by Snow, Nicole
I stand up.
Christ. I need to get the hell out of here before I give Carmen another chance to make us both Internet famous.
She grabs my arm, this desperate smear of confusion on her face.
“Wait!”
I stare right through her.
“We never had these problems before. Remember how easy it was? We knew each other, Nick. We grew up together.” A wicked smile slides across her face like the serpent inviting me to remember Eden. “All those times on your grandparents’ yacht? No way do I believe you’d forget. We could still be like that.” Her voice goes sultry. “So close. So real. Just the two of us together, against the world, against all the people who don’t understand us...we’d be unstoppable.”
There.
Now we’ve gotten to the gist of it. She’s never given up her twisted power couple fantasies, and she wants to use a long torched bridge to a bygone childhood to reel me in.
“Speaking of old times, you know what I notice?” I ask.
“What?” she asks, leaning in.
“You’re nothing like the wide-eyed, bright girl I grew up with. You left that behind for Hollywood, and the money and fame and power changed you. The girl I grew up with was never this greedy. Never this fucked in the head.”
“Greedy? Excuse me?” She sets her drink down and flings her hands to her sides. “I’m ten seconds from slapping you again. How dare you imply this is all about money. I poured my heart out!”
Oh, I dare, all right.
Undaunted, I watch her pout, weathering her tirade.
“I’ve always been here for you. I’m the only woman who ever knew exactly what you are and I still accepted you. That little fresh-faced suburbanite you had at the gala? She was crushed when she realized you’d already wronged another woman enough to get smacked in public. You think she’d stick around if she knew half your shit? I flew into town as soon as I heard about your grandma’s heart last year. You wouldn’t even see me. I don’t know how you can accuse me of being greedy, when I’m the one who’s always been here for you—the real you, Nicholas Brandt.”
“You’re right. You came as soon as you heard about Grandma, and I told you then I didn’t want your sympathy. Still don’t need it. So buzz off.” I open my wallet, pull out a hundred-dollar-bill, and leave it under my glass. It should be more than enough to cover the drinks.
I take a step away and stop. There’s still one thing to say.
“Carmen, I’m sorry if you’re still upset about the breakup, but I doubt it’s that simple. No chase is ever worth a run-in with The Chicago Tea. Osprey knows about the video we never should’ve made, and anything you give him just spurs nasty rumors. It’s making it worse for both of us. It’s high past time to let it fucking blow over.”
Carmen gives me the same soft smile she always used just before we fucked, and she stands.
Shit.
What did I say to encourage her?
She presses her face against my ear, those red lips from hell trying to drag me into the abyss. “That was such an amazing night, wasn’t it? That’s why I kept a copy. Some memories are impossible to let go of.”
What the fuck?
So there is another copy of that mistake floating around? I hate hearing it confirmed.
Disgusted, I push her away. She almost topples over. I catch her before she falls—I’m not a complete asshole—and let go again as soon as I know she’s steady.
Her face falls. Her eyes narrow.
“Nicholas, you need to understand one thing. I’m never giving up what we had. I’m the only woman who’s ever been able to keep up with you and your wild ways. Sooner or later, whenever you’re off this self-righteous kick, you’ll come to your senses. For your sake, I hope it’s before a better man comes along.”
I don’t even look back as I stalk away, knowing it was a mistake to come here.
Her whacked obsession could ruin both of us. The sex tape is a ticking time bomb for her career, too.
I wish she’d get that through her head.
I just wish she’d wise up, and let me fucking go.
* * *
The nanny I hired for Millie seems nice enough and comes with impeccable references.
Still, there’s no denying little Millie has been through a whirlwind the last few days. I can’t help wondering how it’s going with Reese out driving.
I open the door to the makeshift office playroom to check on the kid. She’s sitting at the bottom of her slide, playing a game on her tablet.
