by Snow, Nicole
Nick stays quiet until I meet his eyes again in the rearview mirror.
“Okay, so we don’t know how he has your number. But he knows for a fact your sister’s in jail—”
“He got an inquiry from Sutton’s office. I may have left it on a voicemail at some point too. Like I said, I’ve tried a lot of numbers. It’s probably nothing.”
“He says, but we don’t know,” Nick growls back. “So, someone hit Abby before she went to jail, and whoever it was has her so terrified she won’t even talk to her own attorney. This guy shows up out of nowhere. We’re not sure how much he knows or where he got your number. He didn’t want to see his kid when she was home with her mom, but now that mom’s out of the picture, he wants to see her? Which would require also seeing her young, shortstack, single aunt?”
“That’s a lot,” I say. “And you’re pressing your luck calling me shortstack, mister.”
His smirk feels like a heat ray.
“A lot of facts, you mean. Call me crazy, but let’s be cautious,” he says, taking a long pull from his coffee.
Well, damn. He has a point.
“When you put it like that—”
“I need to be honest. I did a background check on him. You’re judging him a bit too kindly.”
“You did?”
He holds up a hand.
“Don’t get mad. I had to know who we were dealing with if he showed up, sooner or later. The background report listed a range of charges from petty theft to a couple DWIs. I’m not even sure how this man still has a license. You’d be making a mistake meeting this guy anywhere that isn’t public without muscle to back you up.”
My heart skips a beat. If it were anyone but Frisk, and for any reason but Millie, it might be creepy. But I’m a little touched that he cares that much.
“And let me guess—you’re the muscle?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.
He gives me a lopsided grin that makes me give up a smile.
“Lucky you,” he says.
“I wouldn’t meet anywhere that wasn’t public anyway. I don’t like him.”
He shoves his sleeve up and flexes his arm.
“I’ve got you, sweetheart. I can handle this jackass and Roland Birdshit with one arm tied behind my back,” he says in this exaggerated strongman accent.
I laugh. “Okay, Quick Nick. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
16
Frisky Business (Nick)
Later that afternoon, I look through the window of Grandma’s old office.
Tiffany sits on a sofa across from Millie’s loft bed. Millie snores beside her, curled up like a bear cub, despite having a three-thousand-dollar bed only a few feet away.
Sunlight from the massive windows behind the crisscrossing vines illuminates them both.
This kid and her nanny are a universe apart from my shit, thank God.
While I’m being speared by Osprey, Millie drifts through what I hope are sweet dreams. Can money at least buy that?
I miss the carefree days of childhood—before my parents had their outing on a yacht and made the family name infamous—and I’m damn glad this little girl with her bouncy curls has a chance at holding on to what I lost an eternity ago.
If I can help her hang on just a little while longer, my job is done.
“You all right, little brother?” Ward’s voice booms from my left side.
I glance over. “Yeah. Why?”
“Your mouth’s smiling but your eyes aren’t.”
I turn to meet his gaze.
“Nah, it’s just...”
Ward inclines his head toward my office. “Do we need to speak privately?”
“Yeah.” It’s pointless, and I know it.
I’m sure he’s heard about the heap of chaos I’m in. I go to my office with Ward following.
He sits down in the chair across from my desk.
“It’s not the end of the world, you know.”
Easy for him to fucking say.
“Birdshit’s hit piece?” I growl, hating how the mere thought of it sends fury roaring through me.
“What else?”
“Not the end? Are you joking?”
“It’s not. It may seem like it now, but it’ll blow over like it always does. More inanity will be trending tomorrow that has nothing to do with you. No one will even care anymore,” he tells me.
“They’ll care—and so will we—if anyone from the city bites on that dickwad’s invitation to recheck the depot. Not that I think we’ve got anything to worry about. I’m sure of it. I put my heart into that project, whatever the fuck I said when I was wasted.” I bring my fist down on my desk. Ward gives me a sharp look. “Sorry. You know what the worst part is?”
