by Snow, Nicole
I can’t wish for more with him.
I shouldn’t.
Of course, a terrible, lonely part of me refuses to cooperate. The same part that can’t forget his kiss.
Lately, every glance at his chiseled face has my eyes drawn to his lips.
At Brandt Ideas, I walk Millie into her playroom and leave the macchiato for Nick to find on his desk. It’s uneventful, a boring day of rain and barely anyone needing rides.
I hate feeling disappointed that I miss seeing boss-zilla.
The next morning, I get a text at four a.m. I need a ride, bright and early if you’re able. This can’t wait.
Millie sleeps beside me, curled in a ball. I don’t want to wake her so early, and I don’t know if Tiffany is even available. But the last thing I want is for my boss-crush who’s repeatedly saved our bacon taking a freaking Uber or cab.
My gut clenches at his tone, too. The message was weirdly short and to the point.
Something’s wrong.
Nick Brandt sure as hell normally isn’t awake this early requesting rides.
Reese: How early? Let me see if Miss Tiffany can keep Millie.
Nick: I need to be across town by seven. The earlier, the better. Bring Millie if you have to.
Reese: Okay. That gives me a couple hours to work something out. Are you okay?
Nick: Fine.
I frown. My heart stalls as I remember the last time there was so much urgency.
Reese: ...is Beatrice okay?
Nick: Everyone’s fine. I just have a score to settle.
Huh? What score needs settling at four in the flipping morning?
It takes seven calls to get Tiffany to answer.
“Uh—hello?” she answers, still grogged out.
“Tiff, hey, I’m really sorry to bother you like this but I need an after-hours—or I guess before hours—sitter this morning. One of the Brandts has a seven o’clock emergency meeting.”
“No problem.” She perks up. “But the first bus to the office doesn’t run until six. Any chance you can drop her off here? I’ll get her to the playroom with me this morning.”
“Text me the address, and we’ll be on our way. Thanks again—you’re a lifesaver!”
Even though it’s true, my mind wanders to the real lifesaver—the man who hired her, who needs my help for a change.
Nick texts before Tiffany sends her address. Did you get it worked out? We’ll need to pick up my media attorney, too. His driver’s out sick.
God, does no one in Chicago drive themselves anymore? I feel like I’m one of the few people willing to brave city traffic.
I have to drop Millie at Tiffany’s, and I’m not sure what part of town she lives in, I text. I’ll be over as soon as I get her to the sitter. Are you sure you’re okay?
He doesn’t respond until I’m combing Millie’s hair and we’re almost out the door.
Nick: Don’t worry about it. This doesn’t concern you.
Cool. Jack Frost is back.
No problem, grump-zilla, I won’t.
When I get to Nick’s building, he’s already downstairs, stalking to the car before I can send him a text. It’s the fastest he’s ever come out.
“Were you waiting in the lobby?”
He doesn’t answer and slams the door shut. “Head to the Wellter and Schultz firm on Michigan Avenue. As soon, as we pick up this killer, I’ll give you the next address.”
Killer? My eyes flick to his in the rearview mirror.
Those emerald eyes gleam like drawn sabers today. He’s definitely worried about something—and furious.
“Want to tell me what’s going on?” I venture.
“Not really,” he throws back.
Oof. I take the hint and raise the privacy screen, which he makes no effort to pull down.
The law firm is roughly fifteen minutes from Nick’s condo.
Fifteen minutes of cutting silence, separation, where I wonder how the stone-cold beast in the back seat can be the same man who made my little niece cocoa and held me like I was made of precious blown glass.
I pull up to the curb, get out, and open the back door. Nick slides over in the back seat, and a man in a black business suit carrying a leather briefcase climbs in beside him.
“Good to see you again, Mr. Brandt. Sorry it’s not under better circumstances.”
“We’ll take care of it, Wellter.” Nick crosses his arms.
Jeez Louise. What is he not telling me?
There’s no chance I’m going to find out with the attorney here. “Where to, bossman?”
“Check your phone,” he says.
It pings a second later with an address. I drive until I recognize the dark skyscraper stabbing at the sky before I’ve even turned into the parking lot.
“Oh, wait. Isn’t this—”
“Osprey Media,” he finishes. His tone is clipped and his jaw clenched.
I let them out at the front door.
“You know the drill.” I try smiling.
Nick nods at me without returning it.
Okay, then.
I’ll wait in the garage. He’ll text me as the meeting ends, and I’ll circle back around to the front.
Knowing this is Osprey’s office, I have a pretty good idea what triggered Nick’s mood. As soon as I’m parked, I pick up my phone and start flicking through social media. I click the first link he’s tagged in.
The Chicago Tea
Loose Leaves & Steaming Updates
Lame tagline alert.
Who reads this crap? Besides Abby, I mean?
I scroll through a dozen half-naked photos of Nick and Carmen on a beautiful beach. They make me wince, but the photos aren’t the worst of it, and soon I find the real problem.
Old text messages. Screenshots. Personal and visceral and embedded in a story with cringe commentary next to it.
Nick: I’ll always be a fuckup, Carmen. I’m Victor and Giselle Brandt’s spawn. Why would anyone expect more?
