Perfect Grump: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Snow, Nicole

  Oh, crapballs.

  I recognize her now. She’s even more otherworldly in person, without all the layers of makeup and digital filters.

  Carmen Seraphina.

  She starred in like a dozen slapstick teen cheerleader movies when I was a kid, before moving into more serious roles. She’s been all over numerous gossip blogs, usually linked to Nick.

  She’s the one they call Brandt’s Dream Lover.

  Seductress. Scandal. Sex cupcake. His destiny.

  Oh, crud.

  Hot tears sting my eyes, but I won’t cry. Not here.

  It doesn’t even make sense. It was pretend for one night, one measly chance to get my feelings hurt for no good reason.

  Too bad I understand why I’m here now, and it hurts.

  I’m bait.

  To make Nick’s “girlfriend” or Dream Lover or whatever-the-hell-she-is jealous.

  But why would Carmen Seraphina—the woman who has it all, including millions of followers who worship her and her own fashion line—be jealous of a short stack brunette driver with no past and a bland future?

  If he thought it would work, not only is he a jackass, but he’s stupid.

  Then again...she’s closing the distance between them, isn’t she?

  And when she slaps him again on his other cheek, and the whole room gasps, there’s no denying the murderous jealousy blazing in her eyes.

  “Come on, you prick. The same old song and dance? Again?” She turns her nose up in disgust. “We always break up, and we always get back together. We belong together, Nick. You know that. One of these days, you’re going to stop playing your stupid games and accept it. We’re going to live in West Hollywood with a big family, big smiles, no big assholes chasing us, and...and happily ever after.”

  Nick looks like he could knock down a redwood with his bare hands. His face twists like a grimace when he opens his mouth.

  “You’re drunk, Carmen,” he growls in a tone that’s barely human. “Go home.”

  “I am not! Fuck you! You just don’t want to admit you’re playing me. Who is this whore, anyhow? You know she’ll be everywhere tomorrow, so you’d might as well tell me. I’d rather hear it from you,” she screams, jabbing a finger at his chest.

  I’m going to vomit.

  I blink again, surveying the room, looking for an exit.

  When I find one, I start shrinking into the crowd, taking lunging steps as they part for me. I’m not going to keep it together much longer.

  Then a strong, warm hand surrounds mine, pulling me with practiced control. If only it weren’t attached to a man who’ll never be comforting again.

  I look up to see Nick has moved around her, caught up to me, and has my hand.

  He leads me away, shepherding me like a secret service agent guarding the First Lady.

  “Sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. She’s a tornado. Destructive and dramatic. Let’s get the hell out of here. I don’t want you dragged into this,” he whispers.

  I bite my tongue—hard—and wait until we’re out of the crowded room to respond.

  “Not to be a smartass, but it’s way late for that. I’m smack-dab in the middle of...I don’t even know.” I throw my head back and look at the black sky.

  The stars that were coming out earlier are drowned now by dense Lake Michigan clouds.

  I should’ve known this would happen.

  This is Nick Brandt. A tactical drama bomb. Tonight must be par for the course with a man who lives to make headlines, whether or not he’s trying.

  I was stupid to ever agree to this.

  “I knew there was something wrong with this. I shouldn’t have come,” I say, my voice a broken whisper.

  The cool night stings my bare arms, my cleavage. I’ve never felt more naked, more vulnerable.

  Hugging my shoulders, I avert my eyes.

  I wish he’d just disappear. Fuck off. But of course he does the opposite.

  The towering idiot takes off his blazer and drapes it around me.

  God.

  I want to hurl it back in his face. I want him to know I need nothing from him. But it’s too stinking cold to care about making a point, or even a well-deserved grand gesture.

  “This was a m-m-mistake,” I whisper through chattering teeth.

  “Why?” I hate how he sounds genuinely confused.

  Where do I begin?

  Because orphans don’t go to billionaire’s balls, and drivers don’t fake-date big shot bosses. They definitely don’t hold up well when screaming rich ex-girlfriends come in swinging. There’ll probably be a price on my head before sunrise.

