by Snow, Nicole
Her cheeks have gone crimson.
Fuck. She saw me checking her out. Add that to the list of endless crap to apologize for.
“I should be going,” she says. “The town car’s parked at my apartment. I didn’t bring it today since no one requested a ride.”
“I just wanted to apologize to you. For everything, I mean.” I’m trying like hell to keep my voice level.
“Everything?” she echoes.
Shit, this is bad.
Is she going to make me say I thought she was male for well over a month? Maybe Ward’s right and it’s for the best I’ve botched this so badly. Otherwise, I’d be tempted to request a ride home in whatever she’s driving tonight.
“I mean for...for offering to help you find girls. And for making you help with Jorge.” My eyes drop to the cleavage bubbling up just behind that sheer lace.
Damn you, focus on her face, a voice sneers in the back of my mind. Her face, you unhinged piranha.
“No problem,” she says softly. “Really, boss. It’s okay.”
I burst out laughing. It’s either that or let the tension murder me on the spot.
“It’s not okay, Halle—Miss Halle,” I correct sharply. “How can I ever make it up to you?”
She smiles, showing off a neat row of pearly teeth. Why does that smile feel so hollow?
“That won’t be necessary. I’m just happy to work here and meet your expectations. Thanks for the apology, although, again, it totally wasn’t necessary.”
She’s letting me off too easy.
She starts to turn, but I stumble forward again, strangling my tongue to call after her.
“It was very necessary,” I grind out.
She pauses midstep, turns, and laughs. “Honestly? I was mostly freaked out that I could be mistaken for a man, but maybe it’s a good thing. You put me in my place. At least I know where I stand in the dating department, right?”
Aw, hell. I think if she’d pulled out a magnum and shot me in the chest, it would’ve been easier than hearing those words. That agony I death-marched her through, disguised as a joke.
“Fuck right,” I whisper, stepping closer. “This is all my fault. I never pay attention to anything but—”
“Yourself? I noticed. It’s okay. You’re a busy man, and an important one. I’m just a driver.”
For a split second, I’m speechless. Especially when her eyes shimmer as they fall, and I’m the reason why.
“You say that like I’m some kind of merciless snob. I assure you, I’m not.”
“It’s not my place to judge you, and it doesn’t really matter. I’m your driver. You’re my boss. Let’s keep it that way, m’kay? Thanks for the apology. I have to go babysit now.” She skitters away, pushes open the glass door, and moves into the hall like she’s being chased by a hungry tiger.
I follow her.
She stops at a desk being manned by Susan, the HR lady. “Can I get my coat, please?”
“Of course. Remind me of your last name, please?”
“Halle. H-a-l-l-e.”
“How do I make this right?” I ask, annoyed that I’ve been left holding the bag.
Susan turns to the racks of coats behind her and pulls out a familiar bulky jacket that doesn’t match Reese’s dress at all. She hands it to her. “Here you go.”
Reese glances at me, then looks back at Susan and smiles sweetly. “Susan, can I ask you something? It’s about HR policy.”
“Of course.”
“If a co-worker follows you around, staring at your cleavage, can you file a report even if he’s your boss? And a partner at this firm?”
“Absolutely. Especially if he’s a partner. That isn’t appropriate in any situation,” Susan whips out, folding her arms and glaring.
Damn, I only stared a little.
Reese turns so we’re face-to-face, then she grins at me and winks. “See you later, boss.”
Fucking devil. She’s as quick as she is deadly. It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it?
I’m still standing there like a stunned buffalo when Susan laughs. My eyes whip to her.
“Mr. Brandt, is everything okay?” she asks.
I lie by nodding.
She looks at Reese. “Do I need to get a certain grandmother involved?”
Reese giggles. “I don’t think so. I handled it just fine.”
She whirls and heads off, her hips swishing in that mesmerizing way I need to stop noticing for the thousandth time. My eyes aren’t listening to my brain. They watch her until the tight ass hugged by black silk is no longer visible.
“You’re not doing anything that’ll get you into trouble?” Susan asks with a knowing smirk.
Insufferable.
Welcome to the curse of running a company where everyone over fifty has known you since childhood. You’re not really running anything with these older employees, and you have about a dozen babysitters, making sure you don’t get into 'trouble.'
“Nah,” I say with a disarming wink before making my way back to the party.
Hell yes, I’m irritated, but I don’t let the scratch marks show from that black cat digging her claws in.
I nod at people as I pass—my usual modus operandi—always calm. In control. Focused.
That’s how the life of the party rolls.
I find our table and take my place between Ward and Grandma.
“If you’re going to gawk at an employee, could you make it less obvious?” my brother says.
I shrug. “What’re you talking about? I just apologized my ass off and asked how to make it right.”
“Uh-huh,” Ward says, staring me down. “Hard to apologize when you looked like you were ready to undress her, right here in the middle of the room.”
Damn him.
She’s hot enough to risk a scandal, but I know where to draw the line.
“I had to apologize,” I growl back. “I tried to do the right thing. Whatever that is with this.”
“Some apology. Every woman I know loves it when I apologize to her breasts,” Ward mutters.