Carmen: You don’t have to be. Look at Ward.
Nick: I have no idea how he escaped the curse. Then again, he’s...Ward.
Feeling sorry for Chicago’s richest Romeo? Read on. No wonder Carmen Seraphina dropped him like week-old leftovers! The words from Osprey’s blogger makes me gag.
Carmen: How did the meeting go?
Nick: Fuck if I know. I was blackout drunk. Like ten seconds from dropping on the floor right there in the meeting. Thank fuck for my team or Chicago could have one ugly-ass train depot.
Are you really surprised? The Prince of Broken Hearts works as hard as he plays—and apparently it’s always pretty messy.
Anonymous: When are you going to settle down? It seems like even your brother is ready to tie the knot and fly the straight and narrow.
Nick: Me? Settle down? Do I seem like the kind of guy who’d be happy tied down with one woman and some brats?
Anonymous: Stranger things have happened.
Nick: Shoot me before I’m ever that dumb. I beg you.
Dear God.
That last one hurts like a sucker punch. I’m white-knuckling my phone as my eyes flick over the end of the article that’s stripped him buck naked.
Miss Seraphina, from all of us here at The Chicago Tea, best of luck with your future endeavors. Nicholas Brandt seems like a lost cause. You always deserved better.
Dearest readers, don’t worry. Rumors are abuzz that Mr. Brandt will be treating us all to an even bigger bombshell very soon—although, it’s hard to top being drunk through a meeting to finalize a railroad depot redesign that’s become a cornerstone of Chicago architecture. Perhaps a few city inspectors should have a serious talk with a certain Mr. Brandt—VERY SOON!
Until next time, keep steeping.
Savage.
Holy shit. No wonder he’s livid.
I wish this jackass would leave Nick alone, but I wonder...who gave him the texts anyhow? Carmen? She was violently pissed when he brought me to the gala that night.
I stare up at the skyscraper, too much like a dark middle finger, hoping they’re able to fix this soon.
My phone rings with an unknown number calling.
I slide the green bar, expecting to hear it’s collect from the county jail. I’m wrong.
“Hello?”
“Hey,” a gravelly voice says.
Oh, boy. This day just keeps getting better.
I’d know that voice anywhere.
I take a deep breath. I have to tell him.
“Will? If you’re looking for Abby, I have news—”
“I know. I couldn’t call sooner. I’ve been on the road all week, and I’m sorry. I did a big construction job out of state and broke my phone on the site. Just got everything working again and heard the lawyer’s voicemail this morning.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure what to say. I expected to tell him about Abby, but he knows. “Well, Millie is totally safe. She’s staying with me. So if you’re busy with work—”
“No, I need to see my peanut,” he cuts in, stabbing me square in the heart. “Her mom’s locked up over some stupid shit. I bet she’s scared to death. She should be with her dad.”
No. She. Shouldn’t.
Every time I’ve talked to Abby since this happened, she’s pleaded with me to make sure jerkwad doesn’t take her kid.
“I thought you hadn’t seen her much in the past few years?” I ask.
I know I’m right. He’s barely been around for Millie and a near absent on again, off again boyfriend for Abby. She’s in jail and he hasn’t said one word about trying to help her yet.
Hell, Nick has done more for her than this joke of a baby daddy. I take another deep breath and release it, trying to stay calm, to avoid mouthing off and making this worse.
“Reese, she needs me now. Who the fuck knows how long Abby’ll be in there. I heard it was drugs?” He snorts. “Too fuckin’ typical.”
I have to physically bite my tongue to hold back.
“We could arrange something. I guess,” I say coldly.
“We have to. I hoped Abby would get it together after the baby came, but hell. Maybe it’s all for the best...”
Dickhead, no. You can’t mean that.
“My boss is calling,” I lie. “Gotta go. I’ll contact you lat—”
“When can I see Millie?” He doesn’t let me off easy.
“Text me. We’ll set it up. I have to go.” I press End Call without wasting another second.
I’m going to be sick.
To add to everyone’s misery, the thick clouds over the Chicago skyline finally break, releasing a glacial rain. Even Lake Michigan has had it with this day.
* * *
Nick and his bulldog attorney climb back into the car after what feels like forever.
“How did it go?” I ask distantly.
“I’m going to nail that bastard’s dick to the wall if his hit piece isn’t down in the next forty-eight hours.” Nick twists his lips, giving me a scorned look. “Sorry.”
He looks over at Millie’s empty seat, sighing with relief.
“I was an idiot once—those texts are living proof—but that was years ago. I’m not like that with clients. Hell, I never was. After I shot my mouth off about the depot redesign, I sobered up and went over it four extra times that week.” He sighs, turning to Wellter, the lawyer. “Do I have to pay for this shit my entire life? Even if she hates me, how the fuck could she do this to my family? She’s not just messing with me. This will damage everything named Brandt.”
She. That can only mean Carmen.
Is it just the hit piece he’s upset about? Or does he still have feelings for her?
He trends on social media all the time and it usually isn’t flattering, but then again, it’s also not usually about his business.
I still wonder how much of that brushfire kiss was him trying to make her jealous.