  “Y-you know why.” Stupid teeth. Stupid chattering.

  Stupid man.

  Nick waves the valet over. “Get the Brandt town car. Now.”

  He pulls me closer and wraps his arm around me to keep me warm. If I weren’t paralyzed, I’d stop him.

  I want to slap him—at least as hard as Carmen did—but damn him, I need the warmth.

  The valet fetches the car in record time. At least one thing goes right.

  I get in the driver’s seat without another word. Nick slides in the front with me, and I do a double take.

  “Oh, no. You, back, now.” I stab a finger at him through the air with every word.

  “Reese, hear me out—”

  “I don’t want to! Not tonight. Just...be honest with me. Was I here to make your ex jealous? Is that why you kissed me?” I’m shaking, clenching the wheel so hard my knuckles ache.

  He lets out a slow, brutal sigh.

  “No. Of course not. I don’t give a shit about her anymore,” he says, raking a hand through his hair. Then he adds, more quietly, “I’ll admit I did want a date so there’d be no mistaking the fact that it’s over between us. She won’t accept the brush-off, so what’s the harm in twisting the knife?”

  “What’s the harm?” I cluck my tongue, breathing pure fire through my nostrils. “So that’s a yes, and I...I cannot believe you pulled this shit.”

  Long pause.

  “It’s not the same thing, Reese,” he says miserably. “I wanted a date so she’d know I wasn’t here for her. I wanted to be there with you—”

  “Save it. Please? I don’t want to hear about it and I just want to go home.” I let out a groan. “Hell! If I’d known this was your plan, I would’ve asked for twenty thousand.”

  “It’s yours,” he says.

  Yeah.

  This is not going well.

  He’s missing the whole point. I’m not sure the words exist to make it with this self-absorbed ass of a boss, a date, a human being.

  Ironic laughter bursts out of me until I gag. “That doesn’t make it better...”

  He’s quiet for a minute. “How angry are you? Scale of one to ten?”

  “Ninety!” I spit back, pulling out of the cursed lot and trying to focus on the road ahead. “I hate you. You’re the most disgusting, selfish person I’ve ever met, and I grew up in a horrible foster system full of crazies, so—”

  “Reese—” he starts.

  I’m not done.

  “Let me finish,” I snap. “I still need this job. I really need this job. My sister always spends more than she makes, and I help take care of my niece. I’m finally able to do that comfortably with this salary for the first time since...well, ever. So, I’m hoping if I never mention how much I hate you again, and you never mention this godawful joke of a date again, I can keep working. I mean, I’ll try, assuming whatever bombs are about to be lobbed into my life from whoever blabs about that scene. Fair enough?”

  “Reese...let me explain,” he says, his voice raw, pleading.

  “Just answer my question. I don’t want explanations, boss.” The last word comes out like a curse. “Will you promise not to mention this ever again, or do I need to send your grandma my resignation tonight?”

  He straightens, squaring his shoulders, looking at me quietly like I punched him in the face. It’s what he deserves.

  “
You’d rather quit your job than let me apologize?” he asks.

  I sigh, my eyes fluttering shut a second too long. “Yes. Yes, you jackass. I swear to God, if you make me, I’ll work two full-time jobs to make the same money. I’ll drive sixteen-hour days, up and down this continent, just so I don’t have to listen to one more word of your—your bullshit. Yes.”

  He turns, staring out the passenger window, this creeping darkness shadowing his face.

  So, if I’m about to get fired, at least I’ll go out in style.

  “I won’t mention it again,” he says firmly. “You have my word.”

  I nod weakly, clearing my throat to say, “One more thing.”

  “Another demand?” He smirks, but this time it’s not playful.

  It’s frustrated and cruel and makes me feel so small I almost pitch him out on the side of the highway.