“No. Enlighten me?”
“I can’t even reach her to chew her out for pulling this shit,” I snarl.
“Her?”
“Carmen.”
“I’ll admit I’m surprised. I thought she wanted to talk to you and used this as bait? Paige thinks Carmen’s still in love with you. I told her it’s hard to call this love when it’s more like a fucked up obsession.” He rakes an annoyed hand through his hair.
“It’s vengeance, you mean. She wants me to pay for breaking up with her. She’s enjoying this torture, dragging this out, feeding Osprey scraps in dribs and drabs.” I pause, taking a deep breath. “She hopes if she makes just enough of my past fuck ups public—minus the big one—I’ll come crawling back before she releases it. Why the hell would I? If I ever piss her off, she’ll just release the hounds. I’ve got my lawyer researching blackmail charges.”
“The big one?” He looks confused, his green-blue eyes narrowed.
Shit.
No point in hiding it. My brother deserves to know just how bad this can get.
“Years ago, when I was a total drunken idiot and we were almost a couple...we made a sex video. I thought I destroyed all the evidence, but apparently she kept a copy.”
“Goddamn.” Ward goes quiet for a moment, then stands, shaking his head. “Well, that’s your business. It’s hardly relevant to what you do here or the deals we close. If it comes out, we’ll cross that bridge then. Everyone makes mistakes, but hell, you’ve changed. You’ve changed a lot this past year. You can’t beat yourself up over old mistakes.”
“The texts on The Chicago Tea—”
He leans against the wall.
“Some of those were a little more relevant to Brandt Ideas, yeah, but you were right. Your team covered your ass no matter how blasted you were. I’ve reviewed all the information presented in that meeting and the plans. They were thorough. The final product cleared proper city planning and permits without a hitch. If someone wants to argue this firm was somehow negligent, they’ll have an army of lawyers up their ass.”
Ward isn’t worried at all. He’s confident we’ve got this.
I wish I felt the same.
I exhale slowly.
He gives me a fierce look. “I’ve got your back, Nicholas. You should be proud, no matter what a few clowns on the internet say. You’ve done a lot of growing up.” He points at the wall I share with the new playroom. “What you’ve done for Reese is proof. You stepped up and helped run the company when Grandma left. You helped us land the Winthrope deal. I couldn’t have done it without you, and for a while, when I thought I’d lost Paige...you helped me with that, too.”
“All the help in the world can’t pull me out of this. This slow fucking character assassination is going to destroy Brandt Dreams before it’s even up and running. We’re at our full advertising budget now, and it’s plastered everywhere that I’m heading the spin-off. Who’d want to work with me after this?”
“Are you listening? I said you’ll be fine.”
I suppress a laugh. Ward has gone into full big brother protector, and he’s about to lay down the law.
Whatever. I nod to let him think it’s that simple.
“No one’s fucking with my company or the family legacy. I won’t let that happen. I’m t
en seconds from having Osprey and his BS machine followed by a PI so I can start filing frivolous lawsuits. It’ll keep him buried in paperwork, anyhow. You know an asshole who’s made a fortune off trading everybody else’s dark secrets must have a few of his own.” I pause, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“Don’t do anything stupid, Nick. Brandt Dreams will be fine. You’ll be fine. Yes, you were a fuck up once. Now you’re the man who runs this company with me, started your own spin-off, and personally interviewed nannies for our driver. Hell, you wouldn’t even hire anyone without a teaching license.”
“I’ve been spending a lot of time with Reese,” I admit.
“I know. It’s okay.”
“It’s just—”
There’s a long silence.
“Is that what you’re worried about? That she’ll believe those bullshitters? Everyone has a history. My broken engagement before Paige—”
“No. It’s more—this is my mess. My sins. My karma hitting back. I can’t let her get dragged down with me. The night Carmen ambushed us at that gala...I’d never seen Reese more hurt.” I swallow bitterly, pushing the memory down my throat. “She doesn’t want to be in the limelight, and I don’t blame her. She especially doesn’t want to wind up trending on social media over half-baked scandals.”
