Perfect Grump: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Snow, Nicole

  “Never better,” I snap, hating that she’s right.

  Ward and Paige exchange a slow, concerned glance.

  “I should get back to work,” she says, saving face.

  Ward nods and follows her out the door, leaving me in the world of shit I’m trying so hard to dig myself out of.

  9

  A Family Matter (Reese)

  If I haven’t lost track, we’re watching Frozen for the seventh time in less than forty-eight hours.

  I may be sick of this movie, but it keeps Millie from asking questions. We’ll watch it fourteen more times if it delays me having to weave deeper lies about her mom.

  My phone rings with an unknown number. I grab it and answer, desperately hoping it’s the attorney Nick set me up with.

  “This is Reese,” I say.

  “Miss Halle?” a polite but very serious voice asks.

  Maybe it is the attorney’s office.

  “Yes, that’s me.” The words come out strained with urgency and excitement. The woman on the other end probably thinks I’ve been staring at the phone, waiting for this call with bated breath.

  And she’d be right.

  “Miss Halle, my name is Elaina Smith. I’m a caseworker at Child Protective Services.”

  Child Protective Services? I’ve had the kid for barely more than a day and someone called CPS?

  “Okay?”

  “Abby Halle was very worried about what would happen to her daughter once she was arrested. She told the officers at the scene that the kid was with Jane Gamlin. When we contacted Mrs. Gamlin, she informed us you picked her daughter up. Is Amelia Halle in your custody now?”

  “Yes,” I say. “I’m her aunt.”

  “I’ve done some research into Amelia’s—”

  “Millie. Her name is Millie.” She doesn’t even know my niece. What research does she think she’s done?

  “Yes, well, I’ve looked into Millie’s case. It seems she has another living parent, a Mr. William Frisk—”

  Oh, no. I have to choke down a rock in my throat before I can speak.

  “Will Frisk. Right. She’s seen him a handful of times in her four years alive, and he has a rap sheet longer than the state driver’s manual,” I say bitterly.

  “Is that true?” Smith pauses.

  Why would I lie to her?

  “Uh—to the best of my knowledge criminal records are public. Since you’ve done so much research—” I pause, trying and failing to hide my irritation. “You’re totally welcome to look it up.”

  “Miss Halle, please understand that these situations are governed by state law. I’m simply doing my best to—”

  “Let me tell you something,” I cut in. “My parents died in a car wreck when I was two years old and Abby was six. We were at the neighbor’s house when it happened. Aunt Sarah—our kind neighbor, basically an adopted aunt—wanted to keep us. CPS said she didn’t have enough space or money, and she wasn’t a relative.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Smith says robotically.

  I’m not finished.

  “We bounced around from foster home to foster home until Abby aged out of ‘the system.’ She finally found a stable place to live and convinced someone she could be my guardian. We didn’t misunderstand anything. You’re not taking this kid before I’ve even spoken to an attorney. Abby and I are orphans. Her mom’s in jail, and I’m Millie’s only family. Her sperm donor dad who should be arrested for back child support doesn’t count in any sane universe.”

  She clears her throat and mutters something on the other end of the line. “Well. I didn’t realize this was Abby’s situation. I’ll have to do some more digging.”

  Eff your digging, I want to say.

  Play nice for Millie, a voice warns me. Control your temper.

  “Look, I’m sorry. There’s just a lot to deal with right now and I’m trying to make the best of this,” I say.

  “I understand that. How about this—I’ll let you keep Millie in your custody for now if you promise to reach out and let Mr. Frisk know his daughter’s safe with you.”

  “I will. Do you have his number? I don’t.”

  “I found a phone number for him, but unfortunately it’s disconnected,” she tells me.

  “So, I can keep my niece on the condition I let her sperm donor know, but I have no way to get in touch with him, and even the government doesn’t have a working number?” I hold my head up, staring at the ceiling, trying so hard not to scream.

  “It doesn’t have to be immediate. However, it should be timely. Just make sure you get in touch with him when you can, and a qualified attorney if you feel your case needs legal attention.”