“I didn’t do that, you jack—”
“You were in no way subtle,” Grandma says coldly.
Oh, great.
Here comes the famous family tag-team to remind me what an epic failure I am.
“Subtle about what? There was nothing to be subtle about. I apologized and asked how to make it up to her. I even took it like a champ when she insulted me to my face.”
“And did she tell you how?”
“No. She told me to get lost,” I say, shaking my head.
“Smart woman,” Ward says, polishing off his scotch.
“Do you not talk to her in the car? I can see how this might be rather awkward for her,” Grandma says.
“Grandma, all I do is talk. She just never says anything back. If I’d heard her voice, this never would’ve happened. That’s why I didn’t know she’s a woman.”
“Wait. She’s been driving you around for six weeks and you’ve never heard her voice?” Ward asks, giving his empty glass a death glare.
“Once or twice. Probably. The mistaken identity thing was so ingrained, I thought I was hearing things. I don’t know. My bad. Whatever. She’s very quiet. Don’t you think so?” I look up, knowing I look desperate and hating it.
Grandma lets out a hissing sigh.
“She’s very pleasant when you give her a chance to get a word in,” Ward says.
Yep, I’m fucking boned.
Reese must think I’m a walking ego trap.
Ward laughs bitterly. “You have a lot of nerve calling me uptight every chance you get. You’ve never talked to her. You’ve been talking at her for six damn weeks. She probably hates to see you coming. I bet it’s the worst part of her day.”
The worst? Is it? I wonder.
I don’t want her hating the thought of driving me.
It shouldn’t bother me so much, but it does.
“Oh, dear. Poor girl,” Grandma says. “I wo
nder if I should check on her. Then again, that might make it worse. Maybe we should just offer her a raise.” She shakes her head and pats my hand. “I thought you were supposed to be the diplomat. You can actually smile when you’re not in one of your moods. Not like Ward,” she adds under her breath.
I sigh. “I gabbed so much because I was hoping Halle would finally warm up and start talking back, I guess. That’s how I operate. And most people do, eventually. Hell, it’s weird being driven around by a stranger. He—” I almost say he, because I’ve thought of Halle as a college kid for so long. “She never did though.”
Fuck. Come to think of it, now I know why.
“Pray tell, what exactly did you say to her?” Ward asks.
I grit my teeth before admitting, “I may have offered to take Halle partying with me once or twice and offered to...help find him dates.”
“You fool,” Ward bites off. “That’s almost a relief.”
I glare at him.
“Relief? Why?”
“You were looking at her like tonight’s dinner, and now I don’t have to worry about being slapped with an HR complaint later for all the weeks you could’ve been digging your grave. There’s no chance anything will happen now.”
Have I mentioned how much I hate my brother’s dreary logic?
“I have to make it right,” I whisper.
My brother stares at me for too long. “When did you grow a conscience?”
“We have to see each other every single day, Ward. She works for me. I have to fix this, if only to make it less awkward.”
Grandma purses her lips. “I admire your intentions, Nicholas, but I don’t see how you can repair this one. Anything you say will make her feel worse. You’ve already apologized. If you keep bringing it up, you’re only going to make things more complicated. Just laugh it off and move on.”
I look at Ward, just like I used to when we were kids, and I wanted some brotherly advice. No idea why.
Grandma has spoken, and she has way more social grace than both of us combined. If she says there’s no hope, I have to choke it down and try not to shred my reputation.
“Sorry, little brother,” Ward says with another low chuckle. “My best advice is to man up and quit being so...you.”
“What does that mean?”
“You know, thinking the whole world revolves around you,” he says.
“I’m not self-absorbed. Why does everyone think that?”
“Dearest heart...you didn’t know your driver was a woman for six weeks,” Grandma says gently.
“You only let her speak once or twice in six weeks.” Ward shakes his head.
I scowl at them. “I’m glad my honest mistake is such a riot.”
Ward shrugs. “If the shoe were on the other foot, we both know you’d be rolling on the floor.”
“I’d be afraid to crack a smile if I were you, and you’d retaliate with an avalanche of work. When are you going to man up and admit we need a decent assistant?” I snarl.
“I should unload on you anyway.” He glares at me.
“Boys, enough. The question is, what now?” Grandma asks, patting my shoulder.
“Now, Nick pays the price,” Ward says, adjusting his tie, the same color he obsessively matches to his eyes. “Of all the stupid shit I’ve done, I’ve never had a chick under five feet help me drag a drunk guy into his hotel room.”
“We didn’t carry him, technically. He just kind of...leaned on us. And she has to be taller than four feet whatever,” I insist, holding up my hands.
“She’s five feet even,” Grandma says with her designer confidence.
I look at her.
She takes a drink of wine.
“I recall the invoice for her uniforms.” She’s quiet for a minute. “When she got out of the car to help you get Jorge into his hotel, how was that not a clue? That should have been pretty difficult with the height difference.”
Ward snorts. “The hilarious thing is that you thought a waif of a driver was a man.”
“She was wearing a hat. And that coat looks like it’s meant for the Russian army. Also...” I trail off. What’s the point in pleading my case? Then again...I might as well come out and say it. “Frankly, that night with Jorge Franca, I’ll admit I was too drunk to notice.”