  “Don’t talk to me like that. I could just disappear and give those stupid reporters my side of the story. I bet that Osprey guy would chew it right up.” I regret the threat as soon as it’s out of my mouth, but it works.

  I think.

  His eyes grow sadder, more defeated. “Are you going to do that to me? Throw me to those rumor-spinning chucklefucks?”

  “Probably not, but just...stop requesting unnecessary rides. I don’t want to see you unless it’s absolutely necessary for a meeting or whatever,” I say. “I’ll do my job. You’ll do yours. Nothing more.”

  “I don’t request rides I don’t need,” he throws back, glaring.

  Then his shoulders fall, and he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  I don’t have the heart to argue my point.

  When I finally pull up in front of his palatial building, I’ve never been so happy to see the ornate, brightly lit door.

  He opens the passenger door. “Good night, Reese—”

  “Miss Halle,” I say sharply.

  “Good night, Miss Halle. I’m sorry for—for everything.”

  “Whatever. You’re not supposed to mention it again,” I remind him.

  There he goes.

  The biggest Prince Charming mirage of my life.

  As soon as his door closes like a vault slamming shut, I punch my foot on the gas and stab the car into the night.

  6

  Things Change (Nick)

  Six Months Later

  Words of wisdom from the Philosophy of Nick Brandt I swear I’ll write someday: change is the only constant, and it is an ass kicker.

  I slurp my coffee. Today’s the big day. The stress couldn’t be higher.

  I’m having a goddamned baby, and the entire family’s gathered round to see it.

  We’re launching the brand-new interior design spin-off, Brandt Dreams, and I’ll be running it. I’m meeting my new team later today.

  Speaking of change...one look around tells me how many asses it’s booted lately.

  My own brother has changed so much since becoming a married man. It doesn’t matter that it started out as a sham marriage to Paige Holly, our once-assistant, to win us the biggest deal of our lives with the Winthrope hotel line.

  My idea, thank you very much, even if Ward and Paige both acted like they wanted to throw something at my head when they first heard it.

  Then there was Grandma’s heart issue, forcing her into retirement.

  Mettles were tested. Pants lit on fire. Ward finally grew up in the space of a few frantic months, and so did I.

  It’s miraculous everything worked out in the end.

  Grandma’s last design found a place on the Chicago skyline fit for her legacy, Ward got married, Paige found happiness, and we all got a massive payday.

  We’ve technically been running Brandt Ideas together as co-CEO Senior Partners ever since, but Ward took the initiative. Moving over to Brandt Dreams feels like a relief, a chance to prove I can handle as much as my brother.

  At the same time, Brandt Ideas will always be home. I grew up here. My family lives here. Alongside so many memories, good and bad, they make my necktie feel too tight.

  I sigh as the shiny black town car pulls up to the curb.

  Remember what I said about change?

  With Reese Halle, it’s been a ten-legged man at an ass-kicking contest ever since the day I put her heart through a woodchipper.

  “How are you today?” I venture as I slide in and look at the back of my chauffeur’s head.

  “Fine. And you, Mr. Brandt?” she says in the same short, professional, and utterly lifeless manner I’ve come to expect.

  Fuck me.

  It never ends.

  Every time I see her, I remember how I screwed everything to hell.

  It’s been six months.

  Six months getting rides from a driver who’d love to fling me out into rush-hour traffic.

  Six months crushed by guilt.

  Six months remembering that night, when she looked at me too beautifully, when she tasted too right, when I had a chance to inhale her.

  Six months living like a monk—a playboy without play—jerking off and coming in my hand every night to a woman who hates my guts.

  You’d think she’d get over it, but she has no plans to. She meant it when she whispered those three stabbing words.

  I hate you.

  Every time I see her, I think of the way she looked at me, like I wasn’t worthy of polishing her shoes. Much less signing her paychecks, the newly appointed king of high dickishness until the universe shrivels up.

  I know. I fucking know I deserved it. That’s the worst part.

  I don’t know why I try the words burning at the tip of my tongue. Chalk it up to monthly torture, I guess.