  “Okay.”

  “One more thing,” Smith says, dragging it out.

  It’s CPS. Of course, there’s one more thing.

  “I need to come out very soon and pay you a visit to ensure Millie’s in a safe environment.”

  Lovely.

  This is exactly what went down when they snatched us from Aunt Sarah’s many years ago, and we bounced around from one shady foster family to the next.

  “What time?” I say, hoping I don’t sound frazzled.

  Ugh. I hope they don’t decide my building is too old and the landlord’s slacked on inspections, or one bedroom isn’t enough space, or whatever else it is they can latch on to in order to steal Millie.

  “What time?” I ask again.

  “I can’t tell you that. Sometimes bad actors enjoy putting on appearances, you understand,” she says, ice-cold as ever.

  Oh, I’ll be putting on a show if I make it through the meeting without punching someone.

  “No problem. I just need to visit my sister, talk to her attorney, and if he’s not working out, find a new attorney, then make arrangements at my job for more time off since I’m sole guardian to a preschooler, hunt down a sperm donor whose number you don’t have, and find childcare. I’m sure I can do all of that while waiting for you at my apartment. Totally reasonable.”

  “Take care of whatever you need to. If you’re not there when I show up, I’ll come back until you are.”

  Wonderful. There’s nothing like having a stalker who can snatch your kid away at the smallest slip.

  “Thanks.” I cut the call off there. I have nothing useful left to say.

  I try not to dwell on how awesome this day is starting as I bundle Millie up and we go visit my sister.

  * * *

  Abby looks like hell when she sits down on the other side of the glass.

  Her hair hangs down in streaks, knotted up after a single day in a cell. Day-old mascara leaves black streaks around her swollen eyes. Whatever passes for hygiene and a pillow in prison isn’t helping her, and it hurts my heart.

  Millie’s little mouth drops. She stands in my lap and presses her hand to the glass with wide eyes.

  “Mommy needs a nap!” she sputters.

  I’m just grateful she doesn’t seem to understand where Mommy is. Or remember my little white lie about the temp job.

  Abby presses her hand to Millie’s on the other side of the glass divider, trying not to cry as she smiles.

  “The quicker I talk to her, the sooner she can get some sleep, bumblebee,” I say, wrangling Millie back into a seated position. I pick up the phone on our side of the glass. “Millie says you need a nap. How’re you holding up?”

  “Okay. I just...I miss her. She looks good. You’re taking care of her, thank God.”

  “Mommy says she misses you and you look good,” I relay to the wiggle worm in my lap.

  Millie tilts her head up at me and beams. I wish I could hang on to the moment before meeting my sister’s eyes again.

  “So, what happened?” I ask.

  “I didn’t mean for this—it’s just—” She lets out a long sigh and hot tears streak her face. “I was desperate for money. I made a mistake, okay? It doesn’t matter. Reese, you can’t let Will take Millie.”

  My heart stops cold in my chest. I can�
�t process her words.

  Is my sister admitting she...she was messing around with drugs?

  Jesus Christ.

  Millie—who thankfully can’t hear Abby—still notices the difference in her composure. She clings to me tighter.

  “I’m going to take care of Millie no matter what happens. Don’t you worry. But I got you an attorney, courtesy of the bosshole. Have you talked to him yet?”

  “He called. I...I can’t tell him much,” Abby says with a sigh.

  “Why not?”

  I don’t understand.

  Abby looks around, her eyes large and panicked and pleading. A guard behind her notices and steps forward.

  “I told you—I can’t say.”

  “Um, you kind of have to say if you ever want to get out of there. Tell me. You know you can trust me,” I urge.

  “Reese, I know what you’re thinking, but...trust me. There are reasons I can’t and we need to just leave it at that. For now,” she adds hastily, as if that makes it better. “Just don’t let Will get Millie, whatever you do. I don’t care what it takes. Please don’t let him have my baby.”

  Raw desperation fills her red eyes.