Ward’s chest heaves with a low, agitated growl.
“See? This is why you shouldn’t drink on the job. Ever.”
I shoot him the dirtiest look I can muster and remind him, “But you don’t care what I do when nine-figure deals are being signed, do you, bro?”
He opens his mouth, but closes it before he can get a parting shot in. His lips twist sourly.
I’ll take my wins where I can.
I have to make this up to Reese Halle—somehow—but for now? I’ll settle for shutting up my brother’s machine-gun mouth.
3
Class Notes (Reese)
I park the town car at the curb of the bossman’s penthouse and text that I’m waiting.
A few minutes later, he slides into the back seat holding a bouquet of roses so red they burn my retinas.
Oh, no.
He leans forward and hands it to me. “For my beautiful, gracious driver.”
Swallowing a sigh, I take the bouquet and set them in the empty passenger seat beside me. “Um, Mr. Brandt? You’re my boss. Remember? You aren’t supposed to comment on my physical appearance.”
“I said gracious, didn’t I? And I meant beautiful personality, of course,” he corrects sharply.
How hard can I roll my eyes?
“Right.” I glance over at the flowers in the passenger seat, wondering who I pissed off in a past life to make Nicholas Brandt the only man who’s ever given me flowers. “They’re still fresh. How’d you manage it before leaving your place?”
“There’s a shop in my building,” he says matter-of-factly, like everyone in Chicago lives in a place with a luxury mall on the bottom floor.
“Of course there is.” I pull away from the curb and into the steady stream of rush-hour traffic.
“Do you like them?” he asks, a rough edge in his voice that feels fake.
Like he’s trying oh-so-hard to keep up his usual late-morning grump mask when he’s really concerned for how I feel about the bouquet.
I’m almost touched.
Same for the fact that he’s...wait. Is he actually giving me time to answer his stupid questions now that he realizes “Halle” isn’t a mister?
“They’re nice,” I grind out without daring to add that he guessed my favorite color.
My eyes flick back to him as a smug, relieved look crosses his face.
“Honestly, though, it feels a little sexist,” I add.
“What?”
“Dude. I don’t mean the flowers, but here’s the thing. When I was a guy, you always answered your own questions. I never had to talk to you. Now, you’re waiting on pins and needles for a reply. You’re treating me differently than you’d treat a guy. It’s—” I’m about to say, “not hot” but I remember he’s my boss and I don’t, in any way, want to put him and hot in the same sentence. “It’s unbecoming,” I finish.
“Unbecoming? What the fuck? This is Chicago, not London, Miss Halle,” he barks. “Also, the whole reason I blabbed so much when I thought you were Batman was because I was trying to make you feel comfortable. So you’d talk to me.”
“I couldn’t talk to you. You never gave me a chance. Now all you want to do is hear my voice. See? Sexist.” I sniff loudly, fighting back a smile at the faint worry in his emerald-green eyes.
Sexist or not, he could slay a woman dead with those things.
“Chivalrous, you mean,” he says without missing a beat.
I can’t help it, I laugh.
“What’s so chivalrous about making me talk to you?”
“We have to be in a car together. I’m just trying to make you comfortable.”
“Oh, don’t worry, bossman. I have a better idea how to do that.”
Swinging my finger over to the dashboard, I punch the button to raise the privacy screen.
I hear him snarl as what’s happening sinks in.
He tries to lower it, but I keep my finger on the button so he can’t. We engage in a little tug of war, with the divider going up and down, the whole way to the office.
Call it childish.
It’s a stupid, unexpected kind of fun toying with this man and his butchered apology.
Even if those roses are awfully lovely, every time my eyes flick to them. God, he must’ve dropped at least a hundred bucks on the arrangement at the overpriced rich-people florist.
I don’t let him win the screen war until I’ve pulled up in front of the building housing Brandt Ideas, and that’s just because he’s my boss and I need to know when he’ll need me again.
“Admirable determination,” he growls, waiting for my eyes to catch his in the mirror. “I’m going to the pier at noon to meet a client. I’ll need you to pick me up there at three.”
“I assume you mean Navy Pier?” I ask.
“Where else?” he snaps.
I don’t know whether to be annoyed or amused that our little tug of war clearly got under his skin. His usual tight, disarming smile has been wiped clean off his face, leaving a scowling lunk of wickedly good-looking bosshole in the back seat.
“You don’t need a ride there?” I venture.
“I’ve got it covered, Miss Halle. Be there at three o’clock sharp,” he says.
Fun times. Traffic there is always a beast.
“I’ll meet you out front,” I say.
He just nods and gets out of the car.
I spend the next few hours doing what I always do best—tooling around town, waiting for one of the Brandts to text me and tell me I’m needed.
They don’t, usually, during midday work hours unless there’s a conference or some other big event. So I go and get a coffee from Sweeter Grind and check out the news of the day on my phone.
The whole time, I keep looking over at the flowers.
As stunning as they are—picture-perfect red—I don’t know. It just feels weird.
If he thought I was a woman all this time, and I turned out to be a man, he wouldn’t be bending over backward like this to placate my feelings, would he?