Damaged Grump (Bad Chicago Bosses)

Snap.

Crackle.

Rage.

“Keep his name out of your asshole mouth!” I snarl, hate frothing up my throat, my voice rising, before dropping again as I fight myself under control. “We’re not discussing my brother tonight.”

“No? You going to punch me again if we do?” he mocks softly.

My hand balls into a fist at my side.

“And if I say yes?”

“We’ve got quite a few more witnesses here this time. You’d be dumber than dirt to try.” He takes a swig of his drink, then settles his arms on the lacquered bar. His reflection is a flat, distorted monster in the gleaming surface. “I know you blame me for what happened to Barrett. For driving him to do what he did by terminating our contract. But you weren’t there, Osprey. His mental health was a problem from the start. He wasn’t cut out for a life in the public eye. I cut him loose because he was unraveling. Because I thought it would be better for him to not be subjected to that. It was sad as hell, watching a guy with so much talent meltdown in slow motion—”

My hands slam the edge of the bar hard enough to make our glasses jump.

Control.

Control.

Keep it together or I’ll lose when I’m so fucking close to having everything. But how can I listen to the poison pouring out of his mouth?

He has no idea what strings I’ve pulled, the line I’ve got to the one girl who can take him down.

I can’t show my hand too soon.

I damn sure can’t lose my temper.

Not even for the primal satisfaction of splitting this smug fucknugget’s face open.

I’m still talking through my teeth as I bite off, “I know my brother. I knew his mental health far better than you think. It crushed his soul to lose everything he’d worked for. Just ripped out from under him and for what?”

“He’s a familiar story,” Haydn says with a yawn. “For every bright-eyed superstar who makes it in the scene, there are a thousand more who wind up in the gutter. At least I gave him a fair shot, yeah?”

“How much money did you make off him?”

A slimy smile curls his lips.

“Well, that’s confidential. Can’t disclose what he made, either. Only he can do that by contract, Osprey.”

You know damned well that he can’t.

“You’re disgusting,” I snap, ready to throw my glass in his face.

“And you still haven’t told me what you’re going to do about that article,” Haydn says, taking another sip of his drink with too much confidence.

“Because I’m not doing anything. Nothing in the content qualifies as defamation, and I think you know it. Anything else that arises is simply called karma.” I rise to my feet, leaving the rest of my drink untouched, and sling my jacket over my arm. I don’t want liquor paid for with Haydn’s coin. “You’re thin-skinned, aren’t you? Can’t even handle a neutral mention of your name in the media. It makes me wonder if you’re afraid what people will say, once they start talking. What kind of dealings will catch up with you...”

I turn my back on him—but his voice follows me, almost blending into the bar chatter.

“I tried to be helpful,” he says. “Don’t blame me for what happens next.” There’s a nasty laugh in his voice. “Well. What’s already happened, I should say. I knew how you’d respond.”

I don’t dignify his bullshit with a response.

This meeting isn’t the trap I hoped for.

Maybe Frank was right in all his by-the-book wisdom.

He’s already seen me too close to losing my shit.

He won’t have me begging and scraping for him to reveal his big plan, just so he can dangle me over the abyss.

I have my own ways of finding out.

Still—I feel him watching me as I storm out.

I don’t like the sense of victory hovering around him like an aura.

As I slip into the back seat of the Rolls and signal Dominick to take me to the office—I can’t go home just yet, not until I know—a text buzzes my phone.

Callie: Hey! Did you fall asleep at your desk?

I smile slightly, marveling how she always brings that out of me, even at supremely fucked up times. I punch in a reply.

Not yet, but close. I’m almost done here. Being a human dumpster fire is exhausting, you know. It takes work to be this sleazy.

She doesn’t take the bait.

Callie: Everything okay?

Should be, I send back.

I can feel her wanting to know. It makes me realize how easily I speak to her openly about my business workings—everything from strategy to the issues I face on a regular basis, less as an employer and employee and more like I’m confiding in her.

I lick my suddenly dry lips, then add, I’ll explain when I get home. If you’re tired, though, don’t wait up for me.

Callie: If I fall asleep, you have my permission to wake me up in the most creative way possible.