  Where was this concern when you apparently had coke stuffed in the car seat?

  The confusion is maddening. I don’t say anything though, because I have to keep it together to deal with attorneys, a billionaire boss who needs to know if I’m ever going back to work, and the ray of sunshine from CPS.

  I pull Millie closer to me and hug her, trying not to whisper, I’ve got you, baby, even if my sister is a pusher and your dad’s a dickhead.

  I sigh. “Can you just tell me if you’re guilty?”

  For a brutal second, she’s silent, her lashes fluttering.

  “...like I said. I made some mistakes. Big ones.”

  Gutted. On second thought, I’m grateful for the sudden wave of anger because it keeps me from breaking down in tears.

  “They told me I have to inform Will that I have Millie, but I won’t let him take her,” I say mechanically. “I’m supposed to call him ASAP. Do you know his number?”

  She shakes her head.

  “No. It could be somewhere in my apartment, but I think you’re poking the bear by calling him.” She’s quiet for a minute. “Who said you have to call him?”

  Oops, I’ve said too much. Abby will freak if she finds out there’s a risk Millie might wind up with a total stranger, following in our footsteps.

  I shrug, trying to play it down. “Just some caseworker. I’ve got a handle on it.”

  “Caseworker? From where?”

  Should I lie? Right in front of my tiny niece? What’s even believable?

  Jesus. I don’t know.

  “It’s nothing, Abby. Don’t worry,” I try again.

  “It’s CPS, isn’t it? Someone told you that you have to drag Will into this. Shit.” She sinks back against the seat that’s far too short for her, pinching her nose.

  I say nothing. There’s no point in confirming her terrible guess and torturing her.

  “Whatever. Just...don’t let him take Millie,” she says.

  “Over my dead body,” I tell her, and I mean it.

  If I have to leave everything and flee to Canada in the middle of the night, Will Frisk won’t be near my bumblebee.

  The guard steps closer to Abby and taps a watch on her wrist.

  “Looks like my time’s up. Bring Millie back when you can.” She gives me the world’s saddest wave goodbye before the guard leads her away.

  Millie waves to her, then realizes something isn’t right. She presses her little hands to the glass, leaning out of my lap while I try to wrestle her back.

  “Don’t let Mommy leave! Want Mommy back!” Millie screams, her voice wavering with that warning quiver every kid has before they burst into tears.

  Fabulous.

  So besides dealing with work, finding childcare, and dreading CPS, why not add an inconsolable four-year-old and my own smashed heart to the mix?

  I also can’t fathom my sister’s choices in life—or why in God’s name she won’t talk.

  Outside the county jail, I buckle Millie into the purple car seat with the fancy cupholder Nick bought her. It’s nicer than the one in her mom’s car. We drive over to the office quickly.

  “Auntie Reese?” she asks once we’re exiting the car. What she really means is what now?

  Good question. It sums up my life perfectly. I let out a broken laugh.

  Millie doesn’t understand why I’m laughing, but joins in with a loud, confused giggle of her own, which only makes me laugh harder. This time for real.

  Leaning down, I kiss her on the forehead. “I need to figure out what to do about work tomorrow. Do you want to see Nick?”

  She claps her hands. “Nick the—”

  “Nuh-uh, bumblebee.” I keep my face firm and raise my eyebrows. “Bad word. I told you not to say it again.”

  Her face falls. “But it rhymes. You and Mommy do.”

  “Your Mommy and I pay the rent. One day you’ll grow up and pay for your own place too, and then you can say whatever you want. Deal?”

  “What’s rent?”

  “Never-ending payments for the privilege of living under someone else’s roof,” I say glumly.

  “I have a dollar.” She smiles at me like she’s just solved the whole city’s housing problems.

  “You’re a sweetheart, but a full month’s rent costs a little more, baby,” I say, biting back a smile.

  “Maybe for my birthday!” She giggles.

  “Maybe.” I shut the car door behind her.