Tiffany stands up instantly from the chair she was sitting on while watching the girl.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Brandt. Millie finished her artwork early and earned herself some game time.” She points to the wall where there’s a drawing of a stick figure with a giant bubblehead and striped tie taped up.
Millie jumps up when she sees me, sending the iPad flying.
“Good thing I bought a bumper cover for that thing,” I say.
Tiffany giggles.
“Oh, don’t worry. I wouldn’t have let her hold it if you hadn’t. I know her type.” She bends at her knees so she’s at eye level with the kid. “Don’t I, Millie?”
“Nick, it’s you!” Millie screams, running for the wall and ignoring her nanny.
“In the flesh,” I say.
“No. Here.” She hits the brakes just before colliding with the wall and points to her picture.
Thank God. For a minute, I thought she’d ram it headfirst, and then Reese would crucify me.
“See? It’s you!” Millie jumps up and down, pointing excitedly.
“Oh, that? Well. You’ve interpreted my likeness like a master. I think you’d impress my sister-in-law, and she’s a huge art snob,” I say with a wink, making Tiffany snicker. “Thank you, Millie. I’ll hang it up in my office.”
She beams at me.
“You smile a little like your aunt,” I tell her, noting the family resemblance. Looks like every Halle girl comes with the same sunset-blue eyes.
Grandma’s old showcase of architectural models sits just above Millie’s drawing and catches her eyes. “What’s those?”
“Model buildings. All real ones. The greatest projects my grandparents brought to life. Want a closer look?” I ask.
She nods.
I scoop her up for a better view as Tiffany looks on.
“You can take a break if you want. I’m between calls right now and Millie wants to hear about the models. Feel free to run down and grab a coffee,” I tell her.
“Oh, perfect! I haven’t had a break since naptime.” Tiffany hurries out of the room yawning.
“You see that little house there?” I tell the little girl, tapping the glass with my free hand. “Grandma designed it for a man in California, Landon Strauss. His wife, McKenna—I think—she’s a big-time author and he owns this secret-agent bodyguard firm called Enguard. Anyway, he wanted to surprise his lady with a homey cottage to write in with all the good stuff that makes life easy. On the outside, it’s like a Grimm fairy tale. Inside, a luxury dream to make every prince on the planet jealous. There’s even a secret passage or two, just like a castle.”
“Castle! Sekwit passage!” Millie claps her hands, trying her best to pronounce the words.
“Kiddo, has anyone ever told you you’re adorable?”
“Doll houses,” she whispers, almost conspiratorially.
“What?”
“You got a lot of dolly houses, mister. Does that mean you have dolls?”
What’s she talking about? It takes me a minute. I laugh.
Of course. I should’ve explained it to her first.
“They do look like doll houses, huh? Except these doll houses really exist, somewhere around the world, and you can walk inside them. Do you know what we do in this office, Millie?”
“Yeah, you...you drive fancy cars!”
I chuckle.
“That’s what your Aunt Reese does. I work with a team that designs buildings for people,
just like my brother and our grandparents before us. To make sure we’re doing what they want, sometimes we make a tiny sample to show them. Most of the time, the client likes the model. I help make sure we get the real one built looking just as nice. Every now and then, the client isn’t happy with the design and we have to come up with something else. Most of these have become real buildings in Chicago, New York, LA, Toronto, Brussels, and lots of other places. My grandparents created most of the ’dollhouses’ in this case, but Ward and I helped with the newer ones like the California cottage.”
My eyes flick proudly to the hyper-modern green dreamscapes on the top shelf, the last ten years’ worth of Grandma’s best designs that also have a piece of us forever.
Millie covers my face with her little hands. “I want grandparents.”
Oof. What the hell do I say to that?
Anything feels too hollow. My parents were about as screwed up as Millie’s. I wouldn’t have survived them without my grandparents, and neither would Ward.
Luckily, she has a kick-ass aunt who tries insanely hard to keep her wearing that fluttery smile. “You have Reese, and she loves you. That’s just as good as two grandparents. I never had an aunt, nothing like—”
“So you think you’ll use the kid to butter me up?” a playful voice cuts in.