Ward gives me a stern look, clearing his throat. “That wasn’t a fake date, was it?”
“Huh? Nah, that shit was phony as a three-dollar bill,” I say quickly.
He smiles this terrible grin. “Whatever. I have a meeting, but you need to keep your phone on. Don’t give yourself a heart attack before it blows over, little brother.”
He starts for the door, the trademark teal-blue tie he always wears to important meetings swinging.
“I’m thirty-one. I think you can drop the ‘little.’ I’m just your brother at this point.”
He looks at me over his shoulder and squints.
“Like hell. You’ll always be my little bro.”
* * *
Are you busy tonight? Reese texts.
I glance at the interior design on my laptop and the client specs beside me, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not too busy if she needs me.
What’s up? I send back.
Reese: Will is demanding to see Millie. I told him I’d meet him at Sweeter Grind. It’s a coffee shop Paige takes me to sometimes. If you’re busy, it’s cool, though.
Nick: I said I’d be there. I add a flexing arm emoji, a reminder I’m her muscle.
Reese: LOL. Okay, I’ll pick you up soon.
Nick: No. Get Millie’s booster seat. I’m picking you up for once.
Reese: Like...a date?
Nick: I can think of better dates that don’t involve your niece’s asshole dad, but if you want...
Reese: Ha ha I was joking. Chill.
“Chill?” I whisper to myself.
Damn her. It’s not even possible with this woman.
Later, when I arrive at her place, Reese and Millie are waiting outside. Reese has the car seat in one hand and she’s holding Millie’s wrist with her other.
I park and climb out to help her get the booster seat and the kid in.
“Whoa. You brought the sizzle tonight,” she whispers, her big blue eyes in awe.
It’s fifty-something degrees tonight, so that isn’t a reference to the weather.
I’d like to be flattered, thinking she’s talking about me, but her eyes are glued to my Maserati.
She hands me the car seat without making eye contact.
“How have I never seen this before?” She steps closer to the car and pulls back the top panel of her gloves, exposing her fingertips. She strokes the car like an unruly tiger. “It’s so beautiful. Straight from a dream. I used to read so many car magazines when I started driving.”
She gives me a bashful smile.
“Vroom! Vroom!” Millie chirps as she settles into the seat I’ve buckled down.
“Tell me about it, little lady,” I whisper.
I wish Reese would touch me like my ride. If I got her under me, I could do a whole lot better than a vibrating engine and the seduction of a leather seat.
I’d give her the ride of her fucking life, tight turns and churning pistons, straight down the winding road to madness.
“Vrooooom!” Millie squeals again, slapping her chubby arms.
I look down at her and smile. “Soon, munchkin. We all like car rides.”
Yeah. Her old man better have a damn good reason for not being around all this time.
How could anyone leave this kid? I shut the door.
Reese still stands beside the hood. She’s now holding one glove in her covered hand and has a bare hand flat against the hood.
“Do you need a minute alone together?” I ask, deadpan.
“You have to let me sit in the driver’s seat sometime.” She straightens up and looks me in the eye.
“No, ma’am. It’s a date, remember? I’m driving.”
“You’re terrible.” She smacks my chest playfully and laughs. “Even I could think of hotter dates that don’t involve my niece or her dad.”
“So can I, but I’ll take what I can get.”
“I’d kill to drive this. No apologies if you wind up in the trunk,” she jokes, those soft blue eyes sparkling like starlight.
“Maybe on the way home,” I tell her.
“Fine, be that way.” She crosses her arms and slides into the front seat, but even her mock irritation fades the second she’s in the car, marveling at the interior.
“You’re cute when you’re pouting. And cuter still when you’re crushing on my car,” I say.
“Only a little,” she says in a distant voice.
Then she gives me this quick look and snatches her eyes away, a red blush igniting on her cheeks.
Fuck, this Not Date might be lethal.