  My second hand Camry feels out of place in the company garage. I’ve always done my best to maintain it—there’s not a scratch on her—but I’m just too stubborn to break down and buy the kind of shiny new car the average Brandt Ideas employee drives even if I can afford it.

  I’m too used to being resourceful, and now, as I clutch Millie’s hand and we walk into the lobby, I realize I need to be more than ever.

  “It’s a castle!” Millie chirps.

  “Not quite, just a really fantastic office building.” Beatrice Brandt’s touch lingers everywhere here, from the swirling rows of neatly trimmed flowering trees on every floor to the Parisian-like fountain perched on four heroic shoulders on our way to the elevator. This building has floors that cost more than any make-believe castle Millie’s ever seen, even for the other businesses that just rent space here.

  “Wowie, look!” She points at the fountain.

  I check my pockets for loose change and only come up with an old arcade token from the last time I took Millie there a week ago. I hand it to her.

  “Make a wish.”

  She stares up at me.

  “Wish for something you want and throw it in. It’s an old tradition,” I say, stooping down to smile at her.

  For a second, she’s thoughtful, her tiny face scrunched up. Then she palms the coin and flings it into the fountain like a baseball pitcher. I smile at the splash that echoes through the lobby.

  “Nice. It sounds like you wished really hard,” I say cheerfully.

  “I wished Mommy gets outta jail!”

  Oh, God. My smile evaporates. I don’t even have the heart to tell her you’re not supposed to share your wishes if you want them to come true.

  I scan the lobby. There are a couple other people standing around the elevator.

  Oof. I hope no one heard her.

  “Jail? Why do you say that?” I ask.

  “The window. Mommy was stuck and...and Mommy looked sad.”

  “But we saw your mommy at the doctor before, remember? Lots of windows there, just like offices.” I don’t know why I bother fighting for this charade.

  Millie, like the little brainiac she is, puts her hands on her hips with a pout. “Auntie Reese, why you lie? I watch TV. We watch Hawaii Five-0. I know what jail is!”

  Damn, she’s good. Also, what was Abby thinking?

  “You don’t ha
ve to worry. She’ll be home soon. I promise,” I tell her, hating that I have no earthly way to make good on that vow.

  “But I miss her...”

  “I know, baby.” I tussle her hair and take her hand so I can move us toward the elevator. “I know, and we all miss her.”

  “Can I push the button?” she asks, thankfully distracted.

  “Go for it.”

  Upstairs, Nick isn’t in his office. Just great.

  I’m about to leave, annoyed that we wasted a trip here. Then again, I’m not really dressed presentable enough to grace the halls of Brandt Ideas anyway, and it’s pretty rare to have people bringing young kids around.

  Just as I’m trying to pull Millie away from an anime cat bobblehead on someone’s desk, there’s movement in Beatrice Nightingale Brandt’s old office.

  Huh. Cleaning crew?

  Beatrice is the reason I got this job. She’s a lovely lady, and they’ve treated her old stomping grounds like a shrine ever since she retired.

  Is she visiting? Even disheveled and clutching a preschooler, Granny Bea is someone I wouldn’t mind talking to right now...

  I rush to her office and knock on the door, dragging Millie along.

  Heavy footsteps. The door pops open a second later, revealing half of a handsome face with one keen emerald-green eye perched above a chiseled jaw. He shoves it the rest of the way open.

  “Welcome back. I wasn’t expecting to see you today.” He steps aside so I can enter.

  When I look past him, registering the room, I’m lost.

  “Holy crap,” I mutter. Granny Bea’s office has undergone a total transformation.

  A pink and purple loft bed hangs above Beatrice’s antique, hand-crafted desk. A plastic chain dangles from the ceiling with plush stuffed animals hanging on it like fruits.

  “Uni-corn!” Millie shrieks, shooting across the room. She fights with a baby-pale blue clothespin to release a lavender unicorn.

  Nick laughs, moves to the stuffie chain, and squeezes the end of the clothespin together. The big toy hits the floor.

  “Millie, come here. Don’t touch that. It’s not ours!” I try hopelessly.