quiet. The air brims with the same heated magnetism that slammed us together in Austin.

There’s a senseless part of me that wants to drag her across my desk and rip that dress off. I’d settle her on the dark wood with her thighs wrapped around my hips and kiss her senseless.

Until my mouth is as red as hers.

Until her tongue learns to do far more than tease.

Until I’ve fucked the ever-living hell right out of her.

Focus, focus, focus.

My prey is in my sights. So close.

I can’t get diverted now, especially not by my dick.

I glance away so sharply my neck cracks, clearing my throat loudly.

In my peripheral vision, Callie blinks, then straightens with an almost self-deprecating smile.

“I hope what you’re feeling is congratulatory,” she says, settling on the edge of my desk like she damned well belongs there. I look at her thigh from the corner of my eye. She drops her purse on the desk at her hip with a decisive thump. “You’ll never guess who called last night.”

“You’re not referring to Vance Haydn’s lawyers, I take it?”

“That’s an empty threat and you know it.” She rolls her eyes.

My eyes widen, and I chuckle.

“And here I thought I’d have to reassure you.”

“This isn’t my first legal rodeo, Mr. Osprey,” she points out. “It doesn’t matter if you work at the smallest local newspaper on the block. Eventually, someone sues you over nothing, and publications either sink or swim. We survive, and we’ll survive a creeper like Haydn.”

How the hell does she jerk me around like this?

From an instant burst of lust to fighting for professional distance tooth and nail, and now she’s savaging my worst enemy. I know what I feel more than anything.

Pride.

There’s pride swelling my chest, watching this gorgeous woman speak with such confidence, ready to rise to the challenge.

She really is something.

I made a hell of a good decision when I hired her based on her credentials and Matilda’s recommendations.