  “If I’d known things would turn out the way they did,” I say quietly, “I never would’ve taken you that night, Miss Halle.”

  “And if I knew you’d keep bringing it up, I’d have resigned the next morning. Where to?”

  “The Brandt Dreams office,” I say miserably.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Sir. Fuck. Every time she calls me that, it guts me from the neck down.

  My finger hovers over the button to raise the privacy screen. But it’s been six months.

  Six months of special agony.

  We have to get back to normal sometime, don’t we?

  Lifting my finger off the button, I search for an opening to make conversation with the snapping turtle at the steering wheel.

  My eyes flick to the passenger seat. Excitement flicks through me when I spot the huge pink teddy bear riding shotgun beside her.

  “Big date tonight?” I ask slowly.

  Her eyes snap to the rearview mirror, pale-blue witchfire tuned to hate. “None of your business, but no.”

  I hold my hand up.

  “I meant with your niece. The bear’s for her, right? Don’t be so defensive.”

  Reese relaxes and actually smiles, temporarily somewhere else.

  “Millie’s on a unicorn kick right now. We’re going to read The Nuff and make unicorn macaroni. I probably should’ve found a unicorn instead of a bear, but no luck. This thing is bigger than Millie, and it’s her favorite color, so I hope she likes it. She’ll be such a cutie, dragging it around.”

  When she talks about her niece, it’s hard to imagine a tough bone in her body—or a switchblade waiting for my neck.

  “Careful. You’re not so bad when you let your guard down, Reese,” I say.

  “I believe you mean Miss Halle.” She raises the privacy screen.

  Shit. Tough crowd.

  I’m used to this, though.

  Life as Nick Brandt means if you fuck up once, it’s seared into the fabric of history forever. The internet means people never forget.

  Reese nearly got caught up in the whirlwind Carmen spun, along with me, and she’s not used to that.

  She told me a few weeks after the hell-night that the real reason she hadn’t resigned was because she thought it would be too hard to find another job with a Google reputation assembled by Roland Osprey
—if Osprey and his minions had successfully nailed her identity.

  They didn’t.

  He’s a motherfucker regardless.

  I could march into his office this second and punch him in his lying face. It might even be worth getting locked up for assault.

  Still, I don’t blame her for being pissed. But it’s been six frigging months.

  How long can a firestarter like her carry a grudge?

  When Ward was afraid to commit to Paige, I thought he was just being a little worm. I realize now it’s the Brandt curse.

  Mistakes come easy to us. Fixing them when your entire life’s entertainment fodder, that’s harder. He’s lucky Paige handled it as well as she did.

  I pull out my phone and start flipping through emails. The privacy screen is up, and she can’t see me. I wipe the worried look off my own reflection.

  I’m not taking any chances with her finding me stewing in the back seat because she won’t talk to me.

  She pulls up to the office without ever lowering the screen, thankfully.

  My mind should be anywhere but Reese as I head inside to launch a brand-new company. But you already know it’s not.

  Damn.

  I think I’d give up all the Brandt Dreams if this porcupine of a woman would just give me a chance to make it right.

  * * *

  The meeting goes well.

  My team has appointments galore with businesses and wealthy Chicago families to discuss interior design opportunities. I have no doubt we’ll be poaching clients left and right soon.

  A business becomes legit when it becomes profitable. That’s when everyone feels accomplished, and nothing motivates people like success.

  This is my bittersweet project. I don’t need Ward or even Grandma paving my way. I just wish I had a few crumbs of Ward’s newfound confidence in the future.

  My phone pings as we’re wrapping up.

  I open the new text message and instantly scowl.

  Still taking your vow of silence, Mr. Brandt? If you’d ever like to comment on your...ahem, dirty little video, you know where to find me.

  Human scum.

  No matter how many times I tell him to fuck off, Roland Osprey never leaves me alone. He’s a scandal-chasing wolf with a taste for blood, and mine must be a favorite by now.