My stomach flips.
Whatever. I’m just here to drive.
I drop the attorney off at his office and head to Brandt Ideas.
Nick is still fuming in the back seat, his eyes glinting out the tinted windows like lasers hellbent on finding Osprey Media’s headquarters on the skyline and destroying it.
“Millie’s dad called.” I glance into the rearview mirror, hoping my words distract him from his outrage.
“What the hell? When? And when were you planning on telling me?”
Not the reaction I expected.
“He called while you were at the meeting. I wasn’t going to mention it in front of your attorney, or even worry you with this right now...but I thought you’d want to know.”
He sighs. “Of course I do. And I apologize. It’s been a bastard of a day and it’s not even nine o’clock.”
“...do you want to tell me what went down first?” I ask carefully.
“No,” he bites off.
Annoying. So he can hire a whole squad of specialists to take care of us, but he can’t tell me why someone trash-talked him like that online?
My face must give my thoughts away.
“I did this,” he says. “I caused this mess. That’s what I mean. I’m the only one who ought to be cleaning, without dragging you into this shit. Now, how did it go with Millie’s dad?”
I swallow.
“I’m not sure. His number wasn’t working before. Sutton’s office called at some point and left a voicemail—probably to help me satisfy CPS. The weird part is, he already knew Abby’s in jail, and now he wants to see Millie...”
“Don’t let him,” he flings out. “Not without me there,” he adds.
Oh.
Oh, wow.
Another reaction that catches me off guard, even if it makes my heart race.
“Nick, it’s fine. You don’t have to—”
“I don’t trust him, Reese. If he hasn’t been around all this time, why does he care all of a sudden?”
“I wondered the same thing...I’m not sure I believe the broken phone story. But since his ex is in jail and Millie’s missing her mom, maybe his conscience started eating at him. It should, because he’s a shitheel of a dad.”
Nick’s quiet for a minute.
“Possibly. There’s a lot about this whole situation I hate,” he growls, this roughness in his voice channeling my own pain.
I suppress a smile.
“Me too. Starting with my sister being in jail and ending with my inability to shower alone for more than three minutes ever since my niece took over my place.” My eyes snap away from his. My cheeks flare. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that last part.”
“Don’t you dare apologize. You showering is the best thought I’ve had all day,” he rumbles.
Uh-oh. His eyes could rival a hungry, sleek panther’s right now.
A tingle vibrates low in my belly and spreads like wildfire to other places. I purse my lips, trying to play it off as stress, but I’m well aware the blush is becoming noticeable.
“Some things you shouldn’t comment on. Especially now,” I say.
“I’d apologize but I’d rather be honest. I’m serious when I said it’s the best thought I’ve had today. Your crimson-red cheeks are a close second.”
Oh. My. God.
“You’re crazy. Not that I blame you after the way the morning went...”
“Crazy? No, Halle. Just happy because you like that I like that thought, or else you wouldn’t be bright red. Can we stop for coffee? I’m craving another macchiato after the surprise you left yesterday.”
He needs to stop. Right now. Before my cheeks melt off my face.
The worst part is, he’s so calm too.
I’m tempted to tell him no. I’m driving and he’s torturing me. But his coffee run would give me time to clear the lava out of my face.
I pull into the closest coffee shop I find. “Go in yourself. I need air.”
He opens the door, leans back in the seat, and stares at me, lifting that da
rk slash of an eyebrow.
“So, I can be proud you’re hot and bothered?”
“Nick, go!”
He chuckles. “Do you want anything?”
“A well-behaved boss.”
“Request declined. That’s why you have Ward.”
Fair enough.
“Just...get me whatever you get.”
He’s gone for a few minutes and comes back with two drinks, passing me a cup.
“It’s been a shitty morning. I know I got us off track earlier with my comment—”
Yeah, no kidding. But he’s also not wrong, and judging by the way he’s gazing at me, he knows it.
He also knows full well how much I like his teasing.
“I’d rather you not go see Frisk without me,” he says, his eyes shining with a dark warning.
I take the overcaffeinated latte he brought me. It’s stronger than I’m used to, but just sweet enough, and good.
“I know you’re trying to help—you always are—but I don’t think you should worry. He’s a horrible dad, a crappy boyfriend, and a huge idiot, but Will Frisk has never been dangerous. He’s just self-absorbed. He’s a fuckboy. Being dangerous requires too much effort on his part.”
“People who only care about themselves can do some ugly shit. I don’t want anything happening to you or Millie.”
“I know. But he’s not a threat.”
“You can’t know that. If he hasn’t been around much, you don’t know him well enough to say it’s impossible. You told me it’s out of character for Abby to hide drugs in her car seat, right?”
Turning over his gruff logic, I nod.
“Yeah. That’s the part that makes this whole thing hard to believe. Someone put her up to it.”
“And the medical report showed someone hit her the same night she was arrested?”
“Right,” I agree again.
“He called you, so he has your phone number. Did you ever give it to him?”
I pause, shaking my head.
“I don’t think so. It’s possible one of the numbers I called trying to reach him worked...I can’t remember when I was so frazzled the first few days after this happened. Maybe he got my number that way.”