The drive to Sweeter Grind takes no time.
Once we’re there, the mood changes. A grim tension settles over us—everyone but Millie—who babbles about Tiffany and some game they played earlier.
Reese helps Millie out of her kiddie seat and we all walk inside the coffee shop together. I buy a couple drinks and a lollipop for the kid.
Millie has the candy sucker in her mouth, but holds the stick like it’s a cigar, pointing at me while I wait for our coffee.
“Are you the boss now?” I ask.
The tyke folds her arms in front of her chest and nods at me, the spitting image of every famous Chicago mobster. I chuckle.
Then I feel Reese pulling at my shoulder, her eyes wide with uncertainty as she whispers, “Nick. That’s him.”
I watch a bulky blond man with a crew cut and two-day-old stubble come marching in. Will Frisk looks slow, agitated, and one ugly glance away from being pissed off.
My eyes never leave him as he slides into an empty booth, waiting for us. I grab our drinks and we make our way over.
“Reese? Sorry to hear about Abby,” he says as soon as he realizes who we are. “Thanks for taking care of my daughter.”
Yeah. Out-of-town gig or not, if that was my woman or even an ex who’s still the mother of my kid, there’s no way it would’ve taken me over a week to find out what’s going on.
Find a better excuse, scumbucket, I think to myself.
I try to remind myself not to be judgmental. Only, we have instincts for a reason, and this guy trips every alarm my nervous system has.
He spots Millie trying to climb on Reese’s lap and breaks into a smile. “There you are, baby. Come give your daddy a hug.”
He bends down, holding his arms out.
Millie’s eyes dart around, clinging to Reese’s hand as she steps behind her leg. She looks like she doesn’t even recognize him.
“Millie, what’s wrong?” I ask, looking down at her.
She takes the lollipop out of her mouth and turns her face up. “Don’t wanna hug a stranger. Mommy says if a stranger wants a hug I’m supposed to scream.” She shakes her head, curls s
winging wildly.
Frisk gurgles—I think with disbelief.
I meet his eyes, daring him to argue that the kid’s lying and he’s more than a stranger to her.
“Millie, Daddy has to work out of town a lot. It’s not my fault. I’d be home more if I could,” he says, too much anger in his tone.
She’s just a kid, jackass. And your overgrown ass is very much a deadbeat father.
“Do I have to, Auntie Reese?” Millie asks slowly.
Reese nods, as I say, “No, you don’t.”
Reese stares at me with a raised brow. Half the blood drains out of her face.
Millie looks from her aunt to me.
Frisk bows up, his shoulders bristling as he looks at me and says, “Who the hell are you?”
“Millie, just listen to your aunt.” I meet Frisk’s eyes. “Nicholas Brandt. Nice to meet you.”
I hold my hand out. He takes it and tries to squeeze it to death. I love the shock in his eyes when he finds out I can squeeze back harder—and I can break his arm if he gives me a good reason.
“So, you’re Reese’s man?”
I wish.
Considering she’s right here, I say nothing. I don’t want to make this more uncomfortable than it already is.
“I’m moral support,” I bite off.
He gives me a confused look and nods limply. “Whatever. Millie, are you gonna give Daddy a hug?”
Reese gives her a reluctant nod, urging her on. The little girl peeks out from behind her aunt’s leg and holds her arms out as he bends, touching her little hands to the guy’s neck and instantly pulling away.
He’s squatting and her arms are at a weird angle. I realize too late that her lollipop sticks to his hair, then tumbles to the floor with a thunk!
Millie scoots back.
“Oh. Oh, shit.” Will picks the lollipop up from the floor, stands, and tries to give the sucker back to his daughter with the world’s slimiest grin.
“Trash it, Amelia,” Reese says.
“We’ll buy you a new one,” I say, holding my hand out. “I’ll take it. I don’t think you can reach the trash can.”
She puts it in my hand, and I pitch the dirty lollipop with a sidestep so my eyes never leave Will Frisk.
