by Snow, Nicole
Snorting, I shake my head. “I could get stuck on the fact that you find it so hard to believe I’m not a vodka-blooded numbskull, but I’d rather focus on everything else you said. Tell me about the looks,” I growl, stabbing my gaze at her.
Those soft red cheeks glow like cherries.
“...I didn’t say anything else.”
“You said I’m a hot billionaire playboy with hair that drives you wild. There are worse things to be.”
She glares into the rearview mirror. “I did not! I said you had good looks, which five billion people would find pretty obvious.”
I nod. “Good to know you approve of my hairstyle personally, Miss Halle.”
She rolls her eyes, but her cheeks look like they might start a reactor meltdown in this car.
“I do not approve of your hairstyle, Mr. Brandt. It’s the current cover cut, that’s all.”
“Cover cut?”
She groans. “The in-kind that’s on the cover of all the magazines right now. I’m sure it’s no accident you have that cut.”
I touch the back of my hair and beam at her.
“I’ve worn my hair like this since I was twelve years old. Grandma will happily prove it with old photos. What you mean is, I’m a trendsetter, and I think you like the OG more than all the copycats.”
Those blue eyes almost roll right out of her head. She’s redder, shifting in her seat, so mortified she might keel over.
“Reese?”
“Yes?” Her eyes flick back at mine nervously, probably terrified we’re almost on a first name basis.
“You’ve seen me on my best behavior—”
“And your worst.”
I nod. “I want to promise that since you’ve seen me on my best behavior—the real me, just like you said—I won’t let you down again.”
“Really?”
“Really. Unless teasing you isn’t good behavior, in which case you’re shit out of luck.”
She snickers. “As long as I never have to lug a shirtless client around again after he’s drunk...”
“Absolutely not.”
“And you won’t get in my car missing your shirt?” Her eyes narrow at me in.
Someone honks at us. Typical Chicago nice.
“Shouldn’t you be watching the road?” I say. “Don’t worry. You’ll never see an inch of skin below my neck again.”
“Thank you,” she says, a hint of disappointment in her voice. “I promise you I won’t send my sister pictures of your ass anymore.”
I perk up, breaking into a shit-eating smile.
“My ass? You really did?”
“Who knows?”
“You do. And apparently, so does your sister.”
“I’m not telling, and she’s not a narc so...let’s just keep the mystery, okay?”
I push out an exaggerated sigh. “Damn. If I’m going to be on my best behavior, I’m going to require yours as well.”
“My what?”
God. What have I got myself into?
“Your best,” I repeat. “Give me that and I’ll never ask for more.”
“I’d never give you less,” she says firmly.
“Reese?”
Again, her eyes look panicked. She clears her throat.
“I prefer Miss Halle. How about we keep it that way? It’s weird if the other Mr. Brandt keeps calling me that and you don’t...”
Whatever. Weird is Ward’s middle name.
Is she freezing me out again? Already? Have I pushed her too far?
Before I can test any boundaries, she pulls up to my penthouse.
“Thanks for the ride. As always.” I open the door, about to step out of the car.
“Wait. Nick?”
“Shouldn’t that be Mr. Brandt?” I whip around and stare at her.
“Right, right, right. Sorry.” Her playful tone is gone.
Immediately, I regret my words.
“What’s up?”
“I’ll be on my best behavior. No more frigid conversations unless you’re being a total ass. And, um, no more Snaps of your ass—”
“Ah-ha. You admit it,” I growl.
She shrugs, fireball-red blood returning to her cheeks.
“Reese?” Again, her name slips out. That one word proves how overly comfortable I’m being. “Miss Halle,” I correct sternly.
“Yes?” she whispers.
“I think we’re even now. Every dumb thing I did before, forgotten. Understood?” I ask.
Her brunette hair bounces as she nods.
“Tomorrow’s a new day. We’ll carry on normally, just like when you thought I was a college boy but without all the weirdness, okay?”