There’s no mistaking it.
I turn to the doorway to find Reese, ravishing as ever in a hunter-green dress. Her morning-blue eyes sparkle like waters against the deep summer green. As if that weren’t enough, the setting sun splashes light through Grandma’s oversized windows, until she glitters like an angel.
I’m fucking awestruck.
“You’re beautiful,” I grind out before I can stop myself.
Apparently, my tongue moves faster than my brain.
Her cheeks bloom rose-pink. “Um, thank you?”
I’m not taking it back. A long silence yawns between us.
Then Millie slaps my face with her palms. “Want Auntie Reese!”
“You’re a bossy little lady. Must run in the family,” I say.
“Auntie Reese!” she whines, reaching out her stubby arms.
“What if I turn you upside down and you get to meet the Tickle Monster instead?”
Millie squeals. “No monster!”
With Reese watching, I flip the kid over in my arms, but hold off on the tickles before she’s right side up again. She’s squirming and laughing when I lower her to the floor.
Reese’s eyes trail from me to Millie. She smiles and opens her mouth like she’s about to say something kind, but closes it immediately.
“Any news?” I don’t want another awkward silence consuming us.
“Not much. The attorney spoke to Abby and followed up with me yesterday, but I don’t know if my sister’s talking. Will is still M-I-A.” She sighs. “Next week will be better, I promise. Life has to go on, and I’m determined to get through this with as much normalcy intact as possible. For everyone. I’m realistic about the court case...this could take months—or even years. I just have to keep on going. Make it the new normal.”
Millie starts to sniffle.
“What’s wrong, bumblebee?” Reese picks her up and holds her close.
“I want Mommy back! You said years. That’s a really long time!”
Shit. The kid’s got ears like a fox.
“Shhh. I misspoke, love. That probably won’t happen,” Reese says in this soothing murmur.
Millie wraps her arms around Reese’s neck and lays her head down.
I step closer to them and put my hand on Reese’s arm.
“It won’t be years. If that’s the best my guy can do, I’ll fire him and find you someone better. We’ll get this all worked out in a few weeks, Reese.”
She rolls her eyes, letting out an anguished sigh.
“You’re sweet, but...you can’t know that, Nick,” she whispers, patting Millie’s back.
Wrong. I do know.
Because I’m dead serious when I promise to put every resource behind it. Whatever it takes to wipe the bone-weary expression off her face and keep Millie smiling.
“We’ll fix this. Until then, don’t apologize for being human. It’s okay to worry. It’s alright to be sad. I told you, we have your back,” I say, squeezing the back of her arm.
“Nick...I know your family went through a lot with your parents’ scandals when you were growing up, and then last year when Granny Bea handed the reins to you and Ward. But not everyone can be a Brandt. Some people aren’t that lucky. Not everyone gets a happy ending, and if we don’t admit that right now, it could be a whole lot harder later. We might have to settle for a crappier ending, and just not having the worst happen. I hope that’s what we get. Anything but the worst.”
Millie starts snoring lightly in her aunt’s arms.
Reese smiles. “Thanks for tiring her out. She fell asleep fast.”
“That was mostly Tiffany. I’ll get her stuff.” I gather up Millie’s snacks, toys, and her cup and place them in her bag. I pick up her car seat last. “Let me carry this down for you. You can’t haul the princess and her treasures.”
Her teeth flash pearly white. “Thank you, and thanks for looking after Millie, too. What happened to the nanny? I don’t want this interfering with your work.” When she laughs, there’s a nervous ring to it. “I don’t want to be a constant pest.”
I hold the door open. “You’re not. I wanted to check in on Millie—and find an excuse to step away from a pile of blueprints—so I dropped by to give Tiffany a break. Millie got interested in Grandma’s scale models, so I showed her and told a few stories.”
“God, you’re—” She pauses, her cheeks flushed, considering her words. “A really good boss. Sometimes.”
Goddamn, she’s cherry-red again. My eyes flick to her lips, remembering how sweet they tasted after one reckless dance.
I raise a brow. “You sure that’s what you wanted to say?”
“Yep.” She nods vigorously, but the hot glint in her baby-blue eyes tells a different story.
We’re at the elevator now and I stab at the button with my elbow.
In the Lincoln, I open the back door, lay Millie’s stuff on the floor, and fasten her booster seat in before I step out of the way.
“You’re good to go. Happy trails.”
She’s still staring at me, this awkward admiration in her eyes.
“I never thought I’d say this, but...you’re going to be one hell of a dad someday.” She bends down and puts Millie in her car seat.
“Never say that again,” I mutter while her back is still turned.
I know it’s meant as a compliment—except it’s not.
Coming from Ward, it’s an insane fantasy. From her, it’s like a cruel mockery of everything I can never have.
“Why?” She laughs and straightens.
I’m not smiling.
“Reese, I’m the Windy City’s favorite scandal. I’ve got a certain reputation. Nothing about my past says dad,” I tell her, keeping my voice level. “Don’t let me being nice to the kid go to your head.”
“Whatever you say, cactus boss. See you tomorrow.”
She walks around the car and gives me a flippant wave as she gets in.
Way to put the sadness back in her eyes when I tried so hard to pull it out.
“Fucking idiot,” I mutter to myself.
I watch her drive away, hating the fact that my foot-in-mouth existence can’t be as simple as the drama-free lives in Millie’s dollhouses.
11
Hidden Bruises (Reese)
The next day, I have a break between rides.
I’m crazy tempted to swing by the office and check on Millie. But if she sees me, she’ll want to come with, and I still have plenty of work left.
Instead, I pull into the parking garage and pick up on another business audiobook. The dry words wash over me, in one ear and out the other, but at least it feels normal.
Until my phone rings. I snatch i
t up and slide the green bar over.
“This is Reese Halle.”
“Hi, I’m Nadia, Jacob Sutton’s paralegal at Sutton and Sutton,” a cheery voice says.
My heart races.
Get to the point woman. Can you help my sister?
“Okay? I take it there’s been an update?”
“Yes. We’ve reviewed the case, and Mr. Sutton believes there’s evidence of possible duress. A medical exam shows Abigail took several blows to the head and face the night of her arrest—”
Blows? Like punches? What the hell?
Oh my God.
That explains why she looked like roadkill when I went to see her the next day. She wasn’t just worried about Millie and freaked out.
She was knocked around the night before. I took the dark circles under her eyes for a lack of sleep and possible drug usage. Now, I wonder if they were bruises.
“Uh, how bad were these injuries?” I ask.
“No evidence of broken bones or anything like that. She’ll heal just fine. But there is a hint that she could’ve been transporting illegal substances under pressure from another party. Of course, it’s nothing without her backing it up.”
“Okay.” I don’t understand. If Nadia’s right, why isn’t she screaming it from the rooftops? “So have you gotten a statement?” I ask the woman.
“Unfortunately, no. She won’t provide us with anything.”
“What do you mean? She says she wasn’t under duress?”
“She won’t tell us who hit her or why. She’s simply not talking. As long as she’s being uncooperative, I’m afraid it’s going to be enormously difficult to help her.”
It takes a moment to click in my head.
“If someone hit her and made her transport drugs, she’s probably afraid,” I say, swallowing thickly.
Who would do that, though? And why? Who is Abby scared of?
The paralegal sighs. “I realize that, Miss Halle, but until we know who she’s scared of, we’ve reached a sticking point.”
“I—I don’t think she would’ve knowingly transported drugs. After she got out of the foster system, she had an addiction problem for a little while in her early twenties, but she worked through it. Millie’s been her priority, night and day, since the minute she was born. Abby’s been clean for years to the best of my knowledge. This doesn’t make sense.”