Yeah, no. There’s no fucking way I’ll ever see her as a college boy again.
“No weirdness. I can do that,” I lie.
I linger in the open door, staring at her fresh, innocent face for too long.
She can’t believe for a second I’ll ever see her as anything besides the beautiful woman she is.
“Good night, Miss Halle.” I shut the door and turn so I have a good reason to stop gawking.
Ten minutes later, after I’m inside, I need a reason to text her.
Pick me up an hour early tomorrow, please. I have some crap to take care of after being out of the office today. Let’s make it seven o’clock sharp.
Fuck me. I’ve lost my mind.
I go to the office before my usual nine a.m. start time by choice? Since when? I’m the anti-morning lark. Ward even used to literally drag me out of bed at the ass crack of dawn on Christmas Day when we were kids to open presents.
She texts back immediately. Whatever you say, bossman.
I’m glad I don’t need to hide my smile as I reply with, If I had my very own exclusive assistant, I wouldn’t have to head into the office at ungodly dark hours.
Reese: So hire one. You’re a billionaire.
Nick: I’m efficient. Why hire when I can promote internally?
Reese: I’m at my sister’s singing with a toddler. See you tomorrow. Bye, Nick.
There she goes again. Slipping up and calling me by my first name.
This time, I don’t dare correct her.
5
Charming Mirage (Reese)
Months Later
I’m parked in the Brandt Ideas parking garage, listening to an audiobook.
Business Finance 101 by some guy who could give Dr. Boring-Bowling a nice run for dullest lecture ever.
It’s boring as hell, but at least it gives me an idea of where to start with my future business plans...whenever I can keep my eyes open.
My phone buzzes in my lap. Hey, can you pick me up early today?
It’s Nick.
Of course it is.
I can’t think of any reason he’d need a ride at four p.m. when he’s usually hunkered down at the office until past six, but in the months we’ve worked together since clearing up our rocky start, he’s actually been professional.
After that conference, he lived up to his word.
The awkward gifts stopped.
So did the outrageous hot takes from his life.
Judging by how disappointed Abby sounds every time he comes up, he’s even kept a lower profile with the tabloid hounds. I giggle, imagining how much that must suck for The Chicago Tea’s ad revenue.
He’s been friendly, approachable, talkative, but not too talkative.
Now, he lets me get a word in—a lot of words, really.
We have a good working relationship. Yes, he sometimes requests more rides than he probably needs to hop across Chicagoland, but it’s never more than friendly. And as impossible as it seems...he’s kinda turned into my favorite passenger, tied with Beatrice, or Granny Bea as I’ve taken to calling her.
Also, the passenger with the nicest ass, but I keep that to myself. I let him know I’ll be there.
My phone buzzes and I look down at his latest message.
Okay. Thanks. I have a business engagement tonight. I may need h
elp this evening.
Oh, boy.
As long as it doesn’t involve shirtless drunk guys, I send back.
Nick: Scout’s honor.
Reese: I’m not stupid enough to believe you were ever a Boy Scout.
I look at the time on my phone. It’s a quarter till four. I’ll finish this chapter, then pull around and pick him up.
When he gets in the car, he asks, “What are you doing tonight?”
“Apparently driving you around.”
“After that?” he clips, wearing his grumpy face.
He’s a bit of a Jekyll and Hyde, and it looks like Mr. Hyde’s winning out today. Grouchy, no nonsense, and scary-hot.
Where is this going? He hasn’t asked me to dinner or bought me gifts in months. In fact, it’s been so professional, so calm, I thought I’d finally been relegated to worker bee zone, one more boring piece of his daily background. “Umm—maybe to see my sister. Where are we going?”
“My place is our first stop,” he says, his voice iced over.
First stop. Huh.
So, apparently that means there’ll be more than one.
It also means plenty of time for this to get awkward.
Lovely.
I pull into the street.
“I’ve had a big media event on my calendar for months. It’s for charity,” he says, clearing his throat. “Everything’s lined up perfectly, except...”
He trails off.
If he’s had a fundraiser on his calendar for months, why didn’t he mention needing a ride until now? My eyes flick back, eagerly waiting for more.
“Except my date called in sick this morning,” he finishes.
I put on the blinker and change lanes so I can turn ahead. “I don’t follow—your date called in?”
People call in sick to work, not dates.
My belly flips over.
What, did he hire her? As if someone as shrieking hot as Nick Brandt would ever need to hire a date?
He waves a hand. “Well, she canceled. Dropped out. You get the picture.”
I stifle a laugh. “Does it hurt your ego to admit you got ghosted or something?”
“Hardly. She was kind of a flake. I almost expected as much. Anyway, you’re missing the point.”
“What point?” I make a sharp left turn.
“I still need a date for tonight.”
I glance back to see his green eyes flashing.
Oof. Am I imagining things or is he looking at me almost like he wants me to—
No.
No, no, no, no, and also, no.
I clear my throat and muster my flattest tone. “Well, there seems to be no shortage of size double zero girls in Chicago willing to date you, right? Better start texting.”
He sighs like I’ve just burst his bubble.
“Reese, I can’t be seen with any random girl at this event. I need class,” he rumbles.
Oh, no.
“What are you going to do?” I venture, feeling the sweat beading on my brow.
“Isn’t it obvious? I’ll bring an employee. A friend. No one will ever know.”
“If that’s how you want to play this, fine. But if it’s Paige, the new assistant, I think your brother will smash your face in with a sledgehammer,” I say.
He smiles. “You think Ward’s got a hard-on for her too, huh?”
“Maybe.”
Actually, it’s pretty dang obvious. The Warden’s been looking miserable lately, pretending he isn’t ogling the new executive assistant with all the subtly of a starved coyote.
When I peer at him in the rearview mirror, his jaw looks clenched. Those hell-green eyes seize mine and won’t let go.
“Dammit, look...I was trying to be subtle to make this less awkward.” He pauses. “Truth is, I need you to come with me tonight.”
Not a question.
Not a request.
Not an invite.
Basically, he’s given me a marching order.
A clanging fire alarm couldn’t match the panicked roar in my head.
Okay. Crap. Think.
Think before this desperate, sexy, arrogant beast takes out his lighter and blows up professional boundaries and my happy place in the employee zone.
“How ’bout no?” I try.
“What?” he snaps, his gaze sharpening.
“Nick...you’re my boss and it’s a pretty weird request. Might even be against company policy. Remember what happens when you ask me to do things that are way out of my job description?” I hold a finger up, wagging it at him.
“I realize I’m asking a lot. I’m not begging for a simple favor,” he says, his brows low like thunderheads. “I planned on making it worth your while. Spend a few hours with me, and I’ll pay you ten thousand big. It’s all above board. We’ll keep it off the official books. You’ll get a check from yours truly and nobody ever has to know.”
Did he just say—ten thousand smackeroos?
Hold me.
I’m not sure how I feel about that. I’m not even sure how I should feel.
“Aboveboard? You’re joking, right? You’re paying me to be your damn date, dude. I’m not some kind of sugar baby!” My voice breaks an octave higher.
That’s how bad he’s got me flustered.
“Relax, Miss Halle,” he growls, stumbling back to the last name basis that’s kind of gone by the wayside. “Reese, you’re getting the sugar tonight, and you don’t even have to call me daddy.”
Oh. My. God.
I actually thump my chest to make sure it doesn’t lurch to a stop. And Mr. Scrooged in the Head isn’t even done.
“We’ll be in public all night. It’s more like an acting gig than anything else,” he says, softening his voice.
I pull up in front of his building and hit the brakes so hard we bounce.
Maybe we can end this madness now.
“You said you wanted class, Nick. Class. I can barely walk in heels. I don’t know caviar from chewing gum. I’m scared to even try that hundred-year-old champagne you gave me forever ago—let alone drink it out of a plastic cup because that’s all I’ve got besides mugs.” I pause, ticking off each reason on my fingers, desperately hunting for more. “And...I don’t have anything to wear that costs more than eighty bucks. Unless your big shot friends don’t mind a Target wardrobe...”
“I had a dress ordered to your fit this morning. Extra rush job. You can keep it after tonight. HR had your size from the driving uniform. We’ll pick it up after I change.”
A dress? Nick Brandt bought me a dress?
I can’t even imagine what that’d look like. Since when have I ever worn a formal dress?
Panic time.
“If I say no, will you fire me?” I grind out.
“Never. You’re well within your rights to tell me to go to hell. This isn’t an unreasonable request—it’s a high-pressure shit show. But you know I wouldn’t ask—I wouldn’t dare—if I weren’t hard up. I hope you’ll say yes and do me this one mammoth favor. If you want me to get down on one knee...”
Thank God he doesn’t finish that sentence. My heart flies into my throat, beating so hard I cough.
“I...I would. I guess. I like you. As a boss!” I add hastily. “But trust me. If you want class, I’m not your girl. Don’t you have anyone else you can ask?”
“I have plenty of women I could ask. But you’re the one I really wanted, even before the flake.” He smirks me into oblivion.
“Can I think it over?”
“I hope you will. Nothing’s ever simple with that mind, and that’s exactly why you’ll make a perfect pretend date. See you soon.” He steps out of the car without a second glance.
Damn, he’s good, and I’m left spinning through bad thoughts.
Is he asking me out? On a date? Or does he really just need a business date? And if he needed a date for business purposes only...why his driver?
It makes no sense.
After the day at the conference, he must remember I barely
have a clue about his high-powered world of bajillionaires pressing palms and making deals bigger than some national treasuries.
I pick up my phone and text Abby. So. News. Nick bought me a fancy dress and asked me to go to some flashy media event with him.
Abby: Finally! Millie and I will see you tomorrow night.
Reese: What? You can’t think I’m going.
Abby: Of course, you’re going. What kind of dress? A formal?
Reese: ...I don’t know. I haven’t seen it. Or agreed to go.
Abby: Go!!!
Reese: He’s my boss, Abby. I add a crying emoji.
Abby: Even better reason. She tacks a devil emoji onto her reply.
A monster sigh oozes out of me. The life force is leaving my body.
Did I wake up in an alternate universe?
Suddenly, her rough decisions in life make sense to me.
Abby, you can’t date your boss! I fire back. That’s not how things work in the corporate trenches.
Abby: He’s hot. Why wouldn’t you?
Reese: B-o-s-s.
Abby: Look. You’ve got your shit together more than I did at your age. Hell. You’re more together than I am now! If you know what you should do, do it. Things don’t always go well for women who don’t do what they’re told.
Reese: He’s not that kind of man. I don’t think he’d fire me for not going. I’m sure he wouldn’t. His grandmother would send an angry assassin to cut off his balls.
Abby: Then if you don’t want to go, don’t go. Let him risk his balls on somebody else, Reesie.
One problem, I text, and hesitate before I add, ...he sorta offered me ten thousand dollars.
Abby: ROFL. Holy shit, are you crazy? Why are we debating this? Go, go, go!
She adds an animated gif of a screaming cartoon drill sergeant for emphasis.
Hold the ugh. It’s not a heavy enough three-letter word for this.
Nick passes his doorman and comes strolling toward the car.
Reese: Gotta go. TTYL.
Abby: LOL. Bye. I won’t be expecting you tonight.
“Okay, looks like the dress is at a boutique on State street. Shall we?” he asks, his handsomeness ratcheted up to eleven with his eyebrow angled to